The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 179

**Midnight Letters by Daniel Crowe**

**Chapter 179**

In the heart of the night, Damon stood frozen, his expression a tempest of disbelief and fury. The figure before him, small yet audacious, had dared to invade his personal space, rising on tiptoes to press its lips against his own.

A jolt of shock coursed through him, electrifying every nerve ending. Those lips were not Aysel’s.

Before him stood Adam, the notorious prankster of their school, infamous for his astonishing ability to mimic the allure of femininity. Now a celebrated beauty influencer, he flaunted his fame with an audacious flair, arriving at the reunion draped in feminine attire, complete with a wig borrowed from a classmate. The sight was enough to ignite a surge of revulsion within Damon, his wolf instincts flaring wildly as he felt the tiny figure cling to him like a parasitic leech. The invasive touch of Adam’s lips felt like a violation, triggering a visceral reaction that made Damon want to retch, as if he were a wolf forced to confront its own regurgitation.

With every ounce of strength, Damon pushed against Adam, but the little trickster was surprisingly strong for his size, his grip unyielding. What appeared to be shyness to their packmates was merely Adam’s audacity, and it only emboldened him further.

Around them, laughter erupted among their classmates, the pack reveling in what they misinterpreted as a rekindled forbidden romance—an Alpha and his destined mate reunited in a moment of passion. Cheers and howls filled the air, while the hotel band struck up a lively love tune, blissfully unaware of the turmoil raging within Damon.

He could only gag, the sensation in his throat as vile as a wolf forced to endure the taste of its own bile.

Then, without warning, a collective cry pierced the night: “Meteor!”

All heads turned skyward, captivated by the celestial display. In that moment, no one noticed Damon’s humiliation or Adam’s fleeting pout; the brilliance of the night sky commanded their attention. The jagged outlines of the mountains faded into shadowy silhouettes, softened by the inky darkness, while stars twinkled above like the watchful eyes of ancestral wolves, guardians of the realm.

Yet, even more captivating than the celestial wonders were the two figures illuminated in the moonlit flower grove—Aysel and Magnus, drawn together by the invisible threads of fate. Whispers of recognition rippled through the crowd, and Emma, ever the opportunist, quickly raised her device, capturing the enchanting scene of the Alpha and his destined mate beneath the stars—a vision of strength and beauty that transcended any pack.

Outside the grove, Manager Wren stood with a tense urgency, signaling to his team. “Hurry, hurry! Are you ready?”

Hands formed the familiar “OK” sign, and Wren began the countdown: “One… two… three!”

As the last word left his lips, the meteor streaks faded, and hundreds of drones soared into the air, weaving a vibrant tapestry across the night sky. Mountains, rivers, and wolves intertwined with roses, crafting a celestial narrative of bonds and territories. On the ground, the flower lights dimmed, replaced by a mesmerizing swarm of luminescent green fireflies that danced among the petals, creating an ethereal spectacle that felt almost sacred.

Zenia, with a gentle but firm hand, guided the awestruck classmates aside, allowing the destined pair their moment in the floral sanctuary.

Around them, subtle cries of emotion began to rise. Some female wolves wept, touched by the profound display of devotion. Others stood transfixed, witnessing Magnus kneeling so fully, so completely devoted to his mate—a tenderness rarely seen even among the most disciplined Alphas.

Those familiar with Magnus’s fearsome reputation found it hard to reconcile that image with the vulnerability and adoration he now exuded. The bond between them was raw, exclusive, and undeniable—a truth witnessed by both pack and mortals alike.

Manager Wren exhaled a breath of relief, signaling to his team, his heart racing in his chest. “Perfect.”

Meanwhile, in the shadows, Damon Blackwood struggled against his restraints, his mouth gagged, fighting in vain against the reality that engulfed him. His eyes blazed with helpless fury as he bore witness to the truth: he had lost her forever.

Aysel belonged to Magnus, body and soul. Every instinct within him, both pack and wolf, confirmed it.

Jackson, pulling his boot away from Damon’s back, smirked with a cold, wolfish satisfaction. “Why bother, Damon? Regret is a luxury no wolf can afford. What’s lost is lost. You could have dominated your family’s intrigues, but instead, you chose to humiliate yourself.”

With a final crushing motion, he pressed his boot into the ground, signaling his subordinates with a face as steely as flint. “Take him away. Attend to our Alpha properly.”