The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 101

**Midnight Letters by Daniel Crowe**
**Chapter 101**

In the dimly lit studio, Agnes found herself at a point of reasonable competence—her footwork was crisp, her spins were consistent, and the rise and fall of her breath, reminiscent of a wolf’s, seemed to synchronize with the music’s rhythm. Yet, despite her progress, it was clear that she still fell short of the expectations set by Aysel of the Moonvale Pack.

“Five days,” Aysel declared, her voice a calm yet precise tone that carried the authority of an Alpha. “You have merely five days to elevate this dance to its utmost potential. If it fails to captivate at first glance, then this entire effort on the board becomes futile.”

Agnes raised a trembling hand, offering a shaky thumbs-up, her fingers quivering like a young wolf caught in the presence of an elder’s powerful aura.

Moon above, she thought, she had never exerted herself to such an extent, not even under Giovanna’s watchful eye during their training sessions.

“Did you truly create this choreography on your own?” Agnes blurted out, breathless, her hair clinging to her forehead with sweat.

Though her technique might not have been exemplary, the years spent under Giovanna’s subtle guidance had honed her ability to discern quality. She would stake her claim on the ancestral fangs: this piece was undeniably superior to much of what seasoned wolf-dance Masters had produced.

It was no wonder her aunt had gone mute when Agnes had inquired about Magnus’s mate’s name. Upon discovering it was Aysel, her aunt had frozen, her expression shifting to one of disbelief, before she murmured about the tragedy of such talent being left untapped for so long.

“If Aysel had continued dancing,” Giovanna had sighed wistfully, “she would have already etched her name into the annals of global dance.”

Aysel had simply replied, her voice soft and unassuming, “It’s merely a personal hobby.”

All Agnes could muster in response was a silent thumbs-up, her heart heavy with the weight of comparison.

Thank the Moon she had chosen to retreat from her reckless impulses. In terms of beauty, she could never hope to rival Aysel. Intellectually, she felt leagues behind. And now, even in her artistic expression, she felt utterly crushed.

Had she stubbornly pursued Magnus Sanchez, the continent’s most formidable Alpha, and the shadowborne wolf Rafe, she could hardly bear to imagine the depths of her own ruin at this moment.

The door to the studio creaked open gently, revealing Magnus’s striking visage, sculpted with an icy perfection, his eyes radiating the quiet pressure of a dominant wolf.

“Dinner,” he announced, his voice a low rumble that echoed in the stillness of the room.

Aysel rose gracefully from the floor. Agnes, sensing the shift in energy, hastily snatched her small bag and rushed over, her heart racing.

“I—I have plans with a friend tonight! I won’t be eating here. I promise to return tomorrow morning!” she blurted out in one breath before darting away as if pursued by a spirit wolf.

Just yesterday, she would have laughed at the absurdity of someone claiming Magnus personally prepared meals for anyone. But having witnessed it firsthand, the shock still reverberated through her bones, leaving her in a state of disbelief.

Aysel had never been fond of crowds; apart from the housekeeper who came by weekly, she managed everything on her own.

Thus, when they were home, the culinary duties typically fell to Magnus.

Aysel found nothing extraordinary about this arrangement. But for Agnes, observing an Alpha who once commanded entire battlefronts now calmly preparing a table laden with aromatic dishes was nothing short of astonishing. Her eyes nearly bulged in surprise.

And even more disconcerting was the overwhelming presence of Magnus up close. His scent, a cool metallic undertone unique to a Shadowbane Alpha, subtly pressed against her instincts, making the air feel colder and heavier. Eating under his watchful gaze felt akin to enduring a silent pack tribunal, a trial by scrutiny.

Agnes would rather go hungry than face that again. She was a textbook example of a wolf who admired dragons from a distance but trembled at the thought of encountering one up close.

Watching her small figure scurry down the path, Aysel couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Magnus, you truly are terrifying.”

Magnus’s expression remained impassive as he picked up her water cup, setting it aside as he queried, “Then why do you not fear me?”

Aysel pondered his question seriously.

During their first encounter, she had been emotionally shattered—her senses dulled, her instincts numbed. She hadn’t fully comprehended the danger he posed. Mistaking him for a predator harassing her, she had dragged him directly to a Night Guard station.

Afterward, he had assisted her, resolving issues she couldn’t tackle on her own.

That initial meeting had stripped away much of the fear that should have accompanied his overwhelming identity.

Meanwhile, Zark, who had disgraced himself at the Moonveil Auction, returned to the Sanchez stronghold only to face a harsh punishment dictated by pack law from Bastien.

A clean “kill one to warn the wolves.”

Following that, the entire Sanchez family had fallen silent.

This silence allowed Aysel to devote her full attention to training Agnes.

The wardens of the Moonvale Pack had informed her that someone from her previous household had come searching for her at the old apartment, but they left after waiting in vain.

Aysel felt indifferent.

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