The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 143

**Midnight Letters by Daniel Crowe**
**Chapter 143**

In the glaring neon brightness of Shadowbane Hospital’s seventh floor, Bastien lay on a gurney, his body a mere shadow of its former self, rattled by the tumult of the night. He felt like a relic, ensnared in a web of debts that reached far deeper than the confines of his memory. The respect he once commanded had all but evaporated, leaving him adrift in a sea of indifference from those who once revered him.

A pack of heirs lingered just outside the operating doors, their eyes gleaming with a predatory hunger that was impossible to ignore. Their lips moved in hushed whispers, sharp words of inheritance slicing through the sterile air. When the patriarch finally managed to draw in a breath, they exchanged glances—some tinged with relief, others laced with irritation. Yet, none of those looks bore the weight of true consequence; it was a mere game of posturing, a dance around the inevitable.

On this floor, Johanna stood resolute, having endured the long hours of the night with a remarkable absence of fatigue. Just then, Ulva, the widow of Phelan Sanchez, crossed paths with her at the washroom doorway. For a fleeting moment, the air crackled with tension, as if two wolves were sizing each other up from a distance. But they passed without a word, their expressions carefully crafted masks of control, revealing nothing of the storm brewing within.

When Johanna returned to Bastien’s bedside, she found his gaze already fixed upon her. In their previous encounters, he had been oblivious to her true identity. Young, astute, and refreshingly untainted by greed, she had almost caught his eye as a potential bride. Yet, once her connections with his sons became apparent, the thought of ridding himself of her had ignited a fierce fire in his mind. Fate, however, had other plans, swift and unyielding. One son lay dead, another lost in chaos, and yet Johanna, as cunning as the wind, had slipped away, leaving Bastien to gnaw on the bitter bones of his regrets.

With a heavy sigh, Bastien shut his eyes and murmured, “Bring Alfie back. I need to see him.”

Johanna’s expression remained inscrutable, a mask of calm that concealed the turmoil beneath. In contrast, Lyall’s eyes sparked with a flicker of renewed hope at the mention of the child. Rollo Sanchez, the sixth-born of the family, watched quietly from the corner, his voice light yet tinged with skepticism. “It’s been years since the boy has set foot on the estate,” he remarked, his tone almost dismissive. “But his… nature…”

Bastien’s gaze swept across the room, heavy with the weight of ulterior motives swirling around him. With a dismissive wave of his hand, he cut through the tension. “Enough. Leave me. I will make the decision.”

Johanna, an island of calm amidst the turmoil, observed the pack’s disarray unfold before her. The timing of Magnus and Aysel’s return had been no mere coincidence; it was a carefully orchestrated move, executed by unseen claws that tugged at the strings of fate. As she sipped her hot porridge, her mind was a cold pack of strategy, calculating the implications of each move. She foresaw the unraveling of their world, aware of the predator lurking within the young Shadowbane Alpha—who, alongside Aysel, had forged their victory through fire and blood.

Bastien would survive, just long enough to witness the dominion his grandson had crafted—a realm ruled by claw and fang. The Sanchez heirs, who had once dangled precariously above Magnus’s blade, now felt its tangible drop, the subtle weight of control shifting with each calculated move made by the Alpha.

Accalia Sanchez reflected on past mistakes, the painful stings of the auction, and the hollow victories her beauty had once afforded her. Her offspring, barely standing in the wake of Magnus’s wrath, were starkly reminded that old wounds, though long ignored, festered where wolves were concerned, threatening to erupt at any moment.

Ivy, in her silence, trembled as she gathered the cutlery, her hands betraying the fear that coursed through her veins. Among the living, she and Ulric’s ghost of ambition bore the most animosity towards Magnus—a blade that had struck once, and would strike again if provoked. The Sanchez household, governed by the primal laws of wolf and blood, now understood the truth: the Shadowbane Alpha and his Moonvale mate left nothing to chance, their every move calculated with the precision of a predator poised for the kill.