BloodMoon: Captivated by the Forbidden Lycan Alpha
Chapter 169: WHERE THE FUCK IS LORD MARCEL

Chapter 169: WHERE THE FUCK IS LORD MARCEL

{ "A hero is born among a hundred, a wise man is found among a thousand, but an accomplished one might not be found even among a hundred thousand men."}

Rage.

That was the only word that could come close to describing the wildfire surging through me as I left the Kayne secret garden chambers. It burned in my blood, made my fingertips tremble, and turned every breath into a struggle not to scream. The truth, the lies, the performance- I was done.

I stormed home under the paling sky, the first hints of dawn brushing colour across the horizon like a mockery of peace. Ma, Dante, Rolan, and Qadira were still sleeping. Good. I didn’t want to explain. I didn’t want to talk. The shower barely cooled me. My clothes changed, my face dried, my soul still drenched in fury. I left without a word, without a glance back. The silence behind me felt thick with the weight of all I wasn’t saying.

By the time I reached the Coven Council Hall, the city was still yawning into the morning. The council chamber stood quiet, too quiet. Not a single member in sight.

Perfect.

The guards at the entrance barely had time to process my presence. I didn’t stop. Didn’t explain. My boots echoed against the marble like war drums. Their confused murmurs followed me, rising like smoke. I threw open the great doors.

"Freyr?!" one guard managed to blurt, his hand halfway to his weapon.

"Stand down," I snapped without looking.

I walked straight up the aisle, up the long, opulent path that too many feared to tread, and threw myself into Lord Marcel’s seat with a thud that echoed through the empty chamber like thunder. I dared them to stop me as my eyes burned as I scanned the room, daring ghosts and gods alike to speak. The guards stood frozen, watching me with the kind of shock usually reserved for heresy or miracles.

"Go on," I growled under my breath. "Go fetch your coven council members and your Lord. Tell him that I am waiting for him."

I wasn’t here to play anymore, and I was done waiting for the truth as I was ready to burn this farce to the ground. The royal guards just stood there, gaping like fish out of water. No protocol covered this. No scroll or training prepared them for me waltzing in and planting myself in the Lord’s throne like it was mine by birthright.

Which, in some twisted way, maybe it was. For a long breath, they didn’t move. Just stared. Then, one of them blinked, and the spell shattered. They glanced at each other, the silent language of what the hell do we do now pass between them, and in a flurry of motion, they turned on their heels and bolted. Cowards. Or messengers. I didn’t care which. Let them run. Let them fetch the high and mighty Council from their gilded nests. Let them whisper, panic, and try to contain this moment.

Because the moment belonged to me. I exhaled slowly, the fire still licking under my skin, but contained for now. Closing my eyes, I leaned my head back against the cold stone and velvet of the high chair. It was too big. Heavy with the weight of a thousand decisions made without justice, I did not give a care if my presence would cause war. I sat in Lord Marcel’s chair like it had always been mine.

Back straight. Hands on the armrests. Chin high. The room was still empty, save for the whispers of the stone walls and the thud of my heartbeat in my ears. Time stretched like a blade, sharp and slow. I didn’t move. I didn’t blink. Let them see me here. Let them choke on it.

An hour passed, and, finally, the doors creaked open. The first to enter was Armon, of course. Always first to smell blood in the air. His eyes met mine, flicked to the chair beneath me, and then back again. His mouth curled into a smirk like he’d been waiting his whole life for this exact scene to unfold. Aggrey followed, wearing a similar expression like this was some private joke between the two of them, and I was finally delivering the punchline. They didn’t say a word, and they didn’t have to. They just sat down, comfortably amused.

Then came the others, trickling in. One by one. Each faces a different reaction: shock, horror, or confusion. A few froze the moment they saw me. Some murmured, eyes darting to each other like they weren’t sure if they were dreaming or walking into a nightmare.

Desmond Marcel entered stiffly, his jaw clenched so tightly I could practically hear his teeth grinding from across the room. Byron, right behind him, looked like he’d swallowed a blade and couldn’t decide if he wanted to spit it out or let it cut him from the inside. His eyes were locked on the chair, and his fists curled and uncurled like he needed something to break.

