The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 150

**Midnight Letters by Daniel Crowe**
**Chapter 150**

In the midst of chaos, Damon found himself engulfed by an overwhelming wave of fury that surged through him like a tempest. It was as if the very essence of his rage had manifested physically, betraying him in a moment of vulnerability. Blood erupted from his lips, staining the ground beneath him, and he crumpled to the earth, the metallic tang of iron mingling with the acrid scent of his anger, filling the air with an unsettling intensity.

Aysel stood amidst the tumult, the murmurs of the pack and the onlookers swirling around her like restless autumn leaves caught in a gust of wind. She allowed herself a fleeting glance back at Damon, but it was a single, deliberate moment. His figure was swiftly engulfed by the throng, disappearing like a solitary wolf banished from its territory, lost to the shadows. Aysel’s gaze drifted over the scene, her heart detached, almost finding humor in the madness that surrounded her.

In this world, she mused, some beings were indeed peculiar. They could possess a love that burned fiercely, accepting a child not of their blood, yet when the moment arose to stand resolutely by her side, they faltered, lacking the courage to act. Aysel realized that such creatures were hardly worth her time; the unfathomable could remain a mystery, untouched and unexplored.

With a dismissive wave, she brushed aside the unexpected encounter with her former Alpha, redirecting her attention to Magnus, who stood nearby. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she teased, “So… where’s the hyacinth from our pack?” The lightness in her tone belied the gravity of the situation.

Magnus, having absorbed her earlier declaration—“Our pack does not need gifts from a third party”—responded with a calmness that befitted a true Alpha. “I had Daron take it away,” he replied, his voice steady and authoritative.

Aysel shook her head, a playful smile dancing on her lips. “Some Alphas strut around as if they’re invincible, yet they can’t even handle a single flower, can they?” Her laughter was infectious, a bright note amidst the somber atmosphere.

Magnus returned her smile, warmth radiating from his presence as he clasped her hand. “Yes… I admit, I’m jealous,” he confessed, his tone shifting to one of playful seriousness.

“Just remember, no accepting flowers from other males, alright?” he growled, a low, possessive rumble hinting at the predator lurking within.

“Magnus,” she shot back with a sly grin, “haven’t you learned? Men who try to control every little thing rarely find favor.” Her words were laced with a teasing challenge.

He pondered her statement, his brow furrowing in mock seriousness before he let out a resigned growl. “Then… you’ll simply have to endure me for the rest of your life.”

“Such a tyrant,” she laughed, feigning shock as she wrapped her arms around his, leaning into him with a lighthearted surrender. “Then I accept your tyranny.”

Magnus’s lips curled into a satisfied smile, the tension between them easing as a newfound understanding blossomed.

Young Noah Draven, son of Rudi Sanchez, squinted toward the tea-serving Johanna and the father-son pair standing nearby. “Mom, is that Fifth Uncle and Aunt? They’re… alive?” His voice was tinged with disbelief.

For years, the family had presumed the Fifth Branch lost to time. He blinked at the man sporting golden-framed spectacles, handsome and calm. “Is that their son?” His brow furrowed in confusion. “No… he looks about the same age as Derek. Where does he fit in the line?”

Within the Sanchez third generation, the hierarchy was clear: firstborn from the First Branch, Derek; second, Zark from the Third Branch; third, Magnus, born to the Second Branch. Following siblings were ranked accordingly. Alfie, born to the Fifth Branch after years of absence, held no official place and was referred to as “Young Master Alfie” by the staff.

Rudi’s son felt a pang of frustration at this unofficial hierarchy, a bitter taste rising in his throat. He scolded himself, ready to voice his annoyance when he caught Aysel’s piercing gaze. Instantly, he fell silent, recalling the last family gathering where her presence had humiliated him. The sharp sting of spilled tea and scorn lingered in his memory, a bitter reminder.

A wave of envy churned within Noah. Despite what others said about Aysel marrying into the Sanchez line, he believed her beauty was devoid of substance, fit only to be a mistress. Yet… his third cousin, Magnus, was the luckiest Alpha alive. Aysel Vale was radiant, and standing beside Magnus, they formed an unstoppable force of allure and dominance, two wolves reigning at the pinnacle of the forest.

Noah shivered as Magnus’s cold gaze swept past him, a chilling reminder of the past rumors that had decimated the Fourth Branch. Then, Aysel caught his eye with a mischievous glance, leaned in to whisper something into Magnus’s ear, and in an instant, Magnus’s expression shifted, softening into a wolfish smile of possession. An icy premonition slithered down Noah’s spine, a harbinger of the tumultuous tides to come.