The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 132

**Midnight Letters by Daniel Crowe**
**Chapter 132**

In the dim light of the study, the air was thick with the unmistakable scent of aged paper and worn leather, mingling with a metallic tang that hinted at the presence of blood. It was an atmosphere that seemed to cling to Bastien, even as he lay weakened on the floor, a shadow of the formidable Alpha he once was.

Outside, the storm raged mercilessly, battering the Shadowbane estate with relentless fury. Each thunderclap reverberated through the very stones of the house, a primal reminder of nature’s raw power. Magnus stood guard at the doorway, a low growl escaping his throat, a warning to the intruding Sanchez siblings and their retainers who had ventured too close. The tension in the air was palpable; the intruders froze, muscles taut, their tails instinctively curling against their bodies in a show of caution.

Lyall Sanchez knelt beside the fallen Bastien, whose chest rose and fell in labored breaths that echoed the frailty of age and the shock that had overtaken him. Magnus’s gaze darted to the old Alpha’s sidearm—a drawer containing emergency heart potions—an arsenal of desperation. With a swift, practiced motion, he retrieved a bitter, wolf-bitter pill and administered it to Bastien, who swallowed with a gurgle, his eyes fluttering shut. But Magnus, with a heavy heart, recognized the grim reality; even the strongest of wolves could not escape the grip of mortality at Bastien’s age. The old wolf desperately needed the pack healers.

Without any need for explicit orders, the rest of Bastien’s so-called “devoted descendants” sprang into action, their movements hurried as they summoned drivers and prepared the carriage that would carry him away to the aid he so urgently required.

Accalia Sanchez’s sharp gaze narrowed, her eyes tracking the frail figure of their patriarch being lifted. A predatory glint mixed with confusion flickered in her expression as she turned to Lyall. “What did you tell Father?” she demanded, her voice laced with accusation.

Lyall’s face remained a stoic mask, unreadable as granite. He offered no reply, his silence a fortress.

Frustrated, Accalia’s impatience boiled over. She lashed out, her eyes darting to a trembling servant huddled in the corner. “He won’t speak. You will,” she snapped, her tone leaving no room for defiance.

The maid quivered under the weight of their scrutiny, glancing at Lyall, her lips parting as if to form words, but then clamping shut in fear. Magnus’s gaze fell upon her, cold and unyielding as frost. “What did you hear? Speak,” he commanded, his voice a low rumble that brooked no argument.

The servant’s entire being trembled under his predatory stare. Stammering, she whispered, “I… I pushed open the study door… and saw Alpha Bastien on the ground… Alpha Lyall was standing there. But before I entered, I heard… I heard him say…” She stole a furtive glance at Lyall before bowing her head, overwhelmed by dread. “He said, ‘You never fulfilled your duty to Alfie as his father. And now… do you want him to watch his mother die?’”

The moment those words escaped her lips, a thunderclap shattered the stillness outside, lightning illuminating the room in a stark, blinding white. Every Sanchez present felt the shock ripple through them. Alfie—Lyall and Johanna’s only son—had been thrust into the center of their family’s legacy, his name now echoing ominously in the air.

The absurdity of it all struck like a physical blow. No wonder Bastien had collapsed; his grandson had morphed into a son in the eyes of the family. Every wolf in the room felt the sting of this revelation, their hearts pounding like drums in the depths of the forest.

Magnus grasped the significance immediately. He instructed the maid to leave and to rest, emphasizing the importance of her silence. The pack’s secrets were treasures, and tonight, nothing could be allowed to slip into the light of day.

Accalia’s gaze remained fixed on Lyall, a whirlwind of horror, awe, and something deeper swirling within her. A green-marked alpha, born of scandal yet fully recognized. Twenty years had passed, and he had embraced this truth? Alfie was likely the same age as Derek Sanchez. Even Kurt Sanchez, the third uncle, felt an unexpected respect bloom within him. Lyall’s devotion to Johanna had been unwavering.

Lyall’s expression did not falter as he faced the myriad stares of his kin. He had intended to discuss this matter with Bastien in private, but fate had intervened—his father’s frail state, the maid’s intrusion—and now the truth lay bare for all to see. There was no longer a reason to conceal it. Johanna’s treatments, Alfie’s rightful claim to the Sanchez legacy—none would dare object now.

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