The Lycan King's Second Chance Mate: Rise of the Traitor's Daughter Chapter 76: The Wolf and The Demon

Cassandra~

I never liked the sll of burning flesh—especially when it was my own.

The fire had consud everything: my ho, my family, my na. Even now, I can still hear the crackling flas licking at my skin, the bitter scent of charred fur, the screams—so mine, so theirs.

They had bound , stripped , and tossed onto that pyre like I was nothing more than a broken, unwanted thing. I could still feel the ropes biting into my wrists, soaked in the blood of my struggle, the laughter of those I once called packmates.

"She killed them all," soone whispered.

"She’s a curse!" another voice sneered.

"Burn her before she kills us too!"

But before I get to the fire, I need to tell you how this nightmare began.

*******

I was born into the Wolfcrest Pack, one of the strongest and most respected werewolf packs in the region. My parents, revered warriors, raised with love and discipline. I was the youngest child, the only girl among four protective older brothers who made it their mission to keep safe and happy.

Life in Wolfcrest was perfect.

I rember waking up to the scent of fresh bread, my mother humming in the kitchen as she kneaded dough. My father would be outside training new warriors, his booming laughter shaking the walls as he sparred with my brothers. They were all tall, strong, and fierce—everything a Wolfcrest warrior was supposed to be.

And ? I was their spoiled little princess.

"Cassie, you’ve been hiding from training again," my eldest brother, Tobias, teased, ruffling my curls as I sat in the sun, pretending to read a book.

"I’m not hiding," I shot back, swatting his hand away. "I’m just... preserving my energy."

"You’re preserving your laziness," my second brother, Julian, laughed.

"You should be grateful," I said, grinning. "What if I get too strong and start beating you all?"

They howled with laughter. "We’d love to see you try!"

It was always like this—endless teasing, love, and warmth.

My uncle, my father’s younger brother, was Beta of the pack. He wasn’t as warm as my parents, but he always treated well. He was strict, yes, but he never once raised his voice at .

That was my life. A family that adored , a pack that cherished .

Until the night everything burned.

*******

I woke to the scent of blood.

It was thick, tallic, suffocating. My throat felt dry, my limbs weak as if I had been drugged.

I forced my eyes open, and what I saw...

I wish I had never woken up.

The living room—where we had all gathered just hours before for dinner—was drenched in blood. The walls, the furniture, the floor...

And in the middle of the carnage, my family lay torn apart.

My mother’s body was slumped over the couch, her throat shredded beyond recognition. My father was on the floor, his eyes lifeless, his chest ripped open. My brothers—my strong, brave, invincible brothers—were scattered around, their bodies dismbered, their faces frozen in expressions of horror.

And ?

I was lying right in the middle of them, covered in their blood.

My hands, my clothes—everything was soaked.

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. My heart pounded so hard it felt like it would burst.

I wanted to scream, but no sound ca out.

How? How did this happen?

I tried to rember. The last thing I recalled was my mother kissing my forehead before I went to bed. I had felt safe. Loved.

And now...

My whole world was gone.

I scrambled to my feet, my legs shaking beneath . "No, no, no," I whispered. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.

The door burst open.

I turned, and there stood my uncle.

His gaze swept over the room, taking in the slaughter. His eyes landed on —standing alone, covered in blood—and sothing in his face twisted.

I reached out to him, my voice broken. "Uncle, I—I don’t know what happened. I just woke up and—"

His expression hardened into sothing terrifying, his voice laced with disbelief and disgust. "What have you done?"

I froze. "What?"

"You killed them." His voice was cold, final.

"No!" I shook my head violently. "I didn’t! I swear! I—I don’t know what happened! I would never—"

But he wasn’t listening.

He turned on his heel and stord out. Seconds later, a deafening howl tore through the air, summoning the pack.

And then they ca.

They flooded into the house, their eyes widening at the massacre before them. The gasps, the murmurs, the disgusted glares—it was like knives slicing through my skin.

"Look at her," one of them sneered.

"Her own family!" another whispered in horror.

"She’s a demon," an elder growled. "No wolf could do this."

I tried to speak, but my voice was drowned out by their accusations.

"It’s the only explanation," my uncle said, his voice full of conviction. "No rogue broke in. There was no struggle. She’s the only one left alive."

"No!" I scread, tears streaming down my face. "I didn’t—please, I don’t know what happened!"

But they didn’t care.

The pack had already made their decision.

The next thing I knew, I was dragged outside, my arms wrenched behind my back. I kicked, I thrashed, but they were stronger. They were warriors. And I was just a terrified girl.

A stake was driven into the ground in the center of the village. Wood was piled at my feet.

I looked around wildly, searching for a friendly face. Soone—anyone—who would believe .

But all I saw was hatred.

The flas were lit.

The fire roared to life, licking at my skin.

And as the heat consud , I realized...

I was truly alone.

I don’t rember screaming. I do rember the heat—unforgiving, hungry, a beast that wanted to swallow whole.

But I wasn’t ready to die.

