The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 151

**Chapter 151**

From a distance, the gaze of the Fifth Branch—Lyall Sanchez, his wife Johanna, and their son Alfie—was drawn to the duo engaged in hushed conversation, their intimacy laced with an undercurrent of danger: Aysel and Magnus.

Lyall, with a measured calm, poured a steaming cup of moonleaf tea for Johanna, the aroma swirling around them like a gentle embrace. His voice was low, almost contemplative, as he remarked, “Magnus and his father are like opposing forces—fire clashing against winter steel. Yet, when it comes to matters of the heart, they are undeniably cut from the same cloth. I remember when Second Brother Ulric wore his favoritism for Raya like a badge of honor.”

Johanna’s expression remained inscrutable, a facade as serene and unyielding as a frozen lake, concealing the tumult beneath its surface.

She chose silence, letting his words hang in the air, heavy with meaning.

Instead, her attention shifted to their son, Alfie Sanchez. Since their arrival on the ancestral grounds, he had been unusually quiet, as if lost in his own thoughts. After a moment’s hesitation, she ventured softly, “Have you made up your mind?”

Alfie offered no response, his golden eyes trailing the delicate flight of a butterfly. Its wings glimmered like a blue Morpho, dusted with moonlight, until it alighted gently on the shoulder of the girl in the black dress. Aysel was laughing, her hair catching the sunlight, exuding an aura of wild hyacinth and moonlit serenity that enveloped her like a second skin.

As the solemn ceremony drew to a close, the ashes of Anna were finally laid to rest in the sacred grounds of the Sanchez family. The atmosphere shifted, and some guests began to depart, their presence fading into the distance.

Only the core bloodlines of the Sanchez family remained, accompanied by a few allied branches, their faces marked by the weight of the moment.

With the conclusion of the ceremony, the stifling tension that had blanketed the old estate began to lift, like a fog retreating at dawn.

The younger wolves scattered, their energy bubbling over. Some dashed toward the riding fields, while others made their way to the game lounges, and a few settled into the tea pavilions, eager to escape the somber mood.

By the pond, a group of boys and girls from distant branches shifted restlessly, their eyes darting toward the forest path, as if longing for escape.

Yet, amidst the chatter and movement, Noah’s voice rang out, relentless and sharp.

He ranted vehemently about Magnus and Aysel, his words dripping with disdain, much like a lesser wolf growling at a dominant predator from the safety of a fence.

The others around him visibly squirmed, their discomfort evident.

If Magnus or Aysel caught wind of their “rebellious chorus,” they would find themselves in dire trouble.

But Noah, being the blood grandson of Bastien Sanchez, the family patriarch, wielded a power that made others wary. His mother, Rudi, had always been in the good graces of the family, and that legacy afforded him a certain immunity.

The young wolves feigned interest, their half-hearted “mm” and “ah” responses laced with fear.

At last, a girl with heavy bangs rolled her eyes so dramatically that it seemed she might fall over. She bit her tongue, swallowed hard, but couldn’t contain herself when Noah sneered that Magnus “only became the Shadowbane Alpha by sheer luck.”

“That can’t possibly be true,” she interjected, her voice rising above the murmurs. “Under his leadership, the Shadowbane territory has flourished—stronger than ever before. That’s not just luck.”

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