A Warrior's Second Chance (Faye and Alexander) novel Chapter 125

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< Chapter 125

Chapter 125

Chaim

Gerald trembled, the shaking of his hands so visible he clasped them together in a desperate attempt to hide it. His mouth was dry, his lips cracked, and when he spoke, his voice wavered like the thin edge of glass about to snap.

“Please,” he begged, his eyes wide and frantic. “Please, you must understand, I am of no use to you. I’m just Gerald now, as you rightly said. Just Gerald. No title, no place, no power. The alpha stripped me of everything. I am no elder of Blood Crescent any longer. I am nothing. Spare me, let me go. I swear, you gain nothing from keeping me here.”

The man across from him…still seated comfortably as though this were nothing more than a social visit…regarded him with an expression Gerald didn’t understand. He let Gerald’s words hang in the air, savoring the weight of the fear behind them. Then, suddenly, he laughed. The sound was low at first, almost a chuckle, but it grew until it filled the room.

“Oh, Gerald,” the man said at last, shaking his head slightly. “How little you know. How very wrong you are.”

Gerald blinked rapidly, confusion fighting with the terror in his chest. “Wrong?” he echoed, his throat tight.

“Yes,” the man said smoothly, his voice carrying the confidence of someone who never needed to argue, only declare. “That arrogant boy Alexander may have stripped you of your title, humiliated you before your peers, and cast you out of the pack you served faithfully for decades. But tell me…did he strip away your memories? Did he erase your knowledge of every corner of Blood Crescent, every alliance, every betrayal, every hidden fortune? No.”

The man leaned forward slightly, the faint glint of the ring on his hand catching Gerald’s attention again. His eyes locked on Gerald’s face.

“You, Gerald, are still useful. More useful than most. You know things even Alexander does not. You were an elder of Blood Crescent long before that boy was born, long before he ever dreamed of calling himself alpha. You walked those halls when his father still ruled. You witnessed what the others have forgotten. And you…” the man’s lips curved into a thin smile –“you know the secrets of the Blackwell fortune. Who could possibly be more useful to me than you?”

Gerald’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, his palms damp. He tried to form words, to protest, but the certainty in the man’s tone froze him. He had been cast aside, yes, and in that exile he had clung to the belief that he was finished, that his story was over. Yet here was this stranger, pulling him back into a game he no longer wanted to play.

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Chapter 125

Still, fear made him reckless. His voice cracked as he forced the question from his lips.

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“W–who are you?” Gerald asked, shifting nervously in his seat. “If you say I am useful, then tell me to whom I speak. Who… who are you really?”

The man’s eyes glinted with satisfaction, as though he had been waiting for that question. Slowly, deliberately, he leaned back in his chair, folding one leg over the other in a display of ease. He raised his glass again, took a measured sip, and set it down with a soft clink.

“My name,” he said, his tone rolling with confidence, “is Marcus Grayson. But you may also call me Marcus Blackwell.”

Gerald’s breath caught. His body stiffened, every muscle wound tight as though bracing for a

blow.

Marcus let the pause linger, savoring the way Gerald’s eyes widened. “Yes,” he continued, his lips curling into something between a smile and a sneer. “Marcus Blackwell. The rightful heir to the Blackwell legacy. The true alpha of Blood Crescent.”

Gerald’s head shook instinctively, the denial spilling from him before he could stop it. “No,” he stammered. “No, that isn’t possible. That cannot be possible. There is only one heir to the Blackwell legacy, only one rightful alpha of Blood Crescent, and that is Alexander. Alpha Alexander. Everyone knows this. The line was secure.”

His words tumbled out faster now, as if speed might convince them to be true. His mind clawed for every certainty he had left.

Marcus’s laughter cut through his desperate words, mocking and cold. “Ah,” he said, dragging the sound as though savoring it. “I see now. That boy has truly done a number on you. Broken you down until even you…one of the few elders with eyes clear enough to see his weakness…accept the lie as truth.”

Gerald’s lips parted, his breath faltering.

Marcus leaned forward again, his gaze sharp. “I heard about you, Gerald. You were never one to hold your tongue when Alexander disappointed. You doubted him. You questioned his worth. You whispered among the others that he was unfit to lead, that he was too reckless, too unproven, too arrogant to wear the crown of Blood Crescent. You were one of the few wise enough to see him for the failure he truly is. And yet here you sit, trembling, spouting his name as if it really meant something. What happened to you, Gerald? When did you trade your wisdom for chains?”

Gerald’s heart hammered in his chest. The words sank deep, cruelly precise. Marcus had reached into the very core of his shame and dragged it into the light.

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Chapter 125

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Marcus leaned back. He lifted his glass slowly, almost lazily, letting the liquid swirl under the light before he took a sip. His gaze never left Gerald, sharp and steady, as though he were testing him.

“Tell me, Gerald,” Marcus said with a mocking calm. “Do you know Rebecca Grayson?”

Gerald frowned, his brows knitting. He blinked, confusion written across his face, his lips parting as though to speak, but no words came.

Marcus tilted his head, smirk tugging at his mouth as if he already knew the battle happening in Gerald’s mind.

Gerald’s eyes widened. His voice came out in a hushed, broken whisper. “What are you saying?”

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