The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 28

**Midnight Letters by Daniel Crowe**
**Chapter 28**

**Magnus’s POV**

I found myself captivated by her presence, her amber eyes glimmering like molten gold as they caught the early morning sun filtering through the partially drawn blinds. It stirred something primal within me, the wolf that lay coiled beneath my skin, its claws flexing restlessly against the tight confines of civility. “I do not agree,” I declared, my tone flat and devoid of any invitation for discussion.

Aysel—Aysel Vale of the Moonvale Pack—stood before me, sharp and fierce like a night kissed by frost, rendered momentarily speechless by my decisive proclamation. Her lips parted slightly, her eyes blinking in rapid succession as if trying to process the weight of my words. Eventually, they settled into that familiar stubborn line, a mark of her determination to gauge my resolve.

Yet, to my own surprise, I found myself mulling over her viewpoint. Her assertion—that emotion could be cultivated—seemed foolish at first glance, yet it intrigued me. I understood all too well that alliances forged through profit, power, and loyalty were far more robust than those built on fleeting human emotions. Nevertheless, I allowed her to believe that her idea held merit, if only for the moment.

“I haven’t agreed to anything yet,” she retorted, her fangs glimmering just enough to remind me of her fierce lineage.

The sudden glow of her phone drew my attention, breaking the tension that hung thick in the air. I pushed back from the table, stretching my long limbs, my wolf instincts thrumming with anticipation. “I leave in one hour,” I stated, my voice smooth as silk yet as unyielding as steel. “You have time to think. Reach out when you’re ready. I cannot promise you love, Aysel, but I assure you, I will restrain myself enough to be the mate you require.”

Her brows knitted together, tension radiating from her body, the subtle flick of her tail betraying her inner turmoil beneath the facade of calm. Even in moments of civility, the instincts of a wolf could not be entirely concealed. “And what if I don’t agree?” she asked, her tone sharp and wary, yet tinged with curiosity.

“Then you will continue to ponder,” I replied, allowing a dangerous grin to stretch across my lips. “I only accept one answer.”

Some might label my words as arrogance, but I—the heir of Shadowbane, the embodiment of the wolf Rafe—possessed the authority and instincts to back them up. She blinked at me, wide-eyed, like a doe caught in the silvery glow of moonlight, instinctively aware that she was stepping into a web of my design. Deep down, she understood the stakes.

“Wait,” she said suddenly, her voice laced with confusion. “You were leaving regardless. Why such a strong reaction when I asked?”

I shrugged, raising my palms in an innocent gesture, my wolfish ears twitching with amusement. “Going away for work and being sent off by a wild male—are they truly the same?”

Once she was gone, I let my wolf stretch within the quiet confines of the apartment, claws lightly scraping against the floor. My initial intention had never merely been to use her; I sought a capable and bold wolf to share responsibilities with—a mate who could endure the chaos of pack politics. But after weeks of observing her—how she dared to challenge norms, how she struck with precision, how she flared with an unpredictable strength—I realized she offered me more than mere practicality.

Aysel was fire; she was instinct incarnate. The thought sent a thrill coursing through me, my wolf stirring with excitement at the prospect of a hunt that could last a lifetime.

The concept of a “protocol mate”—this agreement of sorts—brought me a sense of satisfaction. She pushed my limits, tested my patience, and danced around the edges of dominance. Beneath her carefully maintained exterior, I could sense the potential for something far more volatile, thrilling, and undeniably mine.

The door slammed behind her, and I leaned back against the sofa, amber eyes gleaming with calculated anticipation. My claws flexed against the leather upholstery, a silent echo of the predator lying in wait for the perfect moment. Soon, she would come to understand that being near me was not merely a matter of circumstance. She would learn that within the Shadowbane Pack, proximity equated to survival, and survival demanded a degree of surrender—to the alpha who claimed you.

I exhaled slowly, allowing my wolf’s instinct to settle into a calm patience, letting the tension linger in the room long after her departure. The Vale may have attempted to confine her, but here, with me, Aysel Vale would either rise to new heights—or burn in the process.

In either case, I was ready.