The Lunar Curse: A Second Chance With Alpha Draven-Chapter 60: The Dance Under the Moonlight

**(Third Person)**

The scouts began their sweep before midnight.

Three teams—six werewolves total—split up and moved through the southeast district of Duskmoor. They searched alleyways, side streets, loading docks, and industrial zones.

All were dressed in plain clothes, but each moved like soldiers trained for war.

The search started with the Taproot Bar.

The bartender, a burly man with silver streaks in his beard, claimed he remembered Ronan Wex and his friend clearly.

"They were here around ten," he said, voice low and cautious. "Had two pints each. Talked like usual. Didn’t see anyone strange that night."

Security footage confirmed the man’s story—Ronan had left the bar with his friend, before the latter stopped a cab and got in.

The footage also showed three shadows trailing two blocks behind Ronan, but it vanished in a blink. No scent was found, no trace of who—or what it could have been.

At the southeast block, unit 4B remained untouched. No signs of entry. No struggle.

The most promising lead came near the port district. Just before dawn, one of the scouts picked up something faint—a scent. Barely there, as if scrubbed or hidden. But it was werewolf. Familiar. Close to Ronan’s profile.

It led toward an abandoned warehouse.

Inside, they found only one thing: Ronan’s phone, shattered and covered in dried blood. A worker’s badge from the port was also discovered in a pile of discarded trash nearby.

There was no body. No sign of where he had gone. Just a cracked device and blood.

The scent disappeared completely beyond that point, as if it had been erased.

The scout who found it, Doren, contacted Jeffery immediately. And Jeffery, without wasting another second, called the one person who needed to know.

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~**Draven**~

I arrived home just past five alone. I had to drop Dennis off at a location to assist with the search.

The SUV rolled to a stop by the east wing, and I stepped out alone, leaving the vehicle to one of the night drivers.

The sky was still painted in the deep hues of night, stars blinking faintly above, and the edge of morning nowhere in sight.

The manor was quiet.

No warriors at the gate. No wandering staff in the corridors. Everyone was where they should be—sleeping or preparing for the day ahead.

Because of my habit of taking walks and doing random checks every time I arrived home later than usual like today, I walked the long stretch of paved path around the west side, meaning to cut through the rear balcony when I caught a flicker of movement in the moonlit garden.

I paused.

Someone was outside.

At first, I thought it was one of the guards doing patrol until I stepped further into the shadows and saw her.

Meredith.

Barefoot on the cold grass, her long nightgown swaying like a pale ghost’s robe under the moonlight. Her eyes were shut, arms moving slowly in odd motions, not quite dancing... but not entirely still.

It was graceful and strange.

Was that a ritual? Perhaps, a meditation?

I didn’t move an inch. I stayed back where the hedges veiled me from view, forgetting about my habitual patrol.

Meredith swayed once more, hands lifting lightly before curling back toward her chest, then lowering in slow rhythm.

Instantly, I felt chills run down my spine as goosebumps appeared on the exposed area of my arms.

I have never seen this in my entire life. What on earth was this dance she was doing?

Everything about it was uncanny. And looking at the way she did it, it didn’t seem like she was conscious of her surrounding.

"She is possessed," Rhovan said, slowly waking up. He seemed exhausted.

Possessed? That seemed more like it.

"Possessed by what?" I asked Rhovan and was met with silence. It seemed like he had gone back to sleep.

Meredith’s lips moved—silent words I couldn’t make out.

I felt a little energy generated from the dance and knew it wasn’t ordinary.

Are people cursed by the moon goddess supposed to have something in them?

Then, as if a timer inside Meredith ran out, she stopped completely. She stood still for a moment, her chin raised toward the moon, and let the air wrap around her like an old friend.

And just as silently as she came, she turned and walked back inside the house through the side glass door.

My eyes followed her until the curtains swallowed her shape.

Whatever that was, I wasn’t sure. But it didn’t leave my mind.

Just as I took a step toward the house, my phone buzzed sharply against my thigh. I slipped it out of my pockets and glanced at the screen.

Jeffery.

I answered. "What did they find?"

His voice was clipped. "Ronan’s phone. Cracked. Blood-covered. Found at the edge of an abandoned warehouse near the southeast port."

"Body?"

"No body was found, Alpha"

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "What else?"

"His work ID. That’s it. No signs of a struggle outside. No scent trail. It’s like he vanished."

"Like the others," I muttered.

"Yes," Jeffery confirmed. "Exactly like the others."

I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the silence stretch. Then, I instructed, "Secure the warehouse. No one gets near it unless cleared. Post two warriors at the door. And notify me the moment the forensics unit from our internal team arrives."

"Yes, Alpha."

I ended the call and pocketed the phone, but the weight of it didn’t fade.

First, three bodies with their hearts missing. Now a full body was missing.

The blood said Ronan had been hurt, but the absence of a corpse whispered something far worse.

Someone—or something was getting better at hiding. And the way it scrubbed scent from a kill site—No human could do that so easily unless they were now good at it.

I turned toward the house.

The night had started with orders and plans. But it ended with a ritual dance and a bloodstained phone.

And both told me the same thing.

Something dangerous was moving in Duskmoor, be it a failing truce or a creepy being which reminded me of the presence I felt in the woods at our rest area to the city.

And I hadn’t seen its face yet.