The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 162

**Midnight Letters by Daniel Crowe**

**Chapter 162**

In the dim light of the garden, Magnus’s usual air of control faltered, revealing a flicker of frustration and yearning that momentarily softened his otherwise stern features. Aysel, sensing the shift, let out a soft laugh, her arms encircling his neck in a warm embrace. “It’s not too late,” she murmured, her voice a soothing balm against the chill of the evening air. The memories of their past may have slipped through their fingers like sand, but the horizon of their future lay before them, wild and uncharted, reminiscent of wolves racing through a moonlit forest, untamed and free.

Magnus’s eyes remained locked onto hers, a mixture of predatory intensity and tender affection swirling within their depths. Aysel felt a shiver of awareness ripple through her, instinctively covering her mouth as she realized that even in the shadows of the garden, they were not entirely alone. The closeness between them, their heartbeats harmonizing in a shared rhythm, was a bold declaration of their bond.

Leaning in, he drew closer, a wolf nuzzling its mate, and brushed his lips softly against the back of her hand in a fleeting, possessive kiss that sent a thrill through her. His voice, low and gravelly, resonated in the stillness around them. “No one dares come here,” he whispered, the words a promise laced with an undercurrent of warning that hung in the air like a thick fog.

“Aysel—” His tone was magnetic, commanding, sending a delightful shiver racing along her spine. “I’m jealous… comfort me, baby—I am so jealous—I hate them—”

Aysel’s scalp tingled at his admission. Magnus had morphed into a perfect blend of danger and charm, a wolf whose instincts were as sharp as his gaze.

In the distance, the gentle sound of water cascading and the sweet fragrance of blooming flowers wafted through the air, teasing her senses. Magnus chuckled softly, his hand gliding over her back with a deliberate, satisfying rhythm. “Sweet. Strawberry cakes,” he remarked, his voice thick with indulgence, painting a picture of a simple yet delightful moment shared between them.

In a burst of playful embarrassment, Aysel playfully slapped his mouth, only to have her hand captured and kissed once more. She surrendered to the absurdity of their exchange, her gaze wandering to the vibrant flowerbeds around them, alive with a symphony of colors and scents. She pondered silently whether men ever truly deserved sympathy.

Meanwhile, in another part of the garden, a young girl, clutching a stack of cherished board games, skidded to a halt. With arms spread wide like a protective mother wolf, she blocked her exuberant siblings from advancing. “I just remembered—Aunt Aysel said she went to Greenbamboo Garden to rest. Let’s not disturb her,” she declared, her voice firm.

“Really? But didn’t Magnus just bring food for Aysel and head toward the garden?” one sibling questioned, confusion evident in their tone.

“You don’t understand. We’ll play later. Games can wait,” she insisted, her resolve unwavering. Reluctantly, her siblings backed down, their adventurous spirits dampened. Without a leader to rally them, none dared approach the couple, let alone join in their playful banter.

Trailing behind, the girl fought to suppress the urge to glance back. Though her outward demeanor was calm, inside, her heart raced like a drum echoing the chase of a wolf. That brief glimpse of intimacy among the flowers—a mere kiss—had ignited a fire within her that no late-night comic could ever match. She covered her face, her heart pounding wildly.

In another hall of the estate, Bastien held court, making a decisive proclamation regarding the Fifth Branch. As Magnus had anticipated, the old Alpha bypassed the intricacies of the past and directly allocated a portion of the family wealth to this branch. Reactions rippled through the room, a mixture of surprise and resentment.

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