A Warrior’s Second Chance novel Chapter 276

ALEXANDER

Faye’s answer hit me like a slow, steady weight. Yes. Just a single word–simple, unadorned–but the meaning behind it was anything but simple.

I stood there for a moment, still holding her hand, trying to process what she had just admitted. My mind was spinning. I wanted to ask questions, to demand answers, but I couldn’t. Not yet. Not when she lookedlike this.

I glanced down at her, scanning for bruises, scratches–anything that suggested the toll of taking down Patrick. But she was clean. Not a single mark. Her hair fell in place as though nothing had happened, her skin smooth, her eyes level and clear.

She radiated a kind of quiet assurance that both unnerved and, strangely, fascinated me. I was staring at her, trying to reconcile the Faye I knew–the Faye I loved–with the Faye who had just killed an alpha and stood before me like it was nothing.

Patrick was an alpha. A strong one. Trained, confident, and dangerous. Subduing him alone would have been a monumental task. Killing him? I could barely imagine it. Yet here she was, claiming exactly that,and somehow she looked untouched by it all. My mind raced, trying to fill in the gaps I knew I would never hear tonight.

I let go of her hand slowly, just enough to step back, giving myself a little breathing room to think.

“How?” I asked. Just the one word. I didn’t dare ask more. I didn’t dare invite any answer that might make the situation more real than it already was.

She stepped closer and whispered something in my ear. Her words were meant only for me; I could feel the weight of them settle deep in my chest.

I stared at her as she pulled back, a casual smile crossing her lips. She tilted her head, her unusual nonchalance in full effect.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” she said, her voice light, almost playful. “I’ll go freshen up and join you for dinner.”

I watched her go, feeling an unsettling mix of admiration, confusion, and–yes–fear. Fear that grief–the grief of losing our unborn child–had transformed her into someone I didn’t fully recognize. Was this strength born of clarity, or was it the first flicker of something darker, something I wasn’t prepared to face?

I wanted to call her back, to question her, to praise her, to scold her. But the words wouldn’t form. I didn’t know if I was supposed to be proud, relieved, worried, or horrified.

Probably all of it.

FAYE

After dinner, Alexander asked if we could talk.

It wasn’t the words themselves that made my shoulders tense–it was the way he said them. Careful. Measured. Like he was stepping onto thin ice and needed both feet steady. I agreed anyway, nodding once, already knowing this conversation had been waiting for us since the moment I told him Patrick was dead.

He suggested we go to the room.

The walk there was quiet. When the door closed behind us, the silence thickened, settling into the corners

like it had always been there, just waiting.

Alexander turned to face me.

“Why did you do it?” he asked.

I blinked.

Not because I didn’t understand the question–but because I hadn’t expected it. Not from him. Not like this. My first instinct was confusion.

I studied his face then, really looked at him. At his eyes.

And that was when it hit me.

Judgment.

Like he was weighing something fragile and deciding whether it had cracked beyond repair.

That was what hurt.

I walked past him and sat on the couch instead, crossing one leg over the other, giving myself space to breathe. He stayed where he was, waiting, watching. That patience of his suddenly felt heavy.

I let out a slow breath. “Why do I feel like you’re judging me?” I asked calmly. “Like I’ve done something you don’t recognize.”

His brows drew together instantly. “That’s not what this is,” he said firmly. “I’m not judging you.”

“But you’re questioning me.”

“Yes,” he admitted. “Because I need to know.”

I laughed softly under my breath, shaking my head. “Need to know what, exactly?”

I stared at him. “Lose myself?”

“Yes,” he said. “The Faye I know is a fighter. A warrior. She faces her enemies head–on. She doesn’t poison people.” His eyes searched mine. “You injected a wolf with silver and wolfsbane and didn’t hesitate. You didn’t feel bad. Isn’t that something I should be worried about?”

For a moment, I just looked at him.

Then I sighed.

Just… done.

“I’m alright,” I said. “I’m not spiraling. I’m not losing my mind. But the Faye you’re talking about?” I shook

my head slowly. “She was pathetic.”

His eyes widened slightly.

“She was always the victim,” I continued. “Always bleeding quietly. Always absorbing cruelty like it was her job. Every lunatic who wanted to hurt something soft found their way to her.”

“That Faye is dead,” I said.

His jaw tightened, but I went on.

“This Faye?” I tapped my chest once. “She’s done being gentle when the world isn’t. She’s done waiting for mercy. I will go after anyone who comes for me or my family. Anyone.”

My voice dropped, cold.

“And like I said,” I added, holding his gaze, “I’m not sorry.”

I let the silence stretch between us before finishing-

“Patrick deserves to go to hell.”