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

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 moment I chose to wipe her memories. Watching over her daughter wasn’t just a duty — it was something 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 some 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 springtime wrapped up in a child."

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

I stood outside Easter’s hospital room for a moment, staring at the closed door, heart thudding slowly in my chest. I wasn’t supposed to be here. I should’ve been gone the moment I stabilized her, but something inside me refused to leave. Something 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 something 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 moment 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 immediately."

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 some ways.

While Easter had been with me... I’d been too focused on me. My power. My instincts. My ancient knowledge. I had been so sure I could handle anything that came 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 meant she needed more than spirit-born protection.

She needed care. Nourishment. 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 dimmed slightly as afternoon rolled in. I stayed by her side the entire time, speaking quietly now and then, even if she couldn’t hear me.

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

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

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

"I know," I said, already standing.

He looked at me, 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 playtime over. I stood cloaked in spirit-form near the edge of the fence, unseen by mortal eyes.

I waited.

Time 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 me. It wasn’t an emergency. 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 me right now."

The guilt stayed. But I let it sit with me.

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 emerald 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 me warmly every time I came 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 time—her gaze locking onto mine for a brief second before it shifted. She didn’t recognize me. Her eyes glazed over, just slightly, like she was staring past me into something else. That was my cue. I reached out with my spirit energy, brushing against the edge of her memory, 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 memories—when I erased Easter’s, it didn’t just stop with her. It rippled outward like a stone in water. Anyone who had known me—or my siblings—through her? Gone. Their memories of us, our world, everything... wiped clean. Like we’d never existed. Like shadows disappearing at sunrise.

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

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

I was about doing the same thing I did to the teacher to Rose but then something 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 me.

I barely caught her before she slammed 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 remember me? Had the memory weaving I did scrambled her mind? She had never called me that. She used to call me "Uncle Jacob." Why—

I immediately 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 shame them into hiding.

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

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

She pulled back slightly and looked up at me 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 memory had slipped through the cracks, whatever force had pulled her back to me—it didn’t matter.

She was mine.