The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 166

**Midnight Letters by Daniel Crowe**
**Chapter 166**

Magnus departed the continent, all the while under the watchful gaze of Aysel, her amber eyes silently tracking his every move.

Ever since they had finally peeled back the delicate layers of pretense and openly acknowledged the bond that tied them, the Alpha of the Shadowbane Pack had become a tempest, nearly impossible to contain. The ancient Rafe-wolf coursing through his veins—dominant, fiercely possessive, and undeniably ancient—had emerged in full force, prowling restlessly just beneath the surface of his skin.

His ability to restrain himself had always been a fragile thing, teetering on the edge of a precipice.

But now?

Now it lay in ruins, scattered like ashes in the wind.

For days leading up to his departure, Magnus had been a tightly coiled spring, simmering with a restless energy, circling Aysel like a storm that threatened to unleash its fury at any moment. The longing within him was insatiable; he craved, no—he needed—to mark Aysel, to sink his fangs into the tender curve of her neck and claim her as his mate before he was forced to leave. Yet, fate had conspired against him. First, she had caught a chill from the relentless rain, and then her cycle brought its own discomfort, adding to the tension that hung between them. With each passing hour, the countdown to his departure gnawed at him like a ravenous beast, relentless and unforgiving.

By the time the eve of his flight arrived, Magnus was practically feral with desire.

That night, he finally cast aside the last remnants of his self-control.

With a gentle yet unmistakably powerful push, he guided Aysel into the soft bedding, caging her beneath him with an intensity that was unmistakably Alpha. His touch was electric, heated with reverence and a hunger that seemed to pulse in the very air between them. As he leaned in closer, his breath fanned against her neck, where the faint, tantalizing pulse of her unclaimed Luna-mark drove him to the brink of madness. His wolf rumbled within him, a sound that was both a plea and a command.

“Aysel… let me hold you,” he murmured against her skin, his voice low and gravelly, thick with longing. “Just tonight. Until I come back. I promise, I won’t ever leave your side again.”

Her protests were soft, breathless, and utterly helpless against the intensity of his presence. The scent of him—dark cedar, shadow-wolf musk, and a hint of cold steel—wrapped around her like a comforting shroud, seeping into her senses and making her head spin. His arms encircled her waist with an unwavering devotion, as if letting go, even for a heartbeat, would tear something vital from his very being.

As the night deepened, Aysel found herself boneless with exhaustion, half-asleep against her pillows. She had spent far too much time tending to Magnus’s needs, her body weary from their shared moments. Yet, Magnus remained restless, twitching and nuzzling against her, inhaling her scent with a desperation that bordered on reverence.

The dawn barely brushed the edges of the sky when he should have risen for his flight.

Instead, he pulled her closer, burying his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her Moonvale scent like a man lost in the depths of addiction, savoring her essence as if it were his last chance.

When she still didn’t stir, Magnus finally lifted his head and pressed his mouth to hers—slow, lingering, and possessive. His lips moved against hers with a kind of tender hunger that sent the mark-hunger within him pulsing dangerously.

Aysel, sore and utterly exhausted, finally reached her limit.

With a swift motion, she lifted a foot and kicked the powerful Alpha straight off the bed.

Magnus hit the carpeted floor with a solid thud, a soft hiss escaping his lips. But instead of anger, amusement danced in his dark eyes. He rubbed his tailbone, a playful smirk tugging at his lips, before slinking back into bed with the stubbornness of a wolf refusing to be denied. Before Aysel could react, he leaned down and captured her lips in another fierce, heated kiss, a glint of smug satisfaction in his demeanor.

Only when the sun began to rise, casting a golden glow through the window, and the time grew perilously tight, did he finally relent.

Panting lightly, his hair damp and tousled, Magnus hovered above her, a low growl rumbling in his chest. “Aysel Vale… when I return, I promise to settle every bit of this with you. You’re finished,” he declared, his voice thick with determination.

She rolled her eyes, her voice soft and hoarse from fatigue. “Go. Now.”

He let out a disgruntled rumble, but his gaze was filled with warmth and tenderness. Carefully avoiding the spots he knew were sore, Magnus tucked the blanket around her, brushing a gentle thumb over her cheek before slipping off the bed.

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