The Lycan King's Second Chance Mate: Rise of the Traitor's Daughter Chapter 244: The Things We Hold Onto

Jacob~

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

Even in her subconscious, Easter’s voice broke through — soft, pleading, laced with a kind of desperation only a mother could carry. She didn’t need to ask. I had already made that promise the mont I chose to wipe her mories. Watching over her daughter wasn’t just a duty — it was sothing etched into my soul. Whether spoken or not, I heard her. And I wasn’t about to let her down. Never again.

I closed my eyes and reached beyond the veil of the present, letting the golden strands of spirit-sight stretch across space. My vision tunneled gently to Rose—sweet, precious Rose. She was safe.

Her laughter rang faintly in my ears, like the bells of so distant temple. She was outside on the small playground of her kindergarten, her curly brown hair bouncing as she ran with a group of kids near a plastic slide shaped like a dragon. I smiled faintly. She was wearing the little purple dress with bunnies that Easter always said made her look "like springti wrapped up in a child."

I counted the hours. Four—maybe five—before I’d need to pick her up. That gave enough ti.

I stood outside Easter’s hospital room for a mont, staring at the closed door, heart thudding slowly in my chest. I wasn’t supposed to be here. I should’ve been gone the mont I stabilized her, but sothing inside refused to leave. Sothing primal. Protective. Mine.

I turned the handle and stepped inside.

The room was quiet—too quiet. A slow, constant beep from the heart monitor was the only sound, apart from the gentle hiss of the IV line. Easter lay curled slightly on her side, the blankets gathered around her like fallen snow, her brown curls fell across the pillow like a halo.

She looked like sothing out of a dream—fragile and lovely, the kind of beauty you were scared to touch in case it vanished.

I sat down beside her and reached for her hand. It was warm. Human. Shaking slightly from the effort of healing. My thumb traced the soft rise of her knuckles, then I leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist.

"You’re going to be okay," I whispered.

She didn’t stir. But her breathing was deeper now, slower. Healing was happening. I knew that already—I was the healing—but I still needed to see her with my own eyes. I needed to touch her to believe it.

Gently, I brushed the hair from her face, revealing the faint freckles dusting her cheeks and nose. Even unconscious, her lips were softly parted like she was about to speak. I leaned forward and kissed her forehead, lingering just a mont longer than I should’ve.

Her blanket had slipped down a little. I lifted it and tucked it snugly under her chin.

"Rest," I murmured. "You’ve earned it. You’ve fought so hard. You and the little one."

A quiet knock interrupted my silence.

I stood swiftly and cracked the door open. A nurse stood there holding a clipboard. Behind her, the doctor I’d spoken to earlier adjusted his coat.

"She’s stable," the doctor said, keeping his voice low. "We’ve got her on fluids to rehydrate her. The baby’s heartbeat is strong."

I nodded. "Good. I need her signed up for antenatal classes here. Proper ones. Regular checkups too."

The doctor blinked. "Of course. We’ll put her on a program imdiately."

The nurse nodded, scribbling on her clipboard. "We’ll take excellent care of her. This hospital—"

"—is one of the best in this city. I know. That’s why I brought her here." I stepped back and let them in, watching as they checked her vitals and adjusted the drip.

As they worked, I stood at the edge of the room, jaw tight.

I had failed her in so ways.

While Easter had been with ... I’d been too focused on . My power. My instincts. My ancient knowledge. I had been so sure I could handle anything that ca up—so confident in my ability to heal, to fix, to protect. I never thought about things like... prenatal vitamins. Heart rate monitors. Educational support.

She was human. And that ant she needed more than spirit-born protection.

She needed care. Nourishnt. Humanity.

I swore then and there I would give her that. Not just the grand, magical things—but the everyday ones. The small ones. The beautiful, boring, necessary things.

Three hours passed.

The lights in the room dimd slightly as afternoon rolled in. I stayed by her side the entire ti, speaking quietly now and then, even if she couldn’t hear .

