The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 135

**Midnight Letters by Daniel Crowe**

**Chapter 135**

In the dimly lit ancestral hall of Moonvale, Anna’s claws tapped rhythmically against the cool surface of a crystal vase, her fingers deftly adjusting the moon-white blossoms it held. The flickering lantern light cast dancing shadows across her face, elongating her features and giving her an almost otherworldly appearance. She refused to lift her gaze, focusing instead on the delicate petals as if they held the answers to her turmoil.

“Relax,” she finally uttered, her voice a sharp whisper, slicing through the heavy silence like a thorn through flesh. “He isn’t dead. To kill a wolf outright is a trivial act. The true art of torment lies in leaving him half-alive, half-broken.”

This truth was etched into the very essence of the Sanchez bloodline, a lesson passed down through generations. No pack on the continent understood this harsh reality better than they did.

Once upon a time, they had inflicted such torment on Raya.

And Magnus had returned the favor with a vengeance that was as calculated as it was cruel.

Now, Anna found herself caught in the relentless cycle of retribution, a wheel that turned with her own suffering at its center.

Aysel’s voice broke through her thoughts, sharp and hissing like a snake ready to strike. “What do you want, Anna?”

With a delicate motion, Anna plucked a single petal from the flower, rolling it between her fingers as if she were grinding bone into dust. “What do I want?” she echoed, bitterness lacing her words. “I want someone else to feel the pain that I carry.”

Ever since Conor Sanchez—her once-vibrant mate—had become a mere shell of his former self, and her son Caleb had been left shattered and broken, her life had spiraled into an abyss of despair. Authority had been stripped from her, and access to the resources of the Sanchez clan had dwindled to the bare minimum, just enough to ensure that Conor and Caleb remained alive, albeit in a state of torment.

The wolves who had once groveled at her feet now recoiled from her presence as if she were a walking plague, a harbinger of decay.

Within the walls of the Sanchez estate, every smirk felt like a dagger aimed at her heart, every command a reminder of her diminished status. She drifted through the ancestral den and the sterile, disinfectant-scented corridors of the hospital like a specter, her very being wilting under the weight of her despair.

But the most profound wound of all?

Her own family had cast her aside.

Once, she had elevated them to prosperity by marrying into the powerful Sanchez line of Shadowbane. They had forced her to sever ties with the man she had once loved, draining her of her vitality like famished leeches.

And now, with Magnus unleashing a wave of vengeance upon them, they had turned their anger towards her.

Her parents regarded her with disappointment, her siblings with a hatred so sharp it severed their bonds entirely.

They loathed her.

How laughable it was.

On the darkest nights, Anna even contemplated that it might be a mercy if her mate and son were to die. At least then, the unending misery would come to an end.

But Magnus… Magnus was far too calculating.

Far too merciless.

He kept them alive, deliberately, as if they were anchors of flesh and pain, a punishment meticulously designed for her body and spirit.

She should have anticipated it.

The Alpha of Shadowbane, born of a cursed lineage, a wolf who had once torn through the influence of his own father… of course, he would never spare those who had touched Raya or caused harm to the pup she had raised.

Anna had long since reached her breaking point.

Other branches of the Sanchez pack—Kurt’s line, Lyall’s, Rollo’s, even Accalia’s—dared not strike against Magnus. They valued their lives too much, requiring absolute certainty before they would challenge him. Without that certainty, even the slightest attempt would lead to death.

But she dared to defy the odds.

Better to die swiftly than to continue existing in this torment.

Magnus was always cautious, always calculating. The ancestral estate was her only opportunity.

No one would suspect that the meek, invisible Anna could ever bite back.

Her son Caleb had already been smuggled abroad, a small victory in her desperate game. Before taking action, she had even contemplated ending Conor’s life, her comatose mate. But when she had lifted the oxygen mask, her hands had trembled with uncertainty.

She had placed it back down.

Death felt too merciful.

Let him suffocate on the remnants of life instead.

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