The Lycan King's Second Chance Mate: Rise of the Traitor's Daughter Chapter 152: Easter’s Energy

Jacob~

I never imagined I’d find myself at a run-down carnival, tossing plastic rings like so carefree mortal while a stubborn human plotted her petty revenge on a smirking ga vendor. But here I was—laughing. Actually laughing.

.

The Wolf Spirit. Mist. The first howl beneath the moon. Father of all werewolves.

I’ve walked through centuries as breath and shadow—woven from wind, forged in earth’s core, sparked by starlight, and shaped from ocean’s sorrow. My brothers carry the weight of singular elents. I... carry them all.

And yet here I stood, behind a woman who was hurling rings not at bottles but at actual people, her pout deepening with every missed shot.

And gods help —I was enjoying it.

Easter had this maddening effect on . She could be sarcastic and fiery one mont, soft and unsure the next, and sohow I found myself chasing each version of her like they were rare stars that only I had the honor of witnessing.

I opened the car door for her that night after the carnival ended, and as she slid in with a satisfied sigh, I found myself smiling. Actually smiling. Like my lips had forgotten what it ant to be serious.

I drove with the window down, letting the wind carry the scent of the earth, the stars, and the woman beside . She was humming along to a soulful song that made her sway like moonlight over a quiet lake, and I... I tapped the steering wheel like a man who hadn’t once commanded empires.

She teased about dancing.

I told her the wind danced for . And sohow, she found that endearing.

It was ridiculous.

I’d lived for centuries. I’d seen kingdoms rise and fall. I’d walked through fire and blood and ice. I’d been worshipped, feared, hunted, and begged for. But nothing—nothing—had ever felt as consuming as Easter leaning her head back to laugh in my passenger seat.

Then, of course, she announced she needed to pee.

I offered a magical solution—half-joking, half-very-serious—but she refused. Said that was a line she wouldn’t cross. I didn’t push. I pulled into a nearby gas station and parked beneath the too-bright lights.

She ran out, promising I shouldn’t vanish without her.

"As if I could," I murmured to myself, resting my arm on the window and watching her disappear into the store.

I leaned back, the engine humming softly beneath .

The mory of her laughter played on a loop in my head. I could still see her grinning, cotton candy stuck to her cheek, her eyes full of mischief. I felt light—like the wind in my na. I hadn’t felt this way in... ever.

My brothers and sister would howl with laughter if they saw now. Mist—brought low by a human girl with a soft voice and eyes that made the stars feel dull.

I closed my eyes, a quiet chuckle slipping out.

How ridiculous. How real.

And then—I felt it.

Easter’s energy.

I’ve always seen more than just faces—I see energy. Auras pulsing with color, emotion woven into light. Every feeling has a shade, every lie a flicker, every truth a glow.

Easter’s energy had always been sothing otherworldly to . While mortals trudged through life dimly lit, she burned with a light I couldn’t na. Her aura danced in soft waves—gentle blues that soothed the storm inside , warm golds that made ache for sothing I couldn’t define. And when she was stirred, excited or defiant, streaks of bold purple rippled through her like thunder chasing lightning.

From the gas station, even through walls and steel and noise, I saw her colors shift.

Blue. Gold. Familiar. Comforting.

Then—

A sharp flare of yellow.

Surprise.

Followed instantly by a violent tangle of gray, deep green, and a sickly, crawling orange.

Confusion. Fear. Sadness. Anxiety.

The smile vanished from my face like mist in firelight.

I didn’t think. I didn’t breathe.

I vanished.

The world blinked—and I was there, standing in the hallway just outside the restroom. The air was heavy with her pain. I didn’t need to kick down the door. I didn’t need force.

I simply called her na.

"Easter."

One word. Enough to summon her.

She burst from the bathroom like a storm wave crashing against stone, colliding with at full force. Her body folded into mine as if she belonged there. I caught her without thinking—my arms closing around her, grounding her, grounding . Her fingers clutched my shirt in tight, trembling fists, and I could feel the ripple of every emotion she was fighting to hold back.

My instincts roared awake.

I was about to ask what happened—

When they appeared.

Two won stepped out behind her like shadows with sharp edges. Middle-aged. Dressed like small-town secrets. One wore a na tag—Gloria. The other had none, but wore her judgnt proudly, like a scent she bathed in.

Their eyes swept over Easter. Then landed on .

"Oh my," Gloria gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. "Is this your husband?"

The second woman’s eyes narrowed to slits. "That’s not Ruben. I know Ruben. You’re not him."

Easter stiffened.

I pulled her closer.

The woman didn’t stop. Her words struck like barbed wire. "So you’re still wayward, huh? Just like in the old days. Cheating on Ruben now? My God."

Gloria clicked her tongue like a disappointed church bell. "Sinful. Very sinful. And after everything your poor parents did for you. Do they even know you’re here—with him? In the middle of the night?"

I stepped forward, slow and silent as death, my voice colder than the wind on a mountain peak.

"Say another word," I growled, "and I will strangle both of you."

Their faces paled. But I wasn’t done.

I summoned my power of sight.

Their lives unfolded before like torn pages soaked in secrets.

"You," I said, pointing at Gloria, "wrap yourself in holy words while blackmailing your neighbor’s teenage daughter. All to keep her quiet about the affair you had with her father. He’s dead now, isn’t he? And yet... you still collect your favors."

Her mouth dropped open—but no sound ca.

"And you," I turned to the unnad woman, "Susan. Yes, I know your na. Susan Margaret Dale. You once told the deacon’s wife that Easter seduced a married man. Bold, considering you’ve been paying off your own abortion clinic visits in cash to keep them off record—three of them. From three different n. None of whom were your husband."

Susan paled. "How do you—?"

"How do I know?" I echoed, stepping closer, eyes glowing. "I see everything. The lies. The guilt. The things you whisper into the dark when you think no one is listening."

They both began to cry.

"You dare condemn her?" I thundered. "You?"

They turned to run.

But not before Gloria hissed, "We’ll tell her parents! They’ll know the truth!"

I bared my teeth and they ran.

They actually ran, skirts fluttering, heels clacking, weeping into their sleeves like the cowards they were.

I turned back to Easter.

She hadn’t moved.

Her face was pale, eyes wide, shoulders trembling like a glass about to shatter.