The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 161

**Midnight Letters by Daniel Crowe**
**Chapter 161**

**Magnus’s POV**

I didn’t exactly exude softness. Inside, a sneer curled at the corners of my mind.

Specimens? Ha! Why not just turn himself into one? Wolves have an uncanny ability to see through each other’s facades instantaneously. I was acutely aware of Alfie’s gentle intentions, even if Aysel remained blissfully unaware. She had no inkling that he wasn’t going to recklessly unravel the delicate thread of attraction that had begun to weave itself between us.

With a deliberate motion, I pushed the cake toward her, carefully concealing the shadows that flickered in my eyes. “Eat less. Otherwise, you won’t have room for dinner,” I said, my tone light but laced with an underlying authority.

“I can manage to eat less at dinner,” she replied, her voice airy, eyes calm yet watchful, like a hawk surveying its territory.

“And then you’ll wake me in the middle of the night, starving, just to cook for you?” I countered, a half-smile teasing at my lips, though I could feel the sharp edge of alpha control still lingering in the air between us.

Her pause was a source of amusement for me—some things didn’t need to be articulated. My hand itched to reach out, to caress her face and remind her of the territory she inhabited, of the bond that tied a wolf to his mate. I pinched her cheek lightly, a playful gesture that nonetheless carried the weight of a warning.

Finally, curiosity overpowered my restraint. I fixed my dark gaze on her plump cheeks, a subtle challenge in my eyes. “So… what did you two discuss before I arrived?”

“Life, ideals… philosophy,” she answered, her grin wide and carefree, as if the weight of the world didn’t rest on her shoulders.

A flicker of unease curled within my chest at her casualness.

She caught my gaze, tilting her head slightly, and then with an almost innocent shrug, she added, “He mentioned he saw me in A City seven years ago.”

I clenched my teeth, the implications of her words sending a jolt through me. Seven years. He had inserted himself early into her timeline, and I felt the stirrings of possessiveness rise within me.

“And?” I pressed, my voice firm, demanding more.

“No… nothing else. I didn’t ask,” she replied, her hands lifting in a helpless gesture. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t even remember him.”

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