The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 173

**Midnight Letters by Daniel Crowe**
**Chapter 173**

In the dim light of the forest, the younger wolves huddled together, their voices low and conspiratorial.

“Did you hear? Aysel bullied someone again,” one whispered, casting a furtive glance toward the direction of Aysel’s last known whereabouts.

In their naivety, they were convinced that Aysel had once again exercised her dominance, throwing her weight around as if it were a game.

This misconception fostered an unwarranted sympathy among them; as a result, Zenia found herself no longer subjected to their commands.

In the midst of her newfound peace, a moment of stillness enveloped her—until she spotted, just after Aysel’s departure, a platter of roasted meat resting invitingly before her tent, still radiating warmth.

Time seemed to freeze as she stood there, her heart pounding in her chest.

After a long pause, she pressed her lips together, a silent resolve forming within her, and brought the platter inside her tent.

Later that night, as the clock ticked toward eleven, the pack’s youth congregated around the flickering bonfire, their breath visible in the crisp mountain air as they awaited the spectacle of falling stars. Each member was bundled in thick outer pelts, shielding themselves from the biting chill that swept across the landscape.

Zenia clutched a worn, tattered coat in her arms, feeling the weight of Aysel’s outer robe that she had dirtied during their last encounter. She longed to return it, to clear the air between them, but as she approached, her gaze fell upon Aysel, who was already adorned in another jacket…

A man’s jacket.

The realization hit Zenia like a cold wave. She wasn’t the only one who noticed the change.

Celestine emerged from a nearby tent, her expression darkening as if frost had settled upon her features. In that moment, Zenia understood exactly to whom the jacket belonged.

The following morning, as the pack began their descent down the mountain trail, a sense of unease washed over Zenia.

“Aysel didn’t follow us,” she voiced anxiously, her heart racing with dread.

Celestine merely shot her a dismissive glance, her indifference cutting deeper than Zenia expected.

“She said she wanted to stay behind for a bit. Told us to go ahead without her.”

Zenia’s heartbeat quickened, an alarming rhythm pounding in her ears.

Could it truly be?

A young she-wolf, willingly choosing to separate from the pack, alone in the perilous wilderness of Mistyhowl?

Her instincts screamed a warning, urging her to act.

With a sense of determination, she drifted toward another group formation—the one that included Damon Blackwood, the heir to the Eastern Dominion, known for his strength and his ever-present shadow, Aysel.

If anyone understood Aysel’s habits, it was him.

As anticipated, the moment the news of Aysel’s absence reached Damon, he sprang into action, racing back up the mountain with a fierce urgency.

Celestine intercepted him mid-stride, her voice laced with concern.

“Do you not comprehend how perilous it is to act alone? Damon, please, don’t be reckless. Your parents would never forgive you for putting yourself in danger.”

Yet, Damon brushed past her with an icy resolve, his Alpha aura radiating a palpable intensity that sliced through the air like a sharpened blade.

His gaze swept over her, a dangerous glint sparking in his eyes—one that made even the bravest wolves hesitate.

Without a backward glance, he sprinted into the forest, following the path they had taken earlier, leaving Celestine standing there, humiliated, fury simmering behind her darkened eyes.

Zenia instinctively shrank back, seeking refuge within the safety of the group, her heart heavy with worry.

The pack lingered at the foot of the mountain, time stretching painfully as they waited, nerves fraying like old threads.

Neither Aysel nor Damon returned.

As dusk settled over the landscape, an unsettling hush fell upon them until finally, news arrived, shattering the silence.

Aysel Vale had gone in search of Damon after hearing whispers that he was looking for her, only to be unexpectedly pushed from behind, tumbling into a concealed sinkhole.

By the time Damon found her, Aysel had already managed to crawl out on her own, her hands marred with bloody scratches and her ankle twisted at an unnatural angle.

Despite her injuries, not a single tear fell from her eyes.

If Damon hadn’t arrived when he did, she would have continued to fight against her pain, determined to escape or find another means of calling for help.

But Damon was not made of stone.

When he laid eyes on her condition, his own eyes ignited with a burning fury, his Alpha wolf snarling in agitation.

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