The Lycan King's Second Chance Mate: Rise of the Traitor's Daughter
Chapter 245: The Cold That Followed Her

Chapter 245: The Cold That Followed Her

Sebastian~

It’s funny, really—being technically dead and all, but somehow I’ve never felt more alive than I do now.

Ever since Jacob laced his old, soul-deep magic into Cassandra’s aura, it was like watching her step out of a grayscale painting and back into full-blown color. She smiled more—not the polite, brittle curve of her lips I’d grown used to, but something brighter. Real. Her smile used to be a flicker of sunlight. Now? It was the whole damn sun. She laughed more too, and the sound didn’t come out strained or hollow. It was light. Effortless. Music.

She stopped waking up in the middle of the night, breathless and wild-eyed, like her dreams were clawing her from the inside. The dagger she used to keep tucked in her boot just to go downstairs for a glass of water gathered dust now. That’s how I knew she wasn’t just surviving anymore. She was healing.

The house didn’t feel like a bunker for forbidden love these days. It felt like something new. It felt like a home. A real home.

I still remember the moment she said she wanted to go out on her own. She turned to me with that look—the one that says, "brace yourself, you’re not winning this one."

"I’m going to the store," she said, slipping on her jacket like it was armor.

"Cool," I replied, already halfway to standing. "Let me just grab my—"

Her hand came up, halting me in my tracks like a spell. "Alone, Sebastian. I’m going alone. Just groceries."

I blinked at her like she’d just announced she was quitting her normal life to become a fire juggler on a pirate ship.

"Groceries?" I repeated, dumbfounded. "Cass, the last time you went out alone, a half-blind bloodsucker sniffed you out from five blocks away and tried to trade your location for a cursed coin and a blood bag."

She smirked. "That was before Jacob rewrote my aura, remember?"

I scowled. "Still. That blood sucker probably has cousins."

But she didn’t back down. Of course, she didn’t. She’s stubborn like that—one of the many things I adore and also want to throttle her for.

So she went. And came back. Alive. Smiling. With five bags of snacks I didn’t know she needed and zero blood sucker in tow.

From that day on, she started living again.

We went out together often—restaurants, bookstores, that weird pop-up coffee shop Zane invested in that only serves drinks with affirmations like You’re Enough-latte. I even took her to the company one day, strolled her through the glass doors like the goddess she is.

"This is Cassandra," I told anyone who had the misfortune of standing still long enough. "She’s my girlfriend. Possibly my future wife. You know. No pressure."

She hit my arm for that one, blushing hard. It was adorable.

But still... something gnawed at me.

She wasn’t part of a pack.

I remember the way she froze when we crossed paths with a real wolf pack during a hiking trip we took together. The way her eyes stayed locked on them as their howls echoed through the trees. There was something hollow in her silence, something heavy in the way she stood. Werewolves weren’t made to be alone—not really.

I wanted to give her a family again. A real one. A place she could belong to—people who’d watch her back when I couldn’t. People who wouldn’t ask her to kill or bleed or run. Just... be.

I was already looking. Quietly. Carefully. Vetting every pack with the same scrutiny I reserved for billion-dollar mergers.

But one morning... everything changed.

Cassandra had gone to the store again—said she needed spices, some almond milk, and a specific brand of tea that "didn’t taste like sadness." She kissed me goodbye. Twice.

And I went to my study.

The place was quiet, warm with sunlight filtering through the velvet curtains. My desk was a beautiful mess of contract papers, a chipped mug of blood tea, and a framed photo of Zane trying to scowl while covered in birthday glitter. I was just about to draft a proposal email when it happened.

The temperature dropped.

Not just a breeze. Not a chill.

It was sudden, suffocating frost.

My breath misted in front of me—me, a vampire—and the clock on the wall stopped ticking. The shadows deepened like they were holding their breath. And every single object in the room stilled.

Frozen in time.

Even the flickering scented candle flame hovered mid-dance, suspended.

And then she appeared.

Kalmia.

The demon that had tormented my mate for years.

She didn’t walk in. She didn’t emerge.

She unfolded into the room like a sickness seeping through a crack in the world. Her presence twisted the air, bent the light. Her dress was woven from darkness, her hair a flowing storm, and her eyes—

Gods, her eyes were bottomless pits of cruelty.

"Sebastian Lawrence," she purred, her voice silk and thorns.

I stood slowly, spine stiff, hands clenched.

"You’re trespassing," I said coolly, but my undead heart was thudding like a jackhammer in a coffin.

She tilted her head, smiling like a cat who’d found a bleeding bird. "I’ve come with a proposal."

"Not interested."

"Not optional."

She glided closer—didn’t walk, just moved—and with every step, the cold deepened.

"You will give me your blood. Freely. Without fight. In four days."

I laughed.

It was the wrong move.

But I couldn’t help it.

"You think I’d just hand it over? You really believe I’m that stupid?"

Her smile widened. "No, Sebastian. I think you’re in love. And that makes you predictable."

I bristled. "If you lay a finger on her—"

"I won’t have to," she cut in. "Not if you behave. But if you refuse—"

Her eyes burned. "I’ll start with your coven. Every last vampire tied to your name. Your legacy. I’ll reduce it all to ash; then, I’ll come for her."

My fangs extended, breath short. "You’re bluffing."

"I don’t bluff."

"You don’t know where she is," I snapped. "Mist cloaked her. You can’t find her."

That was my ace. The card I held close to my unbeating heart.

She nodded slowly. "True. I can’t see her. Not now. But don’t get cocky, Sebastian. I’m working on something. Something old. Something... divine. And in four days, Mist’s powers will be dust beneath my feet."

My blood ran colder than the room.

"You have four days," she repeated. "Give me your blood willingly, or I will burn everything you love. And when you’re finally alone—truly alone—I’ll let you watch her die."

Rage surged.

I lunged.

But—

I didn’t move.

My body stayed rooted, every muscle locked. My mouth opened in a snarl, but no sound came.

I was frozen.

She stepped closer, face inches from mine, and I could feel the void leaking from her skin.

"I know you’re wondering why I haven’t just killed you instead of going through all this trouble to threaten you," she said with a smile.

And damn it—yeah, that was exactly what I was wondering.

"If I take your blood by force," she whispered, "it won’t work. That’s the curse. It must be given freely... or it loses its potency. And I do not waste power."

"Why?" I managed through gritted teeth. "Why my blood?"

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she leaned in like a lover, her voice softer than death.

"You’re not the only one who’s been chosen by fate, Sebastian."

And then she vanished.

Just like that.

The world resumed. The clock ticked. The candle flickered again. The shadows retreated.

But the cold lingered.

I stood there for a moment, gripping the edge of the desk so hard it cracked beneath my fingers.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t move.

Then I did the only thing I could.

I grabbed my coat, bolted out the door, and whispered a name like a prayer, like a curse.

"Jacob. I need your help."

Because whatever was coming...

I needed the damn Wolf Spirit to chase it away.