The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 203

**Midnight Letters by Daniel Crowe**
**Chapter 203**

As the car door clicked shut with a finality that echoed in the confined space, the driver raised the opaque divider, his gaze fixed resolutely ahead. He navigated the vehicle toward the airport, not daring to cast a glance back, as if the act itself might shatter the moment.

In the plush backseat, Aysel found herself straddling Magnus, her knees parting as she settled onto his lap, a position that felt both electrifying and familiar. Her arms encircled his neck, pulling him closer, while his strong Alpha hands gripped her waist, drawing her in as their lips met in a fervent kiss, charged with an insatiable longing that seemed to transcend the confines of the car.

The air around them thickened with the soft, wet sounds of their connection—hungry, lingering, and utterly intoxicating. Each kiss was a silent testament to their desire, a melody of passion that filled the space between them.

Magnus tightened his embrace, pressing her so close that she could feel the heat radiating from his body and the rough, rhythmic cadence of his breath against the tender curve of her neck. “Baby… let’s go home, please?” he rasped, his voice low and filled with yearning, inhaling the sweet, moonlit scent that was uniquely hers—his Aysel, his destined mate.

His words came out in a rush, almost slurred by the instinctual need that clawed at him. “I’ll book the flight right now. We’ll leave together.” The desperation in his voice dipped, revealing the raw edge of an Alpha overwhelmed by the anxiety of separation. He murmured, “If you could shrink, I’d tuck you into my luggage and never let you out.”

“Mm-kiss… kiss…” Aysel urged, her voice a soft plea.

Magnus responded by showering her face and crystalline-soft lips with fervent kisses, each one more desperate than the last. He was unable to pull away, his mouth brushing against hers, returning again and again, even daring to graze her lower lip with the tip of his teeth in a playful nip, a gesture reserved for wolves who were reluctant to part.

Aysel reciprocated with her own tiny bites on his lower lip, soft and hesitant, filled with an aching sweetness. “At home, you have to miss me,” she whispered against his mouth, her breath mingling with his. “And you’ll video-call me to sleep tomorrow night.”

She pressed a gentle kiss on his cheek, her affection palpable.

“Work is important, but no late nights. I’ll supervise you,” she added, her tone teasing yet serious.

Magnus traced her brow with a reverence that spoke volumes, his wolf-like gaze dark and tender, filled with promises. “I’ll listen to everything you say, baby.”

He took her fingers in his, kissing them softly, each touch a vow. “If you have nightmares, call me. Don’t worry about anything in Moonvale. I’ll handle it all.”

“Magnus.” She pouted, her lips trembling slightly as she demanded, “Kiss.”

A soft laugh escaped him, rich with affection, before he captured her mouth again in a deep, heated kiss that seemed to linger on the edge of eternity.

When the car finally rolled to a stop at the airport, the driver had already stepped out, granting them a fleeting moment of privacy. They only pulled apart when they both realized that Magnus was becoming too flushed, too scent-marked, too visibly lovesick to be presentable in public.

Even the servants moved about with an air of caution, their voices low, their steps light, as if afraid to disturb the heavy silence that hung in the air.

Frustration bubbled within Fenrir as he rubbed his brow, dismissing the servant with a wave of his hand. He glanced toward the second floor, steeling himself before climbing the stairs to seek out Luna Evelyn.

When he reached her, he found her sitting on the carpet of a storage room, surrounded by several worn boxes. The contents—small, childlike objects—were scattered around her, remnants of a happier time that now felt like a cruel reminder of what had been lost.

Crouching down, Fenrir picked up an old doll, its fabric faded and frayed with age. “Mother… why are you sorting through these?” he asked, concern lacing his voice.

Luna Evelyn looked up at him, her features gaunt and drawn, the weight of her grief evident in every line of her face. The truth about Celestine had shattered her: the daughter she had nurtured and cherished had committed unspeakable acts, leaving her struggling to reconcile the girl she loved with the monster she had become.

That day at the theater, when the elite matrons had whispered behind their fans, mocking her for her blindness to Celestine’s true nature, each word had struck her like a dagger, poisoning her heart. She had stopped attending socials, retreating into the shadows, leaving home only to visit Celestine in the Shadowcrest detainment ward, a grim reminder of her daughter’s betrayal.

As she examined her family with clearer eyes, the painful realization set in too late: she owed Aysel more than she had ever acknowledged. And deep within her, a fear rooted itself—what if the “accident” that had shattered Aysel’s dance career had indeed been orchestrated by Celestine?

Taking the doll from Fenrir’s hands, her expression twisted between laughter and grief. “This belonged to Aysel,” she said, her voice trembling. “I only just realized… after she turned six, I never bought her another toy.”