The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

**Magnus’s POV**

Twenty minutes had trickled by, and I found myself half-slumped on Aysel’s couch, the air thick with an eclectic blend of scents—herbs wafting from the kitchen, the metallic tang of blood, and the savory aroma of cooked food. It was a strange comfort amidst the chaos that surrounded us.

Across the room, Aysel sat at a small dining table, her bare feet swinging rhythmically as she indulged in a bowl of dumplings. She appeared carefree, but I knew better; her casual demeanor was a facade, a way to feign indifference while keeping a watchful eye on me.

I had noticed the moment she had slipped her earbuds in, pretending to scroll through her phone. It was a clever move on her part—she wasn’t ignoring us; she was allowing me the space I needed to converse with my enforcers without the weight of her gaze burning through the air between us.

Smart girl.

Jackson and Kian were busy at work, meticulously disinfecting the claw marks that marred my ribs and shoulder. The silence that enveloped us felt oppressive, heavy with unspoken thoughts and the weight of our shared history.

Finally, Jackson broke the quiet, his voice low and precise, the tone he reserved for matters of blood and betrayal. “Did you find the traitor, Alpha?”

I flexed my fingers against my thigh, still feeling the faint stickiness of dried blood beneath my touch. “Yes.”

The name rolled off my tongue, bitter and acrid. “It was Conor. Aligned with Charles again.”

Jackson’s body tensed, his expression shifting as the realization sank in. “Shadowbane blood betraying Shadowbane.”

Conor Sanchez—my fourth uncle.

I didn’t need to meet Jackson’s gaze to know what thoughts were racing through his mind.

Bastien Sanchez, my grandfather and the founding Alpha, had forged the Shadowbane Pack through bloodshed and war. He hadn’t just left behind one heir or two; he had sown countless seeds of ambition in the form of his offspring.

With his first mate, he had fathered three sons and a daughter—Phelan, the eldest uncle, who had met his end in a tragic fall during the family’s internal struggles; my father, Ulric; and my fifth uncle, Lyall, who had betrayed our bloodline for a woman and now lived on the fringes of our family. Then there was my aunt, Accalia.

And let’s not forget the others—the bastards brought into the fold later, including Conor, the product of a mistress who had briefly captured Bastien’s favor.

The unacknowledged children scattered beyond the family estate were numerous, each carrying fragments of the Shadowbane bloodline.

As Bastien aged, he left behind something far more dangerous than mere power—he left behind a legacy of ambition.

A kingdom of wolves, all driven by the same insatiable hunger, the same bloodlust, the same curse.

My father, Ulric, was the second son of Bastien. He had ruled briefly, but the war had crippled him. His injuries took more than just his legs; they stripped him of his desire for dominance.

From a young age, I learned that mercy had no place in our bloodline.

Conor had always aimed too high. His mother had once been Bastien’s favorite, and that had twisted his mind into believing the Shadowbane throne should have rightfully belonged to him.

Now, he had dared to betray me, leaking my movements to Charles, the rogue Alpha I had gutted in the East.

“Shall I take care of him?” Jackson inquired, his voice steady but edged with anticipation.

I shook my head, a firm decision. “Not yet. Let him think he’s safe. Pull the rest of his rot into the open. Then—burn them all at once.”

Kian looked up, his lazy golden eyes sparkling with mischief. “A clean kill, then. I like it.”

He finished wrapping the last of the bandages around my chest, then smirked, his expression teasing.

“Though I have to say, you’re lucky. The rogues Conor sent were pathetic. Couldn’t even land a proper hit.”

I froze, a chill running down my spine. My head tilted slightly, and both men sensed the shift in the atmosphere.

“No,” I replied quietly, my voice low and deliberate.

Kian blinked in surprise. “No?”

My gaze flicked toward Aysel, still at the table, earbuds in, pretending to be engrossed in her phone.

My voice dropped even lower, darker. “The rogues were strong. Skilled. Conor chose well this time.”

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