The Lycan King's Second Chance Mate: Rise of the Traitor's Daughter
Chapter 241: The lines between Light and Shadow

Chapter 241: The lines between Light and Shadow

Natalie~

The teleportation pulled at my bones like invisible threads being yanked by unseen hands. The dungeon walls dissolved into pure light, and in the next breath, we landed—hard.

I stumbled forward, my shoes meeting the polished wooden floor of Michael Blackthorn’s living room. The shift in atmosphere was jarring—no longer the cold, metallic scent of damp stone and rotting secrets, but the warm musk of leather, dust, and fireplace embers.

Griffin dropped to his knees beside me, chest heaving, face as pale as ash.

"Well..." he panted, offering me a crooked, exhausted smile. "That was... exhilarating."

I didn’t laugh. I didn’t smile. My hand was still clenched in Zane’s. His grip didn’t loosen, and neither did mine.

Griffin looked up at me then, and for a split second, something unguarded—something painfully human—flashed in his eyes. "Thank you," he said, voice calm in a way that didn’t match the tremble beneath it. "For letting me talk to Darius. For giving me the chance to say what I needed to say before..."

He hesitated, the words catching like thorns in his throat.

"Before I die from—"

"No." The word came out sharp and fast, puncturing through his sentence like a bullet.

He blinked, startled by the suddenness of it.

"No more of that talk," I said firmly. "You’re not dying, Griffin."

"But... Shadow—"

The name spilled from his lips like venom, and in that instant, everything changed.

He doubled over without warning, a grotesque, wet retching sound tearing through the stillness. His hands flew to his stomach. Blood hit the polished floor in thick, violent splashes. He convulsed, choking, the crimson streaking down his chin in rivulets.

"Griffin!" Michael’s voice cracked with panic as he lunged forward, catching his son just before he collapsed completely. His face was twisted in horror. "What’s happening to him? What’s wrong with my son?!"

"Don’t let him hit the ground—" I was already moving, the glow from my palms flaring to life, golden and hot, but Michael had him—arms locked tight around Griffin’s trembling body like he could physically anchor him to life.

"He’s burning up," Michael gasped, wiping the blood from Griffin’s mouth with shaking fingers. "Goddess, he’s dying—Natalie, please. Help him!"

"He’s not dying," I said, dropping to my knees beside them. "Not yet. Not on my watch."

Jasmine’s voice moved through my mind like a cold wind. "He dared to speak the name. The darkness hears. Even whispered, it listens."

I didn’t hesitate.

I slammed a glowing hand against Griffin’s chest, letting the light pour from me like liquid fire. Jasmine’s power braided into mine—raw, wild, defiant—lighting up every inch of him from the inside. The shadows that clung to his spirit hissed and writhed, but I didn’t flinch.

Griffin arched, gasping like he’d just surfaced from drowning. The light surged, then slowly dimmed as the darkness peeled away, shrieking its silent protest.

He coughed—less blood this time—and then slumped against Michael’s chest, pale and shaking, but breathing.

I stood over him, arms crossed, glaring like a furious schoolteacher who’d caught her favorite student pulling something incredibly stupid.

"What did I say?" I snapped. "Don’t speak his name. Not Shadow. Not Kalmia. Not even a cursed syllable of that nightmare. Not while I’m still fighting to fix this mess and keep you breathing."

Griffin’s lips parted like he wanted to argue—but I raised a finger.

"Ah ah," I warned. "Unless you want your insides to melt out of your ears, zip it."

His mouth snapped shut. Good boy.

"And stop talking about dying," I added, my voice softening only slightly. "You forget who I am, huh? I’m the freaking Celestial Princess. I’ve raised people from the dead, Griffin. I will not let you die."

His gaze locked onto mine—haunted, guilty, and something else. Something... grateful.

He gave me a weak nod.

"Okay," he murmured. "Okay."

From behind me, Zane cleared his throat, his voice low and controlled. "Natalie. Griffin. I want both of you to come to the palace."

I turned to him, blinking. "What?"

He stepped closer, his eyes unreadable, but there was something warm beneath the surface. Like he was being... possessive.

"It’s safer," he said simply. "Until Fox finds the Soul Sucker stone and this mess is behind us, you’re both staying with me."

Griffin looked too tired to protest. He just let out a tired groan and gave a thumbs-up from Michael’s arms.

Michael, however, blinked at Zane like he’d just handed him the keys to heaven.

"Thank you," he said, voice trembling with relief. "Thank you for taking my son in."

I could tell he wanted to ask what the hell was really going on—but I also saw the quiet understanding in his eyes. I guessed Griffin hadn’t told his father everything. Not the part about having to stay near me always. About our shared tether until Kalmia and Shadow were destroyed.

And I didn’t ask.

I simply didn’t care.

One Week Later

The palace was still overwhelming as always.

Towering spires shimmered like they were spun from starlight, reaching high enough to whisper secrets to the clouds. Silver-veined balconies twisted with glowing vines, humming softly with life. The air was steeped in the scent of enchanted rosewood and the low, steady thrum of ancient magic—it pulsed all around like the heartbeat of the kingdom itself.

