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

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 some beautiful memory of her. But that morning, it pressed like a weight straight against my chest—as if someone 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 some restless part of me that just wanted to exist in the same 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 name like it belonged to her.

But Easter didn’t remember any of that now.

She didn’t remember me.

And I had made sure of it.

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

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

And instantly, I knew.

Something 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 me, please... please stay with me..."

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 me like a hurricane.

I pressed my hands over her lower abdomen, calling every ounce of healing I had, pulling on the ancient spirit inside me. 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 me. She’d try to remember things she wasn’t ready to remember. 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 remember 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 name. No face. Just someone 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 somewhere warmer, somewhere soft. Somewhere wild and free. Not here.

She stirred.

My heart slammed 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 someone in a nightmare. But it was my name.

"Jacob..."

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

Had she remembered?

Had some 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 me. She was calling to me. Asking me to protect her daughter.

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

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 remembered.

I stood slowly.

I shouldn’t stay.

If she woke up fully and saw me, 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 me, 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 remembered. Loving her in silence, without ever asking for the sound of my name.

I looked at her one last time.

And walked into the hallway.

Not because I wanted to.

But because I had to.

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

And I would do it again. A thousand times.

For her.

For the child growing inside her.

For the tiny girl who once looked up at me 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.

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