A Warrior's Second Chance (Faye and Alexander) novel Chapter 117

Chapter 117

FAYE

I paused at the iron bars of the cell, staring at the man slumped against the corner. His chest rose and fell lowly, and the stench of wolfsbane was thick on him. Whoever had been in charge of dosing him hadn’t just weakened him…they’d drowned him in poison.

His skin was pale beneath the bruises, his lips cracked and dry. If the point had been to reduce him to something less than a wolf, they had succeeded. Not like he deserved any better.

“Open the cell,” I said quietly.

The two guards stiffened. Their eyes darted to each other, then back to me. One of them spoke, “I’m sorry, Luna,” he said. His voice was strained. “But Alpha Alexander gave orders that-”

“Do as she asked.”

The voice came from behind me.

I turned, and there he was…Alexander. He leaned against the stone frame, arms crossed.

My chest tightened. Of course he followed me.

“Alexander,” I said, my tone carrying more reproach than I planned to. “What are you doing here now?”

He stepped forward, closing the distance until he stood at the threshold of the cell. “I know you,” he murmured, his voice low enough only I would hear. “You wouldn’t stay outside the bars, you’d go in. And since you’re daring enough to put yourself within arm’s reach of him, I decided to follow.”

I moved closer to him, lowering my voice so the guards wouldn’t hear. “The last time you were here, you nearly beat him to death. I need him lucid, not broken. Can I trust you not to interfere?”

Something flickered across his expression…guilt, maybe. Or restraint he was forcing into place. Then he raised his hands, palms outward in mock surrender. “You’re in charge,” he said. “I won’t touch him… unless he’s foolish enough to get violent.”

I studied him for a moment longer, searching for cracks in that promise. Then I nodded.

Turning back, I gestured at the guards. “Bring him water,” I ordered.

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<Chapter 117

Claim

Thomas scrambled to obey, disappearing down the hall. I stepped into the cell. The air shifted immediately…the closeness of it, the weight of the prisoner’s gaze lifting to meet mine. He looked at me like he wasn’t sure whether I was real or some hallucination conjured

by his pain.

I pulled the small wooden chair across from him, and I sat down, folding my hands in my lap, not breaking his gaze.

He swallowed, his throat working dryly. His lips parted, then closed again.

“You think this is some kind of trick,” I said evenly. “But it isn’t. You’ll have water…you’ll be able to breathe without fire in your veins. And then we’ll talk.”

His brow furrowed, and there was still sign of defiance in his sunken eyes. But defiance was weak when paired with desperation.

The guard returned quickly with a small tin cup of water. I took it, not letting anyone else hand it over. When I crouched and pressed it to the man’s lips, he hesitated–long enough to make me think he’d refuse out of sheer spite–but then he drank, greedy gulps that left his chin wet. I pulled the cup back before he could drain it dry.

“Enough,” I said firmly. “I need you to talk first.”

He coughed, wheezing, but already his shoulders loosened a fraction. The wolfbane still dulled him, but at least now his eyes were clearer. He watched me like a man waiting for the knife he couldn’t see.

I showed him the picture on the phone. “Do you recognize this?” I asked.

At first he just stared at it, but after a moment, he laughed. Not the laugh of someone broken, not the sound of a wolf still clinging to loyalty–but the laugh of someone who knew there was nothing left to lose.

He leaned back against the cold stone wall, blood staining the corners of his mouth, and let the sound rattle through the cell like he was mocking both me and Alexander.

“I see you’ve met him too,” he said. “So you must know he’s real. I didn’t make him up.”

I glanced at Alexander, then back to the man.

“So you’ve seen this ring before…” I said, trying to get him to say more.

“The ring,” he said between coughs, voice raw. “It was too obvious to go unnoticed. First thing we described him by… before we even learned his name.” He chuckled again, bitter and knowing. “He was never hiding. Not really. That ring–it’s part of him… like he wants you to see it. He didn’t care about being recognized…he only cared about carrying out his plans

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* Charter 11P

before you find out.”

1 froze, letting the weight of his words sink in.

Clains

He was right. Nobody desperate to stay in the shadows would flaunt something so bold, so distinct, every time they showed themselves. That wasn’t carelessness–it was intention. A

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