And through it all, Zane never strayed far. Not even for a second.

He tracked my every movement like he was afraid I’d evaporate or get kidnapped by Griffin if he blinked. I’d catch him staring sometimes—those piercing blue eyes shadowed with something raw, something fragile.

Like he still couldn’t believe I was really here.

Alex was my little moonbeam—always within arm’s reach. He latched onto me like I was his only link to this strange new reality, forever tugging at my hand, begging for bedtime stories, curling into my side like he’d never let go.

One night, under the soft glow of moonlight pouring through the garden terrace, he grinned up at me, tiny fingers curled into mine.

"Mommy Natalie and Daddy in one house again," he whispered, his voice wrapped in wonder. "Now we’re a real family."

My heart twisted and melted at the same time. I kissed his forehead and held him close. "Yeah, sweetheart," I murmured. "We really are."

The king greeted me like I was a long-lost daughter. Tears weren’t far from his eyes when he pulled me into a crushing embrace. He said I’d brought warmth back to the palace—like I’d lit a fire in a home that had grown cold.

He gifted me an entire wing of the estate. Said tradition demanded I sleep separately from Zane until the official mating ceremony, which he claimed would be the event of the century. He was already neck-deep in planning it—talking guest lists, fireworks, celestial orchestras. The whole kingdom would watch.

Still, most nights I found myself in Zane’s room, tangled in his sheets, listening to the rise and fall of his breath like it was the only lullaby that mattered.

Jasmine found the whole thing hilarious. "Red tells me Zane paces like a caged beast when we’re not around," she said with a smirk. "Honestly, it’s like watching a war general fall apart. Kinda adorable."

But the sweetness didn’t last.

Three days after I moved in, the dreams returned.

Every. Single. Night.

Kalmia.

That ghost of a woman. Pale as snow, lips the color of fresh blood. Her eyes didn’t just look at you—they stripped you, tore into the fabric of your soul and left it shivering. Her voice was sugar-laced venom, a melody that curled around your ribs and squeezed.

And those claws—long, silvered things—reached out from shadows that didn’t belong to this world.

She came for me in the dark. Again and again.

"You don’t deserve this body," she hissed in my dream, circling me. "You’re borrowing what should’ve been mine."

"Come and take it then," I spat back, summoning light to my hands.

Jasmine roared inside me, our power mingling, and we fought like the heavens themselves had declared war.

Every time—I won.

Every time—I woke up breathless, skin damp with sweat, and cold.

So, so cold.

Kalmia’s presence lingered. Like frost in the corners of the room, like something watching.

Jasmine hated it.

"She’s getting bolder. Next time, we won’t wake up so easily."

But the worst part?

It was Zane.

He was slipping.

It started small—almost invisible.

"I think I slept weird," he mumbled one morning, pressing his hand to his chest. "Feels... tight."

I tried to laugh it off. Play it cool. But my heart dropped.

Werewolves don’t get sick. It’s just... not a thing.

And Lycans? Especially not.

Not someone like Zane.

He wasn’t just a werewolf—he was the werewolf. The first. The origin.

Forged in the sacred moonlight of the goddess herself.

His blood carried the beginning of it all—strength that made mountains kneel, a legacy whispered in the howls of every pack across the world.

Zane wasn’t supposed to falter. He wasn’t supposed to bleed or break or fade.

But then he stumbled during breakfast, his hand knocking over a glass like his body forgot how to function for a second. It was a miracle the king didn’t notice.

Another time, on the training grounds, I watched him crumple mid-swing. Collapsed. Out cold for thirty terrifying seconds.

That was it for me. No waiting. No doubting.

I gave him everything. Every last spark of celestial energy I could summon, pouring it into him like my life depended on it. It actually did.

My light wrapped around him, shielding, purging, trying to drive out whatever rot was worming its way into him.

It worked—for a moment. A breath.

But only a breath.

Because I could see it.

He was dimming. Dimming like a star on the edge of collapse.

And Zane wasn’t the only one.

Griffin was falling too.

There were days he wouldn’t come out of his room. His voice? Barely a whisper. His skin? Washed out, gray where there used to be color. There were shadows under his eyes that looked carved in, like sleep had abandoned him altogether.

And that’s when it slammed into me like ice water in my veins.

This wasn’t random.

Zane’s illness wasn’t stress or exhaustion.

Something ancient was coiling around both of them. Feeding on them. Draining them, slowly, methodically.

And deep down, in the part of me that knew how monsters think...

I recognized the touch.

Shadow. Kalmia.

They had gotten to Zane too.

Kalmia’s grip was tightening. Her hunger, growing.

If I didn’t unravel this fast—

If I didn’t figure out what to be done quickly—

I wouldn’t just lose Griffin.

I’d lose Zane.

And if that happened? If she took him from me?

I’d raze the sky. I’d set the oceans on fire. I’d burn the entire world to ash and make her watch.

Because Zane was mine. And I wasn’t letting him go.

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