The Lunar Curse: A Second Chance With Alpha Draven novel Chapter 139

Chapter 139: Emotional Exploitation

Third Person.

One warrior was flung several feet into the dirt, while another rolled to his feet, growling, blood smeared across his ribs.

There was no warning. No howl of challenge. Just an ambush.

A second later, instinct took over.

Several warriors shifted on the spot, their bones cracking and bodies stretching in violent transitions. The air rippled with raw power as they tore from their skin into fur and fangs, launching back at the attackers. Dust lifted in angry clouds. Claws met claws. Teeth scraped against hardened muscle.

The black wolf—larger, with sharper movements—danced through attacks like wind cutting through leaves. It slammed its paw into a silver-coated wolf, sending it rolling. A moment later, the black wolf leapt onto another, driving it to the ground before vanishing into the crowd.

The brown wolf was more aggressive. Wilder. It lunged and snapped with ferocity, tackling a young tan wolf to the floor and pinning it there, panting over it like a predator toying with prey.

On the edge of the field, Jeffery stood with his arms behind his back, his sharp eyes watching the chaos with cold calculation.

A wolf barreled toward the brown one with fangs bared, but Jeffery raised a hand and barked, "Hold!"

The voice cracked through the noise like thunder.

"Don’t fight with killing intent!" Jeffery warned, voice rough with urgency. "And no one is to harm the Alpha or his guest!"

Immediately, a pause spread like ripples across the field. Some wolves faltered in their attacks, sniffing the air—recognition dawning.

The black wolf’s scent had always been distinct. Iron and pine. Command and blood.

Their Alpha.

The wolves adjusted instantly. Their growls dulled into rumbles. Their attacks became more measured, defensive and strategic.

At that moment, Dennis strolled up beside Jeffery, arms folded, his smile smug.

"Now that’s what I call a good morning," he said, eyes glinting with amusement as the dust settled slightly. "You joining in?"

Jeffery didn’t blink. "Someone needs to keep the warriors from tearing out throats."

Dennis chuckled. "Fair enough. Still, this... this is the kind of chaos we’ve been needing."

On the battlefield, the clash intensified.

Draven—still in his wolf form—evaded a pair of wolves lunging at him, spun swiftly, and dragged his claws across the shoulder of one. The scent of blood filled the air.

Levi didn’t hold back either. The brown wolf slammed into a younger warrior and flipped him with a grunt. Another three came at him from the side. He ducked, twisted, and used the first wolf’s body to knock two others down.

It was no longer a spar. It was a storm.

Claws tore through the air. Blood splattered. Dust fogged everything.

Half an hour passed.

Finally, Jeffrey’s howl rang through the grounds. Sharp. Commanding. His hand slammed down on the iron war drum beside him, the thunderous beat echoing across the open space.

The fighting stopped. The wolves staggered, panting, eyes wild with the thrill.

One by one, they began shifting back.

Bones cracked. Fur receded. Bodies folded back into skin.

Warriors stood shirtless, their chests rising and falling heavily, blood streaking across arms and backs. Torn trousers. Dirt-covered legs. Bruised ribs. But grins—almost every one of them wore it.

Draven and Levi returned to their human forms last.

Both men stood, their bare torsos gleaming with sweat and smears of blood. Draven had a gash down his side, already closing. Levi had claw marks slashed across his chest—deeper, still faintly red—but he didn’t seem to mind.

They exchanged glances and then burst out laughing.

"That felt like the old days," Levi said, still breathing hard, running a hand through his damp hair.

"Minus the reckless teenage stupidity," Draven replied with a smirk, dragging his knuckles over his chin to wipe off a streak of blood. "Mostly."

"We should do this more often."

Draven gave a single nod. "Whenever we cross paths again."

By the time they stepped off the training ring, the blood on Draven’s body had dried and flaked away. The gash on his side was gone. Levi’s wounds had mostly healed—only one scar remained, stretched over his chest.

Dennis walked toward them, clapping.

"Now that," he grinned, "was beautiful. Raw, unhinged, violent—just the way I like my training sessions."

Draven snorted. "You looked too happy standing on the sidelines."

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