The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 139

**Midnight Letters by Daniel Crowe**
**Chapter 139**

**Aysel’s POV**

My throat felt raw, a strange rasp caught somewhere between the human voice I knew and the primal growl of a wolf. I lingered in the doorway for a few heartbeats, allowing the tempest outside to wash over my senses, each rumble of thunder and gust of wind pulling me deeper into the moment. Finally, I broke the silence that enveloped us.

“Magnus… it’s time to come home.”

My words, carried on the relentless rain and howling wind, reached him and stirred the statue-like figure that stood motionless, as if he were a lifeless relic of the past.

His sharp, chiseled features shifted slightly, and his eyes, black as the night sky, locked onto me with a predatory intensity that made my heart race. He regarded me as if I were an intruder daring to trespass into his domain, a foolish prey stepping unwittingly into the jaws of danger.

With a hesitant step forward, I left the warm amber glow of the corridor behind, my feet sinking into the encroaching darkness. I felt an irresistible pull toward the beast lurking in the shadows, a magnetic force that urged me closer.

He remained silent, his gaze tracking my every movement with a precision that was both unnerving and exhilarating. It was as if he were a coiled spring, still and yet brimming with a potent energy that promised chaos.

I carefully navigated the shards of glass littered across the floor, the rain gusting through the broken window like a wild spirit. At last, I stood before him, the storm raging around us.

“Magnus… come home with me.”

I spoke again, my voice trembling, betraying the tension that coursed through my wolf. I sank slowly to one knee on the cold, damp floor, leaning into him without a moment’s hesitation. My arms encircled him, pulling him close amidst the chaos that surrounded us.

We held each other in that profound silence, the minutes stretching like an eternity. Our soaked bodies pressed together offered little warmth, yet within that embrace, there was an undeniable grounding, a sense that even amid the ruins, we could still exist together. In the turbulent waters of the storm, he was the only piece of driftwood I could cling to.

“Why are you crying?” His voice was hoarse, yet laced with a gentleness I had almost forgotten existed. His dark pupils flickered with the first glimmers of life, a spark in the abyss.

He pulled me back just enough to look into my eyes, his thumb brushing away the wet streaks along my cheek. I realized my face was stained with tears, flowing unbidden. It felt absurd. I had faced the flames of the Moonvale Pack without shedding a tear when they forced me to burn my grandmother’s home.

I ducked my face back into the warmth of his neck, clinging to him, desperately trying to hide my shame.

“It’s not crying… it’s the rain,” I muttered, attempting to mask the truth, though I knew he could see right through me.

His large hands settled on my body—one resting on my waist, the other tenderly stroking the nape of my neck. “Alright… if that’s how you want to see it, it’s the rain.”

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