The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 30

**Midnight Letters by Daniel Crowe**

**Chapter 30**

**Aysel’s POV**

In the stillness of the night, Celestine’s tears had soaked the hospital pillow, a silent testament to the turmoil my actions had caused. I could almost feel the weight of Knox’s fury pressing down on me, a palpable force that crackled in the air. He loathed me with a fervor that echoed the resentment of the entire Draven lineage, a family steeped in legacy and expectation.

Celestine’s leg injury had not just been a physical setback; it had stolen from her a crucial promotion, an opportunity she had fought for with every ounce of her being. Knox had a vendetta, a score to settle, and I wasn’t about to retreat into the shadows. But therein lay the crux of the matter: I was not prey to be easily hunted. I was a Moonvale wolf, and wolves like me did not simply reveal their vulnerabilities. I could easily retreat to my den, curling up like a tortoise, hidden from those who might wish to strike. Patience was my ally, and Knox’s predatory gaze had never managed to find me at home.

“What is this?” Knox’s voice thundered over the ambient music, low and menacing, like the rumble of distant storms. “After all this time, the Frostfang lady and the Moonvale wolf won’t even offer me a drink?” His eyes glinted with a predatory hunger, yet his jaw was clenched tight, a mix of anger and desire simmering just beneath the surface.

Skylar’s laughter cut through the tension, sharp and bright, a sound laced with the wild joy only a wolf could know. I could see Knox’s ears twitch at the sound, his senses keenly aware of the double-edged nature of our words.

Knox was a dangerous wolf, his blood coursing with the Ironhowl legacy, and I could sense his allegiance to Celestine in the way his muscles tensed and coiled. Yet, overshadowed by the rising young Alpha, his cousin Serena, he had been brought low. Even the Ironhowl Pack could not provide him the protection he sought from the intricate web of family politics that ensnared him. His jaw tightened further, nostrils flaring as he fought to regain control.

With a wave of his hand, he summoned the bar servers with an air of authority. “Bring the drinks!” he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.

A vibrant array of colorful liquids soon adorned our table, but I barely spared them a glance. “I’m not sharing a table,” I replied, my voice cold and unyielding.

The wolf within him growled, a sound that reverberated through the air. Knox leaned forward, trying to ensnare me in a conversation that felt more like a trap than a dialogue. “That stunt with the messages a while back—you were behind it, weren’t you, Aysel? Finish these drinks, and I’ll let it slide,” he proposed, his tone dripping with false camaraderie.

I met his gaze with my own, my amber eyes unwavering. “Slide or not, your opinion holds no weight with me,” I said, my voice steady and resolute.

Knox’s fangs glimmered under the bar’s dim lighting, a sharp warning that sent a thrill of adrenaline through me. He suggested a wager, claws metaphorically bared: if I fell to him, I would kneel before Celestine; if he lost, he would grant me three months of freedom and even present me with a car. I couldn’t help but snort, my laughter as cold as ice.

“No,” I replied, my tone flat, devoid of any hesitation.

One lanky wolf stepped forward, hand reaching for Skylar, but before he could make contact, a hard leather bag crashed into his face with a sickening thud. “Back off, gutter wolf!” Skylar snapped, her voice fierce and unyielding.

I tilted my head, my amber gaze icy as I flicked a splash of liquor at the man leering at me. He squealed, caught between the sting of the liquid and the humiliation of being rebuffed.

The packlings froze, the atmosphere crackling with tension. My fur bristled, every muscle coiled and ready to spring. One wrong move toward either of us, and they would find themselves at the mercy of fangs and claws. Knox’s scent mixed with frustration, arousal, and an insatiable hunger for control, the tension barely restrained.

“Knox,” Skylar hissed, her voice laced with disdain, “using such methods on women? No wonder your Alpha regards you with contempt.”

He growled, raising the stakes, “Twenty thousand credits now.” The packlings wavered, caught in a storm of loyalty, greed, and fear. I could smell every hesitation, every twitch of their tails, as they stood frozen, prey trapped in the den of wolves.

I licked my lips, savoring the tang of power, the thrill of the hunt. Tonight, the Ironhowl wolves would learn a valuable lesson: to underestimate a Moonvale predator was to invite disaster.