The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 195

**Midnight Letters by Daniel Crowe**
**Chapter 195**

In the heart of the Wolf Dance Troupe, a storm brewed within Skylar the moment she discovered that Aysel had become a target on her very first day. The news struck her like a lightning bolt, igniting a fierce rage that threatened to burst forth from her very being.

Skylar had often mocked Magnus, the Shadowbane Alpha, for his brutish approach to conflict resolution. She had scoffed at his tendency to “solve problems by throwing wealth,” deeming it a clumsy, inelegant method that lacked finesse. But now, as anger simmered just beneath her fur, she found herself yearning for the very tactics she had once derided.

If only she could storm into that troupe, she thought, her mind racing with vivid images of showering them with gold and fangs, turning their arrogance into dust.

Aysel, her pack-sister, sensed the brewing tempest and worked tirelessly to calm her. It took nearly half a howl-cycle, but finally, Aysel managed to soothe Skylar’s frayed nerves. “Don’t worry,” she said, her voice a gentle balm, her tail-tip flicking with stubborn determination. “I’m confident. I may not win, but I promise I won’t lose.”

Aysel’s spirit was unyielding, and she knew that if she could navigate this challenge with grace, her rhythm would pick up, allowing her to finish the troupe’s tasks ahead of schedule. Who knew? She might even return to the Shadowbone Pack sooner than anticipated.

Of course, Magnus was already in the loop regarding her wager with Andrea. Through the pack-link video call, he brushed his thumb across her image on the screen, his dark wolf-eye softening with concern. “Tired?” he asked, his voice low and soothing.

Aysel and Andrea were not the type of wolves to dawdle; they were fierce and driven. That very afternoon, their teams of four convened, and the choreography discussions for their duel-piece quickly spiraled into heated clashes. By the time Aysel returned home, her voice was nearly gone, raw from hours of arguing with top-tier dancers whose instincts were as sharp as their claws.

Yet, amidst the snarling and competitive spirit, Aysel noticed a shift in Andrea’s demeanor once they were off duty. The tension eased, and her attitude toward Aysel—and even Julia—softened significantly.

Physically drained, Aysel felt exhilaration coursing through her veins as she worked alongside peers who were masters of their craft. There was something intoxicating about being in their presence, a thrill that made her wolf-heart race with excitement.

But even in this whirlwind of energy, she knew that when it came to her mate, a she-wolf must carve out a space for tenderness.

“I’m tired,” she murmured, curling into her blankets, the comfort of her bed beckoning her. “And I miss you.”

Magnus’s lips curved into a faint smile, a warmth spreading through him at her words.

“Should I come keep you company?” he offered, his voice laced with a teasing lilt.

Although she had only been away for a few days, every corner of his territory felt off-kilter without her scent lingering in the air. The den was too quiet, the bed felt achingly empty without her warmth, and the food tasted bland and uninspired. Even Daron, his loyal wolfhound, had taken to skipping his usual patrols, refusing his kibble with an air of discontent.

Aysel couldn’t help but burst into laughter at the thought of Daron’s grumbling complaints. “Magnus Sanchez,” she teased, lightly tapping the screen over his cheek, “when did you become so clingy?”

Magnus didn’t flinch or feign innocence; he embraced it wholeheartedly. “What’s wrong with wanting to cling to my own mate? If I could, I’d keep you by my side every moment of every day.”

Aysel’s brow arched playfully. “What do you mean by clingy, then?”

Their gazes locked through the screen, and Aysel’s expression transformed into a wicked grin. Magnus’s eyes widened as he grasped the playful challenge she had thrown down.

“Aysel Vale,” he growled, a teasing edge to his voice, “you’re doing that on purpose.”

It was nighttime on her end, while he sat in his office, the sun casting a bright glow over his workspace, documents spread out like a battlefield before him, subordinates milling about just outside the door.

She was clearly trying to ruffle his feathers, and her laughter only deepened when she saw the flustered look on his face.

Yes, she was definitely teasing him on purpose. After all, he had tormented her plenty in the past; this was her arena, her chance to reclaim the upper hand. Distance was her shield—he couldn’t drag her back to bed and enact his playful revenge right now.

Burrowing deeper into her blankets, she pressed her cheek against her pillow, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Only wolves with a dirty mind hear things that way.”

Magnus felt an overwhelming urge to pinch her cheeks in playful exasperation. “Who’s the little corrupter here?”

Jackson had already found it outrageous that Magnus maintained a dedicated screen on his desk for video calls with Aysel—one for sleeping, another for work. But this? In the office? During business hours?

His perception of Magnus began to crumble, and an instinctive fear for his own survival settled in.

Aysel, hearing the intrusion, panicked and hastily hung up, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

Magnus, however, remained the embodiment of calm dominance. He looked up at Jackson coolly, his demeanor unflinching. “What is it?”

Jackson cleared his throat, quickly regaining the professionalism expected of a high-ranking pack aide. “Alpha, someone from the Darkmoon Pack has arrived.”

The mention of the Darkmoon Pack sent a ripple of tension through Magnus. That was his stepmother Ivy’s family. Today’s visitor was none other than Ivy’s second brother, Lucas.

The Darkmoon Pack was a formidable clan, boasting three sons and one daughter. Ivy was the youngest, while her elder brothers wielded power in various domains: James, the master of political alliances; Lucas, the business tactician; and Abram, the acclaimed director whose films shaped the very fabric of continental wolf culture. Each brother had married into equally powerful packs, creating a web of influence that was hard to navigate.

The only struggles Ivy had ever faced were those tied to Ulric Sanchez. When the elder Bastien Sanchez chose to raise Magnus personally, the Darkmoon Pack had subtly objected. A child raised by the patriarch would inevitably overshadow all other grandchildren, and Magnus, even as a pup, had shown prodigious intelligence.

Allowing him to grow under Bastien’s direct tutelage meant that Ivy’s standing would plummet. But the Sanchez family matched the Darkmoon Pack in strength; they couldn’t be dictated to.

Bastien’s own children were a shattered generation—many lost, some unworthy. He was desperate for a successor, and the Darkmoon Pack’s interference had ultimately failed.

And besides—Bastien had only noticed Magnus after Ivy had attempted to rid herself of him by tossing him into the mountains.

It had been Ivy who had acted first, and now Lucas regarded the grown Alpha before him with a resigned sigh. His elder brother James had been right: If Ivy intended to strike back, she should have finished the job.