The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 140

**Midnight Letters by Daniel Crowe**
**Chapter 140**

The air was thick with tension as a resounding “Thud-” reverberated through the dimly lit halls of the ancient estate.

Anna’s gaze intensified, her eyes narrowing to slits as she scrutinized the flickering monitors. Two figures approached, their bodies drawn together in a way that spoke of an intimate bond, one that was instinctual and raw. A surge of venomous anger twisted her lips into a hard line.

How could this be happening? Magnus, the fierce warrior she had underestimated, had been caught completely off guard. The men she had dispatched to confront him had been left battered and broken, their bodies a testament to his unleashed fury. His expression had been a tempest of predatory madness, leaving no room for the mercy she had hoped he would show.

Yet, despite everything, he had spared Aysel.

If only she had foreseen this, Anna thought bitterly, her mind racing. Allowing Aysel to approach him, letting her draw near—was this some twisted plan to unite them? To bless their reunion?

A cruel laugh escaped her lips, sharp enough to slice through the tension in the room.

“Guards!” she barked, her voice laced with malice, the very air around her thickening with dark intent.

No matter what transpired this night, she vowed that neither Magnus nor Aysel would leave her ancestral estate unscathed. Their love, so fierce and consuming, would be their undoing—she would see to it that they became wretched together, trapped underground, broken in spirit.

Just as she was about to put her plans into action, the massive doors of the estate burst open with a thunderous crash. Lightning forked across the stormy night sky, illuminating the figures that stood at the threshold: Jackson, flanked by Kian and a group of medics he had summoned in the dead of night. Behind them, a squad of formidable black-clad pack warriors advanced, each one a formidable force of lethal muscle. Injured lackeys and trembling servants lay scattered on the floor, the metallic scent of blood saturating the air.

Anna’s complexion paled, her confidence wavering.

Ever since Aysel had touched Magnus’ palm, he had been ensnared in a trance-like focus, his gaze unwaveringly fixed on her blood-streaked yet unbroken face, radiating an intensity that silenced the chaos around them.

Outside, the storm howled, but within the estate, time seemed to thicken, becoming almost viscous as Aysel deciphered the raw, unspoken message conveyed through his eyes.

“Magnus… do you want to kiss me?” she asked playfully, a teasing glint sparkling in her emerald eyes.

Magnus responded not with words but with action. His massive hand pressed firmly against her slender waist, while his other hand lifted the damp strands of her hair, guiding her toward him with an undeniable urgency.

The first kiss landed on her cheek, warm and deliberate. Her tears—salty and fresh—were eagerly absorbed by his heated lips.

“You taste salty,” he murmured, his nose brushing against her chilled skin, sending shivers down her spine.

“Of course,” she whispered back, a soft smile tugging at her lips, “tears are…”

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