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

Chapter 76: The Wolf and The Demon

Cassandra~

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

The fire had consumed everything: my home, my family, my name. Even now, I can still hear the crackling flames licking at my skin, the bitter scent of charred fur, the screams—some mine, some theirs.

They had bound me, stripped me, and tossed me 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," someone 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 me with love and discipline. I was the youngest child, the only girl among four protective older brothers who made it their mission to keep me safe and happy.

Life in Wolfcrest was perfect.

I remember 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 me? 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 me well. He was strict, yes, but he never once raised his voice at me.

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

Until the night everything burned.

*******

I woke to the scent of blood.

It was thick, metallic, 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 dismembered, their faces frozen in expressions of horror.

And me?

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 came out.

How? How did this happen?

I tried to remember. 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 me. "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 me—standing alone, covered in blood—and something 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 something 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 stormed out. Seconds later, a deafening howl tore through the air, summoning the pack.

And then they came.

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 screamed, 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. Someone—anyone—who would believe me.

But all I saw was hatred.

The flames were lit.

The fire roared to life, licking at my skin.

And as the heat consumed me, I realized...

I was truly alone.

I don’t remember screaming. I do remember the heat—unforgiving, hungry, a beast that wanted to swallow me 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 me. The pain was unbearable, but pain was something I had to embrace. I forced myself through the inferno, my fur singeing, my skin bubbling. The flames did not let me go without a fight.

The pack had gathered to watch me die, but they had underestimated me. The moment 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 came for me, 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 me, 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, merciless hunt. Hunger gnawed at my insides, the cold bit deep, and loneliness wrapped around me like a second skin. I had no pack, no home—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 me 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 me, 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 moment, I was pushing through thick underbrush, the scent of damp earth and rotting leaves filling my nose. The next, I stepped into something... wrong. The air was different here—still, heavy, humming with something 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 me 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 seemed 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 me.

She tilted her head, studying me 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 movement 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 name.

Vampires.

Some screamed. Some begged. Some fought with every ounce of their immortal strength. It didn’t matter. They all bled the same in the end.

But the rare ones—the ones Kalmia wanted most—were different. Their blood was thick with something ancient, something 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 moment.

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

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

One moment, I was alone. The next, she was beside me, 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 me, little wolf?"

"Never."

It was the truth.

Kalmia had saved me. She had made me strong. She was my mother, my goddess, my purpose. If she asked me 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 me.

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, something felt different.

The air smelled sharper. The shadows stretched longer.

For the first time 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 me in Vareth wasn’t just another hunt. It wouldn’t bleed easy. It wouldn’t die easy.

This time, I might be the prey.