The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 226

**Midnight Letters by Daniel Crowe**
**Chapter 226**

In the vibrant heart of the celebration, Aysel found herself grappling with a swirl of emotions as she stood amidst the revelry. The old Alpha of the Sanchez Pack, Bastien, was not someone she held in high regard. She wasn’t a mindless beast, a whirlwind of claws and fangs ready to pounce at a moment’s notice. No, today, in this lively den filled with laughter and music, she had no intention of throwing tables or inciting chaos. Sure, if someone else decided to stir trouble, she might swipe a tablecloth or two, a playful glimmer dancing in her eyes, but that would be the extent of her mischief.

Behind her, Magnus loomed like a protective shadow, his massive form radiating strength and reassurance. He gently stroked the fur along her nape, his touch both calming and affirming. “Such sweetness, my dear,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent warmth through her. “It’s their own prejudice that blinds them.” His words wrapped around her like a comforting blanket, reminding her that she was not alone in this sea of judgment.

To the outside world, their pairing seemed like a picture of perfect devotion; the formidable Alpha of Shadowbane utterly captivated by the rising star of the Moonvale Pack. Most onlookers interpreted it as a clear testament to his loyalty and affection for her. Yet, for those who harbored envy, every shared glance between them felt like a dagger, each laugh a reminder of their own exclusion from this intimate circle.

The Darkmoon Pack made their entrance, led by their patriarch, Lucas, with his wife and daughter trailing behind. Olivia, still nursing the sting of being cast out from the Shadowbane den, felt a familiar bitterness rise within her. It had been ages since she had last seen Magnus, and her attempts to visit had been met with cold rejection. The thought gnawed at her—was it Aysel’s jealousy that stood in her way, preventing her from reconnecting with the one she yearned for?

Her thoughts churned with contempt, simmering just beneath the surface. “So vigilant, so cautious,” she mused, “it’s nothing more than weakness masquerading as dignity.” Did she genuinely believe that a fleeting affection could anchor an Alpha’s heart?

“Control yourself. Life stretches ahead,” a pair of elegantly manicured hands settled over Olivia’s tightly clenched fists, interrupting her spiraling thoughts.

Her mother, Lady Darkmoon, surveyed the scene with an inscrutable expression, her face a mask of composure. “You are the eldest of the Darkmoon line. How can you lower yourself to contest a girl without standing, a pack without roots?” Her tone was firm, yet there was an undercurrent of concern. “Go now, with your father, and extend your respects to the elder of the Sanchez den.”

There was a brief pause before Lady Darkmoon added, “And your aunt… why is she absent today?”

At the mention of her aunt, Olivia’s fists relaxed, a shadow of wistfulness crossing her face. “I don’t know… perhaps she still holds a grudge against me.”

Since his injury, Ulric had become a recluse, rarely venturing into the social whirl of their world. Ivy, on the other hand, thrived in such public spectacles, never missing an opportunity to engage with others. Today, however, her cherished niece Olivia would be present, and yet here she was, choosing to remain behind.

As Ivy snipped through a rose stem, her claws accidentally caught the delicate flower, a sharp reminder of her distracted state. Silence enveloped the room before she turned her gaze to Ulric, her eyes cool and steady. “Ulric… do you regret taking me?”

His paw froze mid-motion, the air thickening with unspoken tension. Regret? Perhaps it lingered like a shadow in the corners of his mind. Dreams often conjured visions of a lit stage, the focused figure of Raya playing the cello under the soft glow of lanterns, a haunting melody echoing in his heart.

Yet, if fate were to grant him a second chance, he mused, he might still make the same choices. To love her, to stray for advantage, to play the endless game of pack politics was unavoidable.

No Sanchez would ever escape the grand spectacle of power, the subtle claws of influence and betrayal that marked their existence. But if given another opportunity, he vowed silently, he would release her sooner, sparing her the brambles of his ambitions.