I didn’t flinch. I wanted to let them sit with the image of a Kayne draped across their beloved Lord’s throne like a scar on the marble. And then, the last wave, the one that made the air shift.

My mother, Sierra, entered like a storm that had already passed through once and left everything wrecked. Calm on the outside, eyes heavy with something too complex to name. Beside her, Dante and his expression cut deeper than any dagger. He wasn’t surprised. Not entirely. But he wasn’t pleased either. Just watching. Trying to read me like a book he thought he’d already finished. Behind them were Aurora and Nessa, silent shadows with curious, calculating eyes. I could feel them measuring every crack in the room.

No one spoke as the weight of what I’d done sat heavy in the air, thick like the moment before lightning splits the sky. I leaned forward just slightly, letting the silence hang a second longer before I shattered it with my voice.

"I see we’re all here now. "A few heads turned toward me, others looked away, like my voice burned. "So," I smiled, razor-thin. Sharp enough to cut. "Where the fuck is Lord Marcel and his two goons? Or are they hiding like the rats they are?"

My words cracked across the chamber like a whip. The silence shattered as Desmond shot up to his feet so fast his chair scraped violently against the floor. Byron followed, red-faced, practically shaking with rage.

"You insolent little—!" Desmond barked, finger jabbing through the air like he could puncture me with sheer indignation.

"You dare speak like that in this hall?" Byron growled, voice rising over his brother’s, the two of them a chorus of old power crumbling under threat.

But I didn’t flinch and smirked. Slow and deliberate. Letting it settle on my face like a storm cloud about to split open. "You’re loud for men who’ve said nothing while rats ruled your house," I said coldly, my tone dipped in venom.

Then I stood, Slow. Measured. Like the earth was shifting beneath me and roared.

A sound ripped from the deepest part of me, raw, primal, furious. It wasn’t just a yell. It was a summoning. It rolled through the Council Hall like thunder, rattling the ancient walls, sending tremors through the marble beneath our feet. Windows trembled. Chandeliers sway, and every breath in the room caught mid-inhale. Even the royal guard, who had been stoic and silent until now, took a step back and stumbled, bumping into the stone pillar behind him, eyes wide.

I stared at Desmond and Byron, my voice a low growl now, laced with fire.

"Sit. Down."

And they did, not because they wanted to. Not because they agreed. But at that moment, they realized something terrifying: I was ready to take on anyone who stood in my path.

The silence after my roar hung like smoke in the air, thick, choking, undeniable. I stood tall in Lord Marcel’s place, my shadow cast long across the marble floor. All eyes were on me. Some are wide with fear. Others narrowed in resentment. But none of them spoke. I let the silence stretch just long enough for discomfort to curdle into dread. Then I stepped forward, my boots echoing against the polished stone like a slow drumbeat of war.

"I’m only going to say this once," I began, my voice calm now but no less deadly. "Lord Marcel will present himself before this council. He will answer for what he’s done."

I let my eyes sweep across the faces before me, landing hard on each one.

"For years, he has harboured the rot festering beneath Blood Stone Mountain. A creature of the darkest filth in existence. And he’s done it under your noses or with your quiet permission."

A few of the council members shifted in their seats, and then Byron opened his mouth like he wanted to speak.

I held up a hand.

"Don’t."

He froze.

"This isn’t a debate."

I took another step forward. The tension in the room coiled tighter. "If you know where he is, tell me. If you don’t, pray he appears soon." My voice dropped, quiet now. Cold and razor-edged. "And if any one of you thinks you can defend Lord Marcel today—" I paused, letting the weight of my next words settle in the air like a guillotine. "—you will die by my hands."

Gasps. A few muttered curses, and Desmond looked like he might burst a vein in his neck. Agggrey’s smirk faltered, just slightly. Even my mother sat still as stone, unreadable.

"I am done watching someone full of greed and rage war and harbour an evil creature," I said, louder now. "And I swear on my name, on my blood, and the graves of those Marcel left behind, this ends today, more so the death of my father, former coven lord, Dunco Kayne."