The Lycan King's Second Chance Mate: Rise of the Traitor's Daughter Chapter 243: A Subconscious Call

Jacob~

The ache never left. Not really.

It just... moved around.

It would hide behind my ribs when I distracted myself, or curl up inside my throat whenever I laughed at so beautiful mory of her. But that morning, it pressed like a weight straight against my chest—as if soone had cracked my bones and stuffed grief beneath them.

I was lying on the roof of an old chapel, surrounded by mist that I hadn’t even summoned. I’d slipped out of my realm again, back to earth, drawn by so restless part of that just wanted to exist in the sa world she did, even if distance kept us apart. My fingers traced the familiar paths of my skin, a quiet plea to stop thinking about her—knowing I wouldn’t.

I thought of her laugh. The way she used to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear when she was nervous. The way she used to say my na like it belonged to her.

But Easter didn’t rember any of that now.

She didn’t rember .

And I had made sure of it.

I was just about to sink back into that fog again—numb, hollow—when sothing snapped inside . It was like my soul twisted. The pain in my chest tripled, tearing through like lightning, and my entire body seized.

"Ah—!" I staggered upright, clutching my ribs.

And instantly, I knew.

Sothing was wrong. Terribly wrong.

I tore down the walls I’d built around my bond with Easter, shattering the lock like glass. My spirit reached for hers—and what I saw...

Oh mother! No!

She was on the ground.

Curled in on herself.

Groaning. Bleeding.

I didn’t think. I didn’t breathe. I didn’t care that I’d sworn to stay away.

In less than a heartbeat, I was there.

The street was quiet, birdsong interrupted only by the broken whimper of a woman who never should’ve had to suffer again. Easter lay crumpled on the gravel path, her knees scraped raw, her curly brown hair tangled and matted with blood and dirt. Her hands clutched her stomach. The scent of iron filled the air.

I dropped to my knees beside her.

"Easter!"

She didn’t move.

I pressed my hands to her cheeks. "Stay with , please... please stay with ..."

Her lips parted slightly, a faint tremble. She was barely conscious. Her pulse fluttered against my fingers like a frightened bird.

And then I saw it. The blood.

No...

The fall had affected her baby.

The realization hit like a hurricane.

I pressed my hands over her lower abdon, calling every ounce of healing I had, pulling on the ancient spirit inside . Golden light poured from my palms, threads of energy weaving into her like silken strands of life. I closed my eyes and whispered to the baby inside her—not in words, but in soul. "Hold on. Stay. You are wanted. You are loved."

Easter let out a weak gasp, her back arching slightly, and I held her tighter.

"There you are," I murmured. "I’ve got you. I won’t let you go."

The light faded. The bleeding stopped. Her breathing evened out, though her body was still trembling.

I could’ve stayed there forever—just holding her, soaking in the relief—but I knew I couldn’t. She’d wake up. She’d see . She’d try to rember things she wasn’t ready to rember. I had erased myself from her life to protect her, not traumatize her all over again.

So I took her in my arms, soft and careful, and whispered, "You won’t rember this. But you’ll be okay."

I teleported us to the nearest hospital, materializing behind a supply building where no one could see.

Inside, I found a doctor alone in the break room and touched his temple lightly, letting my energy thread into his thoughts. He blinked once, dazed, and then nodded slowly.

"A stranger found her on the road," I instructed. "A kind passerby. No na. No face. Just soone who didn’t want credit."

"Yes," he repeated softly. "Found her. Kind passerby."

"When she wakes up," I said, lowering my voice to a whisper, "you’ll tell her the fall looked worse than it was. That the baby is fine. That she just needs rest. She’ll believe you."

He nodded again.

I stood in the corner of her hospital room, watching them settle her into the bed, hook up monitors. The white sheets looked too sterile beneath her. She always belonged sowhere warr, sowhere soft. Sowhere wild and free. Not here.

She stirred.

My heart slamd into my ribs.

Her lashes fluttered, dark against her cheeks, and then, out of nowhere—

"Jacob..." she breathed.

I froze.

She didn’t open her eyes. She wasn’t fully awake. Her voice was soft, broken, the way a child calls out for soone in a nightmare. But it was my na.

"Jacob..."

I stepped forward instinctively, halfway to her bedside before I realized it.

Had she rembered?

Had so part of her mind clawed past the fog I’d buried it under?

Her brow furrowed. Her lips parted again.

"Jacob... Rose... please..."

I stopped moving.

My knees almost buckled.

She wasn’t calling for . She was calling to . Asking to protect her daughter.

Even in her dreams, even in pain and half-consciousness, she trusted .

My throat burned.

I knelt beside her, brushing a strand of her hair back, careful not to touch her skin. "I will," I whispered. "I swear it. I’ll watch over her. Both of you."

She didn’t respond. Her breathing settled again.

But my soul was in ruins.

I had stayed away to give her peace. To offer her a life without the weight of my world. And yet... her spirit still reached for mine. Even when her mind had forgotten, her heart rembered.

I stood slowly.

I shouldn’t stay.

If she woke up fully and saw , everything I’d done to give her freedom would unravel.

So I turned to leave.

But at the door, I hesitated. I looked back.

She was curled into herself again, smaller than she should be, her hand resting gently over the place I had healed. The blanket rose and fell with each breath. And her other hand had reached out blindly across the sheets... searching.

For what, I didn’t know.

Or maybe I did.

"The answer is clear as day."

My mother’s words echoed through , like wind through hollow bones.

Maybe this was the path I had to walk—not one of absence, but one of presence in secret. Protecting her without demanding to be rembered. Loving her in silence, without ever asking for the sound of my na.

I looked at her one last ti.

And walked into the hallway.

Not because I wanted to.

But because I had to.

Because love—real, ruinous, eternal love—sotis ant being the shadow that held her up, not the light that asked her to look.

And I would do it again. A thousand tis.

For her.

For the child growing inside her.

For the tiny girl who once looked up at with ancient eyes and whispered, "I love you, Uncle Jacob,"

I loved them both—and that love was all the reason I needed to stick around.