The Lunar Curse: A Second Chance With Alpha Draven-Chapter 79: First Driving Lessons from Dennis

Meredith.

We didn’t go far—just to the open stretch at the far end of the estate where the stone-paved path curved beneath a cluster of towering ash trees.

The wind was calmer here, and the sun stretched lazily across the field, warming the parked sleek black car in front of us.

I trailed behind Dennis, watching as he pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the car with a lazy flick of his wrist.

He opened the driver’s side door with a dramatic bow. "Welcome to your first official driving lesson, my lady."

I raised a brow at the seat. "I thought I would be sitting there."

Dennis shut the door gently. "That’s the goal... eventually. But today, no keys for you. Just the basics."

"So, I’m just supposed to stare at the wheel while you monologue?"

"Exactly," he grinned. "It’s called visual learning. Very effective."

I didn’t argue any more. Not because I wasn’t ready, but because the idea of accidentally driving the car into a tree sounded like something that could actually happen to me.

We stood beside the car. The interior was warm from the sun, and the wheel looked heavier than I thought it should be.

Dennis began the lesson.

"This," he said, pointing to the hood, "is not just a piece of metal. It’s a beast. And the moment you get behind the wheel, you’re its master."

I tried not to smile. "Are you always this dramatic?"

"Only when the audience is worth it," he replied.

"This," he began, stepping up beside me, "is the steering wheel. Obvious, yes. But you would be surprised how many people grab it like it’s a dinner tray. Keep your hands at ten and two. Like this."

He demonstrated, then pointed to the pedals. "Three foot pedals. Clutch on the far left, brake in the middle, accelerator on the right. You will use your left foot for the clutch. Right foot for everything else. You don’t need to stomp—this isn’t a war."

"Noted," I said, keeping my expression neutral.

"This," he said, tapping the stick shift, "is your gear stick. First gear to move off. Second for speed. You will stall if you release the clutch too quickly, so be gentle. Like... how you would untie a bandage from a scar."

That made me glance up at him.

He blinked. "Sorry. Bad metaphor."

Then he stepped back, crossing his arms. "Alright, let’s see how much you retained. Repeat everything."

I straightened a little, then pointed to each part one after the other. "Steering wheel, dashboard, clutch, brake, accelerator. If I start the engine, I press the clutch fully before shifting into gear. First gear to move. Second once we gain momentum. Always keep two hands on the wheel."

When I finished, Dennis just stared at me. "You might actually beat me at this before you even start the engine."

I shrugged. Even if I don’t have anything to boast of, I had my mind. And sometimes, that was enough.

Dennis leaned against the car with a smirk. "Driving is fun and all, but... I will admit, nothing beats shifting and running wild through the woods in your wolf form."

My smile faded.

Then I looked away and shrugged lightly. "I guess I will never know."

The silence that followed was short—but sharp.

Dennis’s eyes widened slightly "I’m sorry," he said quickly. "That was—"

"It’s fine," I interrupted gently. "It doesn’t bother me."

And truthfully, it didn’t. At least, not as much anymore.

Who knows how long I would last this time around before someone deliberately hurts me with that reminder.

Dennis nodded and stood upright again. "Well, since you are obviously gifted, I should warn you: no lessons tomorrow."

I raised a brow. "Why?"

"I’ve got an important meeting scheduled. But next tomorrow, same time, same spot. Deal?"

I pretended to think. "Depends. Will I get to actually touch the steering wheel then?"

"Only if you promise not to kill us both."

"No promises," I joked.

He shook his head with a grin. "You good with that schedule or is there—?"

I nodded. "Yes. It’s perfect."

"Alright then." He looked down at his watch. "Come on. Let’s get you back before someone sends a search party."

---

Dennis walked me until we got to the driveway towards the entrance of the house before turning away.

The sun was beginning to dip low, casting a honey-gold hue across the estate walls, and the soft gravel beneath my boots crunched in rhythm with my steps.

As I reached the front entrance of the house, the large double doors just in sight, I heard the soft shuffle of feet coming from the opposite end of the walk.

Xamira.

She walked hand-in-hand with her nanny—Dorothy, if I remembered correctly. The woman carried a wide-brimmed hat in one hand and a half-folded storybook in the other, likely from an afternoon stroll or garden reading.

The moment Xamira saw me, her steps slowed.

I smiled. Warm, soft. The kind you offer a child, expecting nothing but innocence in return.

"Hello, Xamira," I greeted gently. "Did you go for a walk?"

She didn’t smile back. Her hand didn’t tighten in her nanny’s. She didn’t nod as well.

She just looked at me.

That same look I had seen once or twice in children who were too observant for their age—quiet, unreadable.

Then, with a tone far too calm for her tiny voice, she asked:

"When are you leaving?"

The words hit me with no warning.

I blinked. "What?"

Her face didn’t shift. She simply tilted her head to the side, lips pursed slightly, gaze never leaving mine.

"When are you leaving?" she repeated.

It took a moment for the question to settle properly in my mind. And when it did, I straightened slowly, keeping my voice steady.

"When your father decides to let me go."

Xamira didn’t reply. She turned—quickly—and darted past Dorothy in the opposite direction, her curls bouncing wildly behind her.

"Xamira!" Dorothy called, startled. She glanced at me with an apologetic wince. "Forgive her, my lady. She’s just..."

She didn’t finish. She had a young girl to catch, so she turned and ran.

I stood there a moment longer, the last trace of warmth from the sun pressing against my back.

And just like that, the lightness I had felt earlier was gone.