The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 145

Chapter 145

Third Person’s POV

On the other side of the manor, Kian was doing his duty with the patience of a saint—or a martyr. He had checked the IV in Aysel’s room several times, and each time he walked in, he was force-fed another mouthful of “mate-bond dog food.”

The less potion left in the hanging vial,

the heavier the single wolf’s despair.

By the end, he simply couldn’t take it anymore. With a dramatic sigh fit for a long-suffering Omega, he removed the needle, scooped up Daron and decided to take the freshly-awakened creature outside for a walk.

“These two lightning-struck, star-damned wolf lovers…”

He thought bitterly.

“Even sunrise is less blinding.”

Yet not even half an hour later, full of grievances and the petty joy of watching others suffer, Kian returned-smirking.

In his left hand he held Daron’s leash; in his right, an elaborately arranged bouquet of violet hyacinths, unmistakably decorated by a professional florist.

Magnus was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, quietly preparing congee as though unaware he was radiating an Alpha’s gloom that could suffocate a lesser wolf. The strongest Alpha on the continent was calmly stirring porridge like a domesticated mate.

Kian released Daron, picked up the card pinned to the bouquet, and chirped:

“Tsk tsk tsk… Look what I brought for you~”

His desire to spectate drama practically oozed from his voice.

Magnus untied his apron with the slow, unhurried movements of a predator conserving its strength, lifted his gaze, and let his cold golden eyes skim across the flowers.

“Throw it away. She doesn’t like hyacinths.”

Kian blinked.

1/6

He was many things, but he was not suicidal enough to bring flowers for Aysel in front of Magnus. He would never volunteer to be ripped apart by a territorial Alpha whose wolf-Rafe

took mate-bond loyalty to the extreme.

The bouquet was clearly arranged as a gift.

There was only one explanation:

Kian had intercepted it.

And only one wolf in the East would dare try to deliver flowers to Aysel Vale.

Magnus didn’t lift an eyelid. His expression was glacial.

Kian clicked his tongue.

“That’s strange. I heard these were Miss Aysel’s favorite flowers.”

He had seen Damon Blackwood arguing with the guards at the entrance with this exact bouquet clutched in his hands.

The guards had already received orders:

Anyone trying to approach the residence of Unit 16 must be screened.

And Damon Blackwood refused to identify himself, nor call ahead. For all they knew, he could be a wolf with ill intent toward Aysel.

Also… who the hell delivered flowers at this hour?

Even wolves didn’t wake this early.

Kian and Daron had watched the spectacle together. And of course Kian, whose gossip-lust ran deeper than his medical ethics, immediately guessed who the visitor was.

He walked up smiling politely,

“Are you here to deliver flowers? I can help you.”

Since he came out from inside the complex-with a wolfhound-Damon naturally mistook him for a resident of Unit 16.

But when Damon hinted if he could be escorted inside, Kian shook his head firmly.

“Delivering flowers is easy. But taking you in-if anything happens-I can’t take that

2/6

responsibility.”

So Damon Blackwood had no choice but to hand over the bouquet.

And then, embarrassingly, he asked Kian to pass on a message to Aysel.

As expected from a physician with a refined air, Kian’s demeanor was disarmingly gentle, earning Damon’s trust. Damon knew he probably wouldn’t be allowed inside today. After all- Magnus Sanchez was surely guarding the place like a wolf guarding his mate’s den.

Kian listened to Damon’s long, rambling apologies with a completely polite face and a completely empty brain. He yawned internally a dozen times.

Before leaving, Damon even hesitated and said,

“Sorry… but Aysel may still be asleep. Could you deliver them later?”

He had originally planned to wait outside himself.

After all, the car crash involving Anna-the fourth matriarch of the Sanchez family—was no secret. Damon, who had been watching news of the Shadowbane and Moonvale packs since Magnus and Aysel appeared together at the birthday banquet, rushed over the moment he heard.

He had been sleepless. Worried.

Still thinking of Aysel.

Kian silently clicked his tongue.

This ex-boyfriend was annoyingly considerate.

“Of course.”

“Thank you for the trouble.”

“Not at all. I’m very free.”

Kian replied with delight.

He was far too entertained to throw these flowers away.

“I didn’t remember the message, but the flowers should still be delivered. Don’t waste them. Stick them in a vase-they look nice.”

3/6

Magnus gave him a flat, dagger-sharp glance.

One minute later-

Kian stood outside the villa doors, stomping his foot like an outraged Beta who had been robbed of his gossip privileges.

After working all night, without even a bowl of congee to reward him, the man he helped turned out to be a wolf who burnt bridges the second he crossed them.

Kian’s heart felt like winter.

Soon, he heard sounds from inside.

His eyes

lit

“I knew you weren’t—”

—but the door cracked open, and Daron squeezed out, the bouquet clenched between his teeth. He cast Kian a single look-one that clearly said “Why is this dumb two-legger still here?”-then promptly trotted off.

Straight toward the trash can.

66

Kian: “…”

Inside the villa-

Magnus picked up the card Daron had dropped.

The words “I’m sorry” and “I love you” sat on it, offensively bright.

He exhaled once, relit the flame beneath the stove, and held the corner of the card over it.

He watched it burn to ash.

Aysel awoke to find the house filled with flowers.

She leaned over to sniff the crimson roses on the table, brows furrowing slightly as she looked at Magnus ladling porridge into a bowl.

“Why so many flowers? Where’s Kian?”

Magnus’s voice was calm, unbothered—dangerously convincing for a wolf who had burned a love confession minutes earlier.

4/6

“Nothing. Flowers help with recovery. He was busy, so he left.”

Aysel blinked, suspicious. She touched her chin.

“Hmm. Something’s off. You’re unusually thoughtful today.”

Magnus scooped her up from where she was bending over the table, settling her in front of the perfectly-warm bowl of millet porridge.

His eyes lowered, amber and dangerous.

“When am I ever not good to you?”

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