The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 51

**Midnight Letters by Daniel Crowe**

**Chapter 51**

In the grand expanse of the Blackwood manor, the marble corridor seemed to vibrate with tension.

“Damon!”

Lady Blackwood’s voice sliced through the air, sharp and commanding, echoing off the polished stone walls. Yet, her son did not pause, did not even glance back. He walked away with purpose, the heavy doors of the manor trembling as they swung shut behind him, sealing off the confrontation like a tomb.

Her eyes narrowed, burning with an intensity that could ignite the very air around her. “Moon above, what sickness plagues that boy?” she muttered under her breath, frustration lacing her words.

Damon had fought tooth and nail for this union, clawing his way through the labyrinth of court politics and family expectations to secure it—yet here he was, devoid of any joy or enthusiasm. His temper had become as fragile as glass, and his nights were plagued with restlessness. She had caught the acrid scent of smoke wafting from him too often, mingling with the faint, bitter tang of liquor that lingered in the air of his chambers long after midnight.

When she had broached the subject of his relationship with Aysel, Damon had merely shrugged off her concern with a distant, “Everything’s fine,” his voice echoing with hollowness that sent a chill down her spine.

Now, he had stormed out, leaving their discussion hanging in the air like an unfinished symphony, as if it held no weight at all.

The Moonvale wolves, gathered in the ornate drawing room, attempted to mask their irritation, but the absence of Aysel—who had not even deigned to respond to their summons—left them feeling exposed and vulnerable. They plastered smiles on their faces, discussing the upcoming feast as if nothing were amiss, but the tension was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife.

Only Celestine Ward observed Damon’s retreat with a glimmer of something inscrutable in her eyes, the corner of her mouth twitching upward in a way that suggested she found amusement in the chaos unfolding around her.

Lady Blackwood pressed her fingers to her temples, nursing a headache that had become all too familiar in recent weeks, a result of her son’s mercurial moods. The Moonvale wolves faced a greater dilemma—their beloved Aysel was nowhere to be found.

The grand celebration was just a night away, and still, there had been no word from her. Whispers of bad omens circulated among the pack elders, and Luna Evelyn could no longer remain idle. With a sense of urgency, she resolved to seek out her daughter herself.

Memories flooded back to her, of the small den Aysel had claimed years ago when she had chosen to leave the safety of Moonvale’s territory. Evelyn had followed her in secret back then, curiosity gnawing at her insides as she observed how her headstrong child fared beyond the protective embrace of the Pack.

The den was nestled near the borders of the old university lands, a place filled with city-born wolves—crowded, noisy, and a far cry from the tranquil serenity of the Moonvale woods. Evelyn had assumed Aysel would return, crawling back to the safety of her family within months, but her daughter, stubborn as the rockiest cliff, had remained steadfast in her independence.

Pride had held Evelyn back from intervening. She had wanted Aysel to learn the lessons of humility, to feel the weight of her own choices. Yet as time passed, and tales of Aysel’s quiet, disciplined life trickled back to her, shame crept in like the chill of winter frost. Evelyn had intended to offer her daughter a better home, yet Celestine had informed her that Aysel had already moved on.

Evelyn had assumed that meant Aysel had finally accepted their help, but she had been sorely mistaken.

Now, standing before the new residence—a narrow stone apartment shrouded in the shadow of a half-moon—Evelyn felt the first true stab of guilt pierce her heart. Even the smallest estate given to Celestine dwarfed this meager dwelling.

When Aysel opened the door, her demeanor was calm, her aura restrained, yet Evelyn could sense the faint hum of dormant Alpha blood thrumming beneath her daughter’s skin.

“Mother,” Aysel greeted her simply, stepping aside to usher her inside with a gesture that was both welcoming and guarded.

Evelyn settled into a chair, her posture stiff and unyielding, while Aysel poured water for her, the silence between them thick and heavy with unspoken words that hung in the air like a storm cloud ready to burst.

“This place is too small,” Evelyn finally broke the silence, her tone tight with concern. “I’ll have Fenrir find you a proper home by tomorrow.”

Aysel’s response was quiet, but it cut through the air like a knife. “Don’t. I couldn’t afford the debt.”

Evelyn frowned, her brow furrowing in confusion. “Debt? You’re our blood, Aysel. What is a house compared to that?”

Aysel’s laughter was brittle, reminiscent of shattered glass. “Forgive me, Luna Evelyn, but I remember the last time I took something from Moonvale. You made certain I returned it.”

Moonvale relinquished its claim, and Aysel turned her back on them resolutely.

“Rest assured,” she had said softly, her voice a whisper of steel, “if what I’m owed requires such struggle to claim, then what isn’t mine—I’ll never covet.”

She understood the lines clearly: the Moonvale Pack’s support was her right, nothing more. Her life had never touched the extravagance that befitted a highborn wolf of her lineage. She owed them nothing, and she would not bend the knee for pride or debt.

One day, when Alpha Remus and Luna Evelyn grew old and frail, she would repay the debt of care with equal measure.

As for the Moonvale fortune—their own earnings, their own power—she had no claim.

Before she turned eighteen, she had received almost nothing. Afterward, if she took even a fragment more, they would crucify her with it forever.

So Aysel severed the ties cleanly. She walked away, never once glancing back at Moonvale.

She never regretted her choice.

In those early days, she had survived on the scraps from part-time hunts, collecting bounties, scavenging odd jobs along the borderlands. A single ration packet of dried meat might last her two nights, and illness came often; weakness clung to her like a shadow. Sometimes, in the cold hours of dawn, she would curl beneath the cracked roof of her den and weep silently, her wolf pacing restlessly within her soul.

But she endured.

The small apartment that Luna Evelyn had once mocked as “a pup’s den” was hers now, bought claw by claw, sweat by sweat. No one could evict her; no one could strip it from her. No Alpha could stand before her door and sneer, “You owe us.”

It was hers alone—the first territory Aysel had ever truly owned.