"You called ," I said once, brushing her cheek again. "Back there, when you were unconscious. You said my na. You asked to protect Rose."

I laughed, softly. "As if I wasn’t already going to."

The doctor returned quietly and checked her one last ti. "She’ll wake soon. Maybe a few minutes. Half an hour at most."

"I know," I said, already standing.

He looked at , puzzled. "You’re leaving?"

I gave a tight smile. "I was never really here."

I pressed one last kiss to her knuckles and whispered, "I’ll see you soon, Easter."

Then I vanished.

Rose’s kindergarten yard was quieting down. Children were being called in, their playti over. I stood cloaked in spirit-form near the edge of the fence, unseen by mortal eyes.

I waited.

Ti passed slowly when you were pretending not to exist.

My lovely sister’s familiar energy tugged at my mind like a thread. Natalie. She was trying to reach . It wasn’t an ergency. If it were, I’d feel her panic. Still, I had never ignored her call before. Not once. In all our long lives, I had always answered.

But today...

Today, I couldn’t.

I closed my eyes and whispered into the void between us: "I’m sorry, Nat. You have Tiger, Fox, Eagle, Zane... even the king if you call him. You’re not alone. But Easter and Rose... they don’t have anyone but right now."

The guilt stayed. But I let it sit with .

Then the school bell rang.

Children flooded out the door in bright-colored jackets and bouncing laughter. I watched from the shadows as they filtered one by one to their parents—mothers with wide smiles, fathers lifting children into the air, car doors slamming as rides pulled away.

And then there she was.

Rose.

Tiny, with those wild curls that danced like her mother’s, and her erald eyes wide with quiet sadness. She stood near the door, clutching her tiny backpack, staring at each father who arrived.

Her teacher—the one who always greeted warmly every ti I ca to pick up Rose from school—placed a hand on her shoulder, smiling gently. "She’ll be here soon, sweetie."

Rose didn’t answer. She just nodded and kept looking.

That did it.

I stepped out of the cloak and walked toward the gate.

The teacher looked up just in ti—her gaze locking onto mine for a brief second before it shifted. She didn’t recognize . Her eyes glazed over, just slightly, like she was staring past into sothing else. That was my cue. I reached out with my spirit energy, brushing against the edge of her mory, soft and careful like turning a page in an old book. Just enough to nudge reality, to fold myself into the story she already believed. In her mind, I made myself Rose’s guardian again.

That’s the thing about rewriting mories—when I erased Easter’s, it didn’t just stop with her. It rippled outward like a stone in water. Anyone who had known —or my siblings—through her? Gone. Their mories of us, our world, everything... wiped clean. Like we’d never existed. Like shadows disappearing at sunrise.

But this? This was stitching myself back in, one thread at a ti.

She blinked again. "Ah—Rose, your guardian’s here."

I was about doing the sa thing I did to the teacher to Rose but then sothing happened I hadn’t anticipated.

Rose turned.

Her eyes locked with mine.

A heartbeat passed.

And then she lit up.

She squealed and ran—ran—straight into my arms.

"Daddy!"

The word shattered .

I barely caught her before she slamd into my chest, her tiny arms wrapping around my leg like vines made of sunlight.

"Daddy!" she said again, laughing, burying her face on my tighs.

I froze.

My mind raced—searching, doubting, terrified. Did she rember ? Had the mory weaving I did scrambled her mind? She had never called that. She used to call "Uncle Jacob." Why—

I imdiately bent to her level. My arms curled around her before I could stop them.

I held her tightly.

Too tightly.

Tears stung my eyes before I could sha them into hiding.

"I missed you," she whispered, her breath warm against my cheek.

I kissed the side of her head, overwheld. "I missed you too, little blossom."

She pulled back slightly and looked up at with the kind of open-hearted certainty only a child could hold. "You’re back."

"I am," I said, voice hoarse. "I’m back."

And I would stay.

Whatever this was—whatever mory had slipped through the cracks, whatever force had pulled her back to —it didn’t matter.

She was mine.