A Warrior's Second Chance Novels & Stories

The small family we had created held onto each other, and Broderick held no amusement in his gaze. "The hell is this?" Broderick yelled again. "You fucking changed too? Are you marked?!" This Broderick certainly knew a lot for a human. Whether he found out on his own or someone told him, the witches will have a time erasing his memories. "Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to calm down and step away," A vampire warrior stepped from the shadows. The voice was deep, rougher than that of a typical vampire. The scruff on his face was neatly trimmed, but his wild hair hid his eyes. The dark, distinctive attire was filled with black leather, knives, a sword, and even a bow on his back.

There is a wild look in the warrior’s eyes as he charges toward me. I aim my gun at the warrior’s head, but before I pull the trigger, another warrior bites my elbow, causing me to drop my weapon. I feel the warrior’s teeth sink into the flesh of my arm and know that I am in trouble. The warrior shakes his head violently, and my shoulder pops out of joint. “Fuck,” I scream out. As the pain brings me to my knees.

A name that should have belonged to someone else—someone lost to time, to fate, to the cruel whims of the Moon Goddess. Yet here he stood, flesh and blood, his blue eyes pinning me in place. “Surprised?” His voice was calm, steady, but I caught the slight tension in it. Like a blade just before it cut. I took a shaky step back. “No. This isn’t—You can’t be—” “But I am.” A ghost of a smirk tugged at his lips, but there was no humor in it. Only something darker. The fire crackled between us, casting shadows across his face. He was different now. Sharper. The man I once seen—my second chance mate—was gone. In his place stood a warrior. A man carved from war, exile, and something else I couldn’t

More than that, I had finally found a community. The back-of-house staff, initially wary of the new waitress, had warmed up. Kaito, the sous chef who often worked under Larry, was a relentless perfectionist but had started sharing tips on maximizing table turns. I often shared a smoke break with Mark, discussing everything from city politics to the terrible pop music we hated. I was no longer the single mother with a messy past; I was Jamie, the unflappable floor server who could handle any rush.

He collapsed with a wet gurgle, his eyes wide with a shock that would forever be frozen on his face. They underestimated me. They saw an old man, a cripple, a relic from a bygone era. They saw the missing arm and the grey in my hair and thought I was easy prey. They were wrong. I was a living relic of war, a creature forged in the crucible of a hundred battles, a Spartan of the old school, and I had been killing men like these since before they were born. A House Ares warrior, a young man with a face full of arrogant confidence, charged me, his sword a clumsy, overeager slash. I didn't even bother to parry. I sidestepped, my movements fluid and economical, and let his momentum carry him past

“I’m here to decide what I can live with.” Lady Serephine’s hand slid from her belly to the edge of her gown, fingers smoothing fabric as if Elowen’s words were merely noise. “Decide,” she echoed softly. “But remember, Lady Elowen. Second wives don’t get to rewrite the story. They only get to accept the ending.”

Aside from being unusually long, they were curved, too—like the claws of a cat. “Stay here,” Mei said. “I’ll give a signal when it’s safe to follow.” Two guards were patrolling the corridor that followed the hallway. Mei took down the first guard by slashing through his neck with her claws before moving on to the second guard. She moved so swiftly and silently that the second guard didn’t even notice her before it was too late. As Jade watched, she couldn’t help but compare Mei to a hunting tiger—agile, quiet, and precise. “You’re really good,” Jade said in admiration right after Mei had made her tenth kill.

They had gotten many than the last time I was here, and their attack harsh but it wasn't something I wasn't prepared for. Yes at firsts they felt confident to face and win me, but when they saw how quickly their comrades die, they became confused and their confusion led me to much greater victory. Soon, more than thirty dead rogue wolf laid before me and I was bloody, not because I was injured but because I was covered with their. I was able to sneak back in, pulling my clothes and getting rid of it. Once I had gotten rid of it, I went to the bathroom, only then did Roman returned, looking all exhausted.

This was what he had been waiting for all these years, a chance to prove himself and take his revenge on the man who had abandoned his mother. But as the days went by, Silas began to realize that he was in over his head. He had no allies, no one he could trust. And as he got closer to the truth, he began to fear for his own safety. Then one night, as he was returning to his room after a long day with the other warriors, he heard a noise behind him. He spun around, ready to defend himself, but it was too late. A hooded figure emerged from the shadows, a dagger glinting in their hand.

I frowned, feeling puzzled. "Once you drop a significant first case, your chances of becoming a warrior become very slim. In fact, you may not receive a new case for several months because you'll be perceived as unserious and having commitment issues," he paused, noticing my stunned expression, "and I can tell from your reaction that you don't want that."