The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 60

**Midnight Letters by Daniel Crowe**
**Chapter 60**

**Magnus’s POV**

The sound of Bastien’s cane striking the polished marble floor reverberated through the vast hall, sharp and unsettling, much like the crack of thunder that heralds a tempest. “You still harbor hatred for us, don’t you?” he sneered, his voice laced with an arrogance that sent a shiver down my spine.

I chose silence, my lips pressed tightly together, forming a thin, defiant line. To label my feelings towards the Shadowbane bloodline as mere “hate” was a gross understatement. Bastien, that aging wolf, mistook my quietude for guilt, yet it was something far more intricate—an exercise in restraint.

If I unleashed my wolf’s fury, this grand estate would surely be drenched in blood before dawn dared to break.

I recalled every tale, not as they had been narrated to me, but as they had truly unfolded in the dark recesses of our shared history.

To my mother,

Ulric Sanchez—my father—was once the second son, a reckless spirit driven by an insatiable hunger for what he believed was rightfully his. My uncle Phelan, the rightful heir, embodied everything Ulric was not: noble, brilliant, and adored by Bastien himself. His Luna, Ulva, was the epitome of the ideal she-wolf, celebrated by the elders for her poise, her diplomatic grace, and her impeccable lineage.

Yet Ulric was different. He called it love, that foolish weakness for a musician named Raya. Her delicate features and cerulean eyes quaked at the harsh realities of our world. She never should have ventured into the den of wolves, yet fate had other designs.

He discovered her at a performance, captivated by her intoxicating scent—the wild honey of innocence. Disguised as a trader’s son, he pursued her with the fervor of a predator stalking its prey, promising her a life of peace and safety.

And she, naive and trusting, fell for his ruse.

When the truth finally shattered her world—that he was a Shadowbane, the son of Bastien—she attempted to flee. But Ulric, in his possessiveness, would not allow her to escape what he claimed as his own. He begged, he threatened, and he even swore his life in a desperate attempt to keep her by his side. In the end, she succumbed, whether out of love or pity, none could truly discern.

For a fleeting moment, they found happiness. But that fragile peace crumbled when Phelan died, and the bloodline began to tear itself apart at the seams.

Ulric craved more than just a mate; he yearned for power. But Raya was ill-equipped for the treacherous games of the court. She was blissfully unaware of the subtle cues of dominance—the scent of submission, the veiled battles lurking behind every smile.

Then Ivy entered the picture.

She was Ulric’s childhood bondmate, clever and merciless, the quintessential she-wolf. Upon her return from the border wars, she found Ulric ensnared in a marriage that dulled his ambitions. Ivy reminded him of what he had lost, whispering sweet nothings that rekindled the flame of his desires.

Raya discovered their betrayal, but instead of rage, she simply crumbled beneath the weight of her heartbreak.

At that time, she was pregnant with me.

My father, in his desperation, begged her to stay, insisting that the affair meant nothing. Yet even I, still nestled within her womb, could sense the fracture in her spirit. Her heart had turned to ash, a desolate landscape devoid of warmth.

When she tried to leave, he imprisoned her within the gilded cage of the Court—a place where even the moonlight dared not reach.

Her parents came for her once, desperate to reclaim their daughter. But the guards turned them away with cold indifference. That night, amidst a raging storm, their carriage overturned on the treacherous mountain road, and they never returned home.

From that moment on, Raya never smiled again.

When I was born, her mind was already unraveling like an old tapestry. She would call me her “little wolf,” only to forget she had ever uttered those words moments later. Sometimes, she would sit by the window for hours, whispering to ghosts that only she could see, trapped in a world of her own despair.

Ulric, unable to bear the sight of her madness, left for the border under the pretense of expanding the pack’s trade network. But it was nothing more than a coward’s escape, leaving us to rot under Bastien’s oppressive roof, surrounded by wolves who viewed my mother’s fragility as a source of entertainment.

They made her their scapegoat, and I became their amusement.

The Shadowbane estate reeked of decay and hierarchy, a toxic blend that suffocated the very air we breathed.

The females of the bloodline—my grandfather’s other mates, their daughters, their smug companions—laughed too loudly whenever my father left the room. The servants followed suit, bowing to the strong while kicking the weak. And Bastien, the old Alpha, the patriarch of this grotesque dynasty, simply turned a blind eye.

He cared little for the fate of a “tainted” mate and her half-blood child. To him, the law of fangs was absolute: the unfit would be devoured.

