The Lycan King's Second Chance Mate: Rise of the Traitor's Daughter-Chapter 183: The Fire Before the Storm

Zane~

The mind link with Fox had barely snapped when a surge of panic and white-hot fury slammed into my chest like a tidal wave. The clock on the wall blinked 4:45 AM in dull red digits—but time didn’t matter anymore. Not when Natalie was coming.

And the palace? It had no clue the storm that was about to hit.

I tore through the hallways like a wildfire, boots pounding against the marble floor, every step sharp and urgent—like the crack of thunder. The guards at my father’s chamber stiffened as I approached. One glance at my face—jaw clenched, eyes ablaze—and they stepped aside without a word. They knew better.

I didn’t bother knocking. The doors slammed open beneath my fists, crashing against the walls with a deafening thud.

"Dad!" I barked, marching across the grand chamber like a man possessed.

King Anderson Moor stirred from his canopied bed, blinking against the soft golden light of the chandeliers. He squinted at me, irritation etched into every crease of his aging face.

"Zane? What in the goddess’ name are you doing?" he growled, his voice hoarse with sleep.

"They stabbed Alex," I said, the words tumbling out like stones in my throat. "Your soldiers—your men—they stabbed my son!"

The fog of sleep vanished in an instant. He sat up straight, eyes wide, all color draining from his face.

"What?! That’s not possible. Zane, I swear on the crown—I gave no such order! Alexander is my blood."

"Then explain why he nearly died in Natalie’s arms," I spat. My voice cracked, and I hated how vulnerable it sounded—how human it made me feel. "He was fading. Slipping away. She held him together—"

I dragged in a breath, fists trembling.

"She pulled him back. With her hands, her soul... her power. She saved him, Dad. The same woman you tried to erase from existence. She’s not who she used to be. Natalie has changed. She’s not just a woman anymore. She’s become something else. Something more. A goddess."

He stared at me, mouth agape.

"You can’t be serious," he muttered, pushing the covers off and rising to his feet. "You expect me to believe that Natalie—Natalie of all people—is some kind of... of goddess now? Come on, Zane. I almost bought the Alex story. Is this your idea of a joke? Am I a joke to you?"

"I wish it was a joke," I said darkly. I stepped closer, the air around me taut with energy. "Natalie was a girl the Silverfang Pack discarded. The one they left to rot without a wolf? But she isn’t that girl anymore. That girl died three years ago."

I felt Red pacing inside me, anxious, growling.

"She’s divine now," I said slowly, the words thick with warning. "And she’s coming here. Right now. Fueled by pain and rage, because your men drew Alex’s blood. My son and hers!"

My father snorted, reaching for his robe.

"You sound like a madman. A goddess?" he scoffed. "You’re talking about Natalie like she’s some celestial being descending from the heavens."

"Because she is!" I roared, fists clenched so tight my nails dug into my palms. "And if you value your life, you’ll come with me—now. We need to get you somewhere safe."

He pulled the robe around his shoulders and waved a dismissive hand. "You’ve lost your mind, Zane. She’s just a woman. A strong one in spirit, sure, but still only a woman. She poses no threat to me."

"You’re wrong," I said, stepping forward until we were face to face. "You’re so damn wrong. She’s powerful, Dad. And she’s furious. You don’t know what she’s capable of anymore."

He let out a bark of laughter, the sound bouncing off the gilded walls.

"Hide? From her? Are you hearing yourself?" he chuckled. "I’m the King. I don’t run from little girls throwing tantrums."

"She’s not throwing a tantrum—she’s bringing reckoning."

He wasn’t listening.

With a snap of his fingers, he summoned the guards back into the room.

"Escort Mr. Lucky out," he ordered, his tone cold and dismissive. "He’s clearly overreacting and disturbing my peace."

"Dad, please," I begged. "I’m not doing this for drama—I’m trying to keep you alive despite everything you’ve done."

The guards stepped forward hesitantly, looking from him to me with uncertainty.

"Do it," he barked again.

I didn’t resist. I let them walk me out, but I never stopped looking at him—not even once. And I saw it, in the corner of his eyes: fear. Not because of Natalie, not yet—but because a part of him knew I wasn’t lying.

I spent the rest of the day trying to reason with him. I followed him from his study to the dining hall, even caught him in the dressing room while he was being fitted for the ball. Every time, I warned him. Every time, he brushed it off with mockery or silence.

When the sun dipped behind the horizon and twilight washed over the kingdom, guests began arriving for the grand royal ball—oblivious, laughing, toasting champagne under crystal chandeliers. The palace glowed with opulence, unaware that fury cloaked in human form was on its way.

I cornered him once more before the orchestra played the first note.

"Cancel the event," I said, low and firm.

He adjusted his cufflinks, not even sparing me a glance. "We are not cowering over old ghosts. Now pull yourself together and act like the prince you were born to be."

"I’d rather be a prince without a crown than a king with a funeral," I muttered.

But he walked away, cape flowing behind him, disappearing into the crowd of nobles and smiles.

And somewhere beyond the palace gates, the wind shifted.

She was coming.

********

And then it happened.

Right as the ball hit its peak—when the laughter swelled, when the music soared, when the chandeliers bathed the room in golden light—the palace trembled.

She was here.

I felt it before anyone else did. The shift in the air. The pressure in my chest. Natalie’s power, raw and unfiltered, crashing toward us like a storm.

And then—glass shattered.

She burst through the towering ballroom windows like a comet blazing back to earth, wings of rage spread wide, fury trailing behind her like fire in her veins.

The music screeched to a halt. Gasps and screams filled the silence that followed. Nobles scattered like terrified insects, scrambling beneath tables, clutching their pearls and their pride.

Her boots struck the marble floor with enough force to rattle the chandeliers overhead. Cracks spiderwebbed beneath her, reaching outward like lightning bolts.

I stood in the wreckage, chest heaving, heart pounding, soaked in adrenaline and the weight of everything she had become.

Every eye turned to her.

And there he was—my father—rising slowly from his throne at the far end of the ballroom, still holding his goblet, staring at her like he couldn’t quite believe she was real.

Good.

She smiled at him—wild and unrelenting, the kind of smile that split through grief and rage and came out blazing.

"Hello, Your Majesty," she said, voice sweet with venom. "Miss me?"