The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 128

Chapter 128

Third Person’s POV

The living hall grew lively once the elders dispersed. Kurt Sanchez’s mate and Sandy even approached Aysel, speaking to her with uncharacteristic warmth.

It was amusing-at the last auction, because of Zark, those two had looked at her and Magnus as though they were blood enemies.

But with personal gain on the line, wolves could bend as easily as reeds in river wind.

From beginning to end, no one spared a word for Lyall Sanchez or Johanna. The pair sat isolated in a corner like banished rogues, tension stiffening both their auras. They whispered in low, clipped tones-sharp enough that Aysel could sense the edges of their quiet argument. Eventually Johanna, exhausted in scent and spirit, seemed to yield. Their talk settled into something muted, resigned.

Aysel could feel Johanna watching her from time to time.

No malice.

Just pure lupine curiosity.

Aysel herself had no desire to participate in the Moonvale Pack’s well-practiced ritual of collective exclusion.

If anything, the sight of it made her stomach twist. It reminded her too much of how Magnus must have grown up in this house-surrounded by subtle cruelty, old blood feuds, long silences, and cold eyes.

And now the very wolf they once shunned was the one they sought to please.

What had he endured before he rose to become the continent’s strongest Alpha-the Shadowbane Rafe?

Still, none of this meant she would suddenly feel saintly enough to defend Lyall or Johanna. After all, after years of absence, they returned only to dig a pit beneath Magnus’s feet the moment they opened their mouths.

Aysel held grudges. And she held them purposefully.

If she had spare energy, she would rather spend it worrying about the “little pitiful one” by her

side.

1/3

Thinking of that, she shot a venomously annoyed glare at Ulric Sanchez-Magnus’s father- and Ivy, chatting comfortably with Accalia Sanchez.

Useless father. Vicious stepmother.

How were they still alive while Raya had died?

The more she thought about it, the more her wolf pricked with irritation. Maybe she should find an excuse to snap, lose her temper a little, beat someone up?

It wouldn’t even be the first time she’d shown “disrespect toward elders.”

Sensing her agitation as easily as a shift in wind pressure, Magnus reached out and lifted her off the couch in one smooth, possessive motion.

“Mm?” Aysel blinked at him, puzzled.

Magnus brushed a hand over her head, calming her wolf. “Didn’t you say you hate being here? I’ll take you to the Green Bamboo Courtyard. You can rest and change into something comfortable.”

“I didn’t bring any clothes.”

The rain outside was torrential-no way anyone could retrieve them.

And she didn’t want to wear anything belonging to the Sanchez wolves.

Not new clothes, not old ones-none.

“Forget it,” she murmured. “I’m not even wet. No need to change.”

Magnus’s lips curved faintly. “Relax. They’re not anyone else’s.”

Under her questioning gaze, he pinched her soft earlobe-an unmistakably intimate wolf gesture—and said, utterly matter-of-fact, “I stocked every residence I own with new clothes for you. Just in case.”

Aysel’s face lit up, bright and unrestrained, and she planted a loud kiss on his cheek—“mwah.”

Ever since that night of drinking and dancing, she’d become increasingly natural with her “reward system”

Magnus’s lips tilted upward, softening the coldness he’d worn since arriving at the old estate.

Watching the young pair leave hand-in-hand, Ivy clicked her tongue. “So rude.”

2/3

They’d been back so long, yet not a greeting to her or to Ulric.

They walked out like the house belonged only to them.

“Oh, spare me,” Ulric snapped, irritation flaring. “Do you really not know what your relationship with him is like?”

Ivy’s anger sparked instantly. “And whose fault is that?”

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