My mother, Raya, was beauty in its rawest form. No wolf could deny it. Her scent—soft wildflowers mingled with a hint of sorrow—stirred instincts even in the coldest of beasts. That was why my father’s younger brother, Conor, began to linger near her, his predatory gaze concealed behind a facade of innocence.

He would smile when no one was watching, whispering sweet words when they were. Until one fateful day, cornered and desperate, my mother fled down the marble stairs to escape his grasp, only to fall, her skull striking the unforgiving stone.

No one came to her aid.

They branded her a temptress, a human-blooded witch who seduced the pack’s males for sport. Conor’s mate led a group of females who dragged her before me—I was just a cub then—and beat her mercilessly beneath the moonlight, warning her not to “entice” other males.

Bastien ordered her wounds to be healed, not out of pity, but to prevent gossip that could tarnish the family crest.

That was the moment I learned: in the Shadowbane Pack, mercy was a luxury reserved for the powerful.

Raya began to fade after that, her mind fracturing like ice beneath a heavy foot. She would wake in the night, screaming at invisible wolves, then weep as she clutched me to her chest, as if I were her last anchor to sanity. On some nights, she attempted to end it all—once with silver shards, once by trying to drown both of us.

When she recovered, she would beg the moon for forgiveness, pressing her face against my fur. “I’m sorry, little wolf,” she’d whisper, her voice trembling. “I just want the pain to stop.”

Once, she reached out to my father’s sister, Luna of the Runeclaw Pack. She wrote letter after letter, pleading for assistance. Yet none were answered.

By the time I turned five, my father returned, but he did not come alone.

—

Once, Ivy attempted to cast me out into the wild, leaving me bound in silver wire deep within the Frostfang forest. The others believed I was dead.

But I survived.

The wilderness taught me how to endure. Hunger taught me when to strike. The wolves taught me to kill.

A month later, when they found me, I walked into the Shadowbane hall barefoot and bloodstained, dragging the pelt of a feral alpha behind me.

—

That was the day Bastien finally looked at me—truly looked at me.

He saw not Ulric’s weak son, but a wolf the pack could not break.

And in that moment, I saw him for what he truly was: the architect of every cruelty that had shaped me.

The boy they had left to die had risen to become their heir.

Their weapon.

Their curse.

**Conclusion**

In the aftermath of the chaos, as I stood in the Shadowbane hall, the weight of my past settled heavily upon my shoulders, an anchor dragging me into the depths of despair. The memories of my mother’s suffering, my father’s cowardice, and Ivy’s relentless cruelty intertwined like the gnarled roots of an ancient tree, binding me to a lineage steeped in darkness. Yet, amidst the pain, a flicker of resolve ignited within me, a spark refusing to be extinguished. I was no longer the helpless cub they had cast aside; I had clawed my way through the shadows and emerged with purpose. I would wield my anger not as a weapon of destruction, but as a catalyst for change. The bloodline that had sought to break me would soon learn that I was not merely their heir, but the storm they had long underestimated.

As I faced Bastien, the architect of my torment, a strange sense of liberation washed over me, cleansing the remnants of fear and doubt. No longer would I be a pawn in their cruel games; I was ready to reclaim my narrative, to script my own destiny. The echoes of the past, once a haunting chorus, now transformed into a powerful anthem of defiance, resonating within me. I would rise from the ashes of my mother’s despair and my father’s failures, forging a new path that honored her memory while dismantling the oppressive legacy of the Shadowbane name. The night was dark, but I was no longer afraid of the shadows; I was ready to embrace them, to harness their power, and to carve a future that would echo with the strength of my own voice.

**What to Expect in Next Chapter?**

In the forthcoming chapter of *Midnight Letters*, readers can anticipate a dramatic escalation as Magnus grapples with the weight of his past and the looming threat of his enemies. With the revelations of his lineage and the twisted dynamics of the Shadowbane bloodline echoing in his mind, Magnus stands at a precipice, torn between vengeance and the desire for redemption. As he navigates the treacherous waters of power and betrayal, the stakes will rise, and the lines between friend and foe will blur. Will he embrace the darkness that has haunted him, or will he forge a new path, one that defies the very legacy that sought to consume him?

Moreover, the chapter promises to delve deeper into the intricate relationships that have shaped Magnus’s identity. The tension between him and Bastien reaches a boiling point, leading to a confrontation that could change the course of the Shadowbane legacy forever. As secrets long buried begin to surface, Magnus must confront not only the ghosts of his past but also the very real threats that lurk within the pack. The question of loyalty will be tested, alliances will shift, and the true nature of power will be revealed. Readers should brace themselves for a whirlwind of emotions as Magnus’s journey unfolds, filled with unexpected twists that will leave them breathless and eager for more.