The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 189

**Midnight Letters by Daniel Crowe**
**Chapter 189**

In the dimly lit corridor, Dariusz stood paralyzed, his mouth barely forming the words, “Sorry, wrong room—” when his eyes locked onto the woman within. The amusement in her gaze was predatory, a glimmer of something dark and thrilling.

His pupils constricted, a reflexive response to the sudden rush of fear that coursed through him. His heart stumbled, caught in a moment of disbelief that felt like an eternity.

Instinct kicked in, primal and urgent. He turned on his heel, desperate to escape, but the door to the private room had already been sealed from the outside. The metallic click of the lock echoed ominously, a sound that resonated like a trap snapping shut around a hapless deer.

Skylar, still reeling from the revelation that this bar—and indeed, this entire territory—was under Magnus’s dominion, had been contemplating her choice of a rare Moon-oak-aged liquor to indulge in on his tab. But the sight of Dariusz, frozen in the doorway and staring at Aysel as if he’d seen a ghost, drew a low, amused whistle from her lips.

“Well, well,” she drawled, crossing her legs with casual elegance, her boot tapping rhythmically against the wooden floor. “You got here fast.”

Her grin sharpened, a wolfish smile that revealed glinting canines under the flickering light of the witch-fire lanterns. “I know you’re eager, but let me have my fun first. I plan to rob this bar blind.”

With a flick of her wrist, she marked several outrageously priced vintage bottles on the menu—treasures from bygone eras, sealed with runic wax and steeped in history. Turning her attention back to Dariusz, whose legs trembled like leaves in a storm, she added, “You just appeared out of thin air, and yet we’re not scared. What is it that has you trembling?”

Aysel’s smile was serene—almost gentle—if one could overlook the icy chill that lingered behind it. “Long time no see, Senior Dariusz.”

Her amber eyes swept over him, assessing and calm, as if she were a queen surveying her court. “Looks like death has treated you well these past years.”

Dariusz felt the blood drain from his face, leaving him paler than freshly fallen snow under the moonlight.

He was acutely aware of the sins he had committed.

Every rotten secret he harbored.

Every treacherous step he had taken.

Celestine had chosen him, molded him, used him as a mere pawn in her grand scheme—his life sacrificed for her ambitions. He had never fathomed that the one he had helped to destroy would come hunting for him, traversing oceans and territories like a wolf reclaiming what was rightfully hers.

Where had Aysel emerged from?

How had she crossed packs, continents, and borders to confront him here, in this moment?

He felt ensnared. Helpless. Like prey caught in an arena filled with Alphas and powerful wolves.

Aysel observed the panic unraveling in his scent—fear, regret, a sour tang of adrenaline. After relishing his silent turmoil for a moment longer, she tilted her chin toward the seat across from her and Skylar.

“It’s been years,” she said softly, her tone deceptively gentle. “Don’t you want to reminisce? I have so many questions for you, Senior.”

Dariusz swallowed hard, the sound echoing in the tense silence.

Years of masquerading as someone he wasn’t had granted him a thin veil of composure, and he summoned every ounce of it as he approached, moving like a wolf walking toward its execution.

But the moment he attempted to take a seat, a boot slammed down onto the chair.

CRACK.

The stool skidded away, and Dariusz crashed to the floor, a grunt escaping his lips as pain shot through his ribs. His cry reverberated against the soundproof walls, a testament to his vulnerability.

Aysel stood tall, her posture regal and commanding, a moonlit aura enveloping her like the calm of a predator assured of victory. She looked down at him, amusement glinting in her icy gaze.

“You think,” she murmured, her voice laced with frost and authority, “you deserve to sit in my presence?”

She returned to her seat with a composed, dangerous grace. “Begin. From the moment you met Celestine Ward.”

Dariusz knelt before her, trembling as the dread he had carried since Celestine severed their ties blossomed into a chilling reality. There was no escape now. No pack to run to. No shadow to hide behind.

So he began, hesitantly.

“I… Celestine and I…”

What spilled forth was precisely what Skylar had once theorized, yet darker—filthier—because now every detail was tinged with the raw truths of the wolf world.

Dariusz’s entry into Aysel’s life had been a deception from the very start.

After Celestine’s mother passed away and she was taken in by the Moonvale Pack, her material existence improved exponentially. Yet psychologically, she remained the same battered cub—scarred by her father’s fists, haunted by childhood nightmares steeped in blood and resentment.

In those nightmares, her mother’s ghost whispered beneath dripping shadows:

“That life was supposed to be yours.”

“Luna Evelyn owes us. Alpha Remus owes us. Take everything you can—it’s your right.”

“Don’t let her daughter outshine you. I lost. You must win.”

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