The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 207

**Midnight Letters by Daniel Crowe**
**Chapter 207**

In the quiet embrace of the night, the air thick with the sweet fragrance of the familiar two-legged creature, life at the Moonvale Pack hall was anything but dull. Alpha Magnus Sanchez, stoic and commanding, found himself enveloped in a warmth that was both exhilarating and comforting. The trio—Magnus, his beloved mate Aysel, and the ever-watchful Daron—shared fleeting moments of intimacy, each one a reminder of the bond that tied them together, before stepping into the welcoming warmth of their home.

As their suitcases slid effortlessly to the corners of the room, it was as if they were responding to an unspoken command from the pack itself. Aysel and Magnus, having been apart for mere minutes, were drawn to one another with an instinctual pull, like wolves attuned to the same heartbeat. The worn sofa creaked under their combined weight, the air around them infused with the rich, intoxicating scent of roses that lingered in the hall. It was a moment of serenity that was abruptly broken when Daron’s sharp amber gaze flicked toward them, alert and unyielding. Aysel felt a rush of warmth flood her cheeks as she caught his eye, and she playfully patted Magnus’s broad shoulder beneath her.

“Time to get up,” she whispered, her voice soft yet laced with playful authority.

Magnus feigned ignorance, stretching his long limbs with a languid grace, relishing the slow, sweet warmth of their reunion. It wasn’t until Aysel’s soft admission of hunger slipped from her lips that he finally lifted her from the sofa, planting a pair of deep, wolfish kisses on her lips that spoke of affection and longing. Standing tall, he wore a smile that was soft and unguarded, a rare glimpse into the depths of his heart that the outside world seldom witnessed. One powerful arm wrapped around Aysel’s slender yet resilient frame, lifting her as effortlessly as a hunter carries its prey, caught in a gentle pursuit.

“Assist me,” he commanded softly, his voice a low rumble that sent a thrill through her.

The lodge had been meticulously prepared in anticipation of Aysel’s return. Fresh ingredients awaited in the kitchen, handpicked by Magnus himself, each one a cherished favorite of hers. Cooking together at home was infinitely more appealing than any lavish banquet; it was the very heart of their pack, a living pulse that echoed their shared life.

Aysel, her bare feet perched atop the sofa, nudged Magnus playfully, guiding him with a gentle insistence that was both endearing and commanding. Her hands circled his shoulders, and her legs wrapped lightly around his waist, creating a delicate tether of affection that spoke volumes.

“Let’s go—cooking time!” she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with mischief and excitement.

Magnus chuckled, the sound deep and warm, as he slipped his hands through the crook of her knees, lifting her with ease like the pack’s treasured talisman, and carried her into the kitchen. The vegetables danced beneath the rushing water, and Magnus’s long fingers moved with the skillful precision of a seasoned hunter, each motion mirroring the grace of a wolf in its element.

“Aysel,” he heard her voice call, and he looked up to find her lips pursed in playful insