The Lunar Curse: A Second Chance With Alpha Draven novel Chapter 483

Chapter 483: Something About Her Aura

[Meredith].

The moment I heard Draven say, "Alright. You can meet her," I was already on my feet.

The door opened slowly, carefully—as if Draven feared even the movement of air might shift his mother’s mood.

And then, I saw her. Lady Oatrun.

The woman I had only heard about, imagined, and feared... yet the sight of her still struck something sharp through my chest.

The first thing I noticed was her beauty. Not the delicate beauty of someone pampered or protected.

No—hers was haunting, ageless, almost ethereal, the kind that made me understand, instantly, why Draven looked the way he did. Handsome.

Her hair was long and black, falling like silk down her back. Her skin was pale as moonlight—paler than mine and smooth, untouched by age or stress lines.

She looked young, too young, as if time itself had forgotten her.

But her eyes... those black eyes held a shimmer of something fractured, fragile. Something dangerous.

I had overheard everything—the confusion, the denial of Dennis, the rising panic, the violent edge. So when she stepped into view, calm and composed, it felt like meeting the eye of a storm that had merely paused... not passed.

Draven was beside her, tense in a way only I would notice. Dennis, slightly behind him, looked like someone holding his breath.

My heart beat once—hard. ’This... is their mother?’

And somehow, despite knowing she was ill, despite everything I had heard, I found myself straightening my posture and smoothing my expression.

Lady Oatrun looked at me. Her gaze swept over my eyes, lingered on them. And I saw a flicker of recognition she shouldn’t have had.

Her lips parted. And in a soft, breathy whisper, she said, "You..."

I swallowed.

Then Draven stepped closer to her carefully. "Mother, this is Meredith. My wife."

But she didn’t look away from me. Her gaze softened—warm, almost reverent, like she was looking at something far more than a stranger.

And then she said, with unsettling certainty, "You... are exactly as I imagined."

A chill travelled down my spine because she wasn’t supposed to remember imagining anything at all.

Just then, she looked at Draven, then back at me and smiled, a soft, affectionate smile... directed at me.

"Moons," she breathed, stepping closer. "She is beautiful."

I blinked, completely caught off guard by that compliment.

Her gaze drifted between Draven and me, studying us as if we were a puzzle only she could solve.

"You two are total opposites," she mused lightly. "How did that goddess match you?"

My brows pulled together. Before I could respond, she gasped softly and said with excitement:

"Oh, I know! There is a like-term. The base is the same."

I had no idea what that meant. And judging from the fleeting confusion on Draven and Dennis’s faces, neither did they.

But what troubled me most wasn’t her words. It was her energy.

Her aura was chaotic—fractured—swirling like a storm made of broken memories and something far older than any wolf. And for a moment, I began to doubt myself.

But just then— "Your feelings are valid," Valmora whispered suddenly inside me.

I stiffened. If even Valmora sensed it, then the situation was far from ordinary.

Before I could ask anything, Lady Oatrun reached for my hand, her touch surprisingly warm, surprisingly human, and guided me toward one of the sofas with the eagerness of a mother welcoming her child home.

I let her. Then she sat beside me, still holding my hand in both of hers.

"My son didn’t love you the last time he came to visit me," she said, voice soft as a sigh.

My breath hitched.

My heart lurched as panic shot through me. ’Did she... know? Did she see through me?’

I blinked at that remark.

"I like her," she continued calmly. "She makes me calm."

Draven stiffened. But I understood immediately that this wasn’t about me or her. This was Valmora soothing her fractured mind. And she had no idea.

Finally, Draven exhaled, his shoulders lowering slightly in defeat. "We will leave," he told his mother softly.

Then he looked at me, and his voice slid through my mind, steady and protective:

"If you feel even a hint of danger, do anything you must to protect yourself. Don’t hold back."

My chest tightened, but I nodded.

Then he gave Dennis a small signal, and without another word, both brothers stepped out of the living room and closed the door behind them.

The moment the door clicked shut, Lady Oatrun let out a breath and slowly lowered herself onto the sofa beside me again.

The shift in her energy was immediate. There was no anger, no confusion. Just a strange, quiet calm.

Then, in a low voice filled with something that sounded mournful, she murmured, "That poor boy... It’s a pity."

I blinked, unsure I heard correctly. "...Who?" I asked.

Her eyes softened with unmistakable sorrow before she answered, "Dennis."

A small jolt ran through me. "What happened to him?" I pressed gently.

Lady Oatrun shook her head slowly, the movement graceful yet heavy, as if carrying a truth long unspoken.

And then she said it—clear, smooth, with no hesitation, no distortion, no madness clouding her voice.

"He is not my son... but everyone thinks he is."

My heart slammed painfully against my ribs as I went completely still.