I half shifted, I clawed, I kicked, I bit. My nails, already shifting into claws, tore through the ropes binding . The pain was unbearable, but pain was sothing I had to embrace. I forced myself through the inferno, my fur singeing, my skin bubbling. The flas did not let go without a fight.

The pack had gathered to watch die, but they had underestimated . The mont my bonds snapped, I lunged. My hands burned, but my claws were still sharp. I slashed at the nearest face—my uncle. His howl of agony was like music.

Chaos erupted. They had thought I was weak, broken, but I had never been those things. I had been loyal, trusting, naive—but not weak. Not anymore.

They ca for , a dozen wolves shifting, their eyes glowing in the darkness. I shifted, too, ignoring the fire still licking at my legs. I was smaller than them, but I was faster. My claws found throats, my teeth found flesh.

And then I ran.

I ran faster than I ever had in my life. The scent of smoke clung to , but I didn’t stop. I didn’t look back.

I was sixteen, alone, and now a rogue.

*******

The years blurred together into an endless, rciless hunt. Hunger gnawed at my insides, the cold bit deep, and loneliness wrapped around like a second skin. I had no pack, no ho—just the raw instinct to survive.

I killed to live. I lived to run.

And then I found her.

Or maybe she had been waiting for all along.

I had been running for days, my body broken, my senses dulled by exhaustion. My bare feet were torn and bloody from the jagged rocks beneath , my ribs sticking out like the bones of a starved beast. I didn’t know where I was going—only that I couldn’t stop.

Then, the forest changed.

One mont, I was pushing through thick underbrush, the scent of damp earth and rotting leaves filling my nose. The next, I stepped into sothing... wrong. The air was different here—still, heavy, humming with sothing ancient. The trees stood impossibly tall, their blackened trunks stretching toward a sky I could no longer see. There was no wind, no birds, no life.

It was the kind of dark that swallowed sound.

And I wasn’t alone.

A voice curled through the silence, wrapping around like smoke.

"Cassandra."

It was a purr, rich and smooth, a whisper that slithered down my spine and settled in my bones.

I turned, and she was there.

Kalmia.

She was not human. Not wolf. Not anything that should exist in this world.

Her beauty was unnatural, carved too precisely, as if reality had struggled to shape her. Her skin was as smooth as obsidian, lips painted in a black so deep it seed to drink the light around it. Her eyes—gods, her eyes—were endless, vast voids of shifting darkness, like the space between the stars.

I tried to speak, but my throat was raw, my body failing .

She tilted her head, studying as one might examine a dying bird. "You are broken."

It wasn’t a question.

I had no energy to argue.

"Do you want to live?"

A hollow laugh scraped out of my throat. "Not sure if living is worth much these days."

She stepped closer, her movent unnervingly smooth. When she touched my chin, I felt both ice and fire, a sensation that burned and froze at once.

"I can give you more than life, child," she murmured. "I can give you power."

I should have run.

I should have run.

But I was tired. Tired of running. Tired of bleeding. Tired of being weak.

"What’s the price?" I whispered.

Her smile could have frozen the sun. "Vampire’s Blood."

*******

That was twelve years ago.

Twelve years of hunting. Twelve years of killing. Twelve years of painting the world red in her na.

Vampires.

So scread. So begged. So fought with every ounce of their immortal strength. It didn’t matter. They all bled the sa in the end.

But the rare ones—the ones Kalmia wanted most—were different. Their blood was thick with sothing ancient, sothing powerful. They were harder to find. Harder to kill.

Harder to make bleed.

I sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor of a ruined chapel, the scent of old blood thick in the air. A body lay slumped against the altar, its throat a gaping ruin.

I exhaled, tilting my head back, letting my eyes close for a brief mont.

"Kalmia," I murmured. "Are you ever going to tell why you need their blood?"

She didn’t appear with sound. She never did.

One mont, I was alone. The next, she was beside , sitting gracefully as if she had always been there. Like the shadows themselves had birthed her.

Her fingers trailed through my thick curls, the sensation both soothing and unnerving.

"Do you doubt , little wolf?"

"Never."

It was the truth.

Kalmia had saved . She had made strong. She was my mother, my goddess, my purpose. If she asked to carve my own throat open, I would do it without hesitation.

Her sharp nails ghosted over my cheek, enough to tease pain but not quite draw blood.

"There is another one," she whispered.

I straightened. "Where?"

"A city called Vareth."

I had never heard of it. It didn’t matter. My job was not to question—only to obey and Kalmia would protect .

Kalmia leaned closer, her breath cold against my ear. "He will be difficult to find. But I will guide you."

I nodded, rising to my feet. There was nothing else to say.

But as I stepped out of the ruined chapel, the scent of old blood still clinging to my skin, sothing felt different.

The air slled sharper. The shadows stretched longer.

For the first ti in twelve years, a whisper of unease brushed against the edges of my mind—a predator’s instinct honed by blood and survival. Whatever waited for in Vareth wasn’t just another hunt. It wouldn’t bleed easy. It wouldn’t die easy.

This ti, I might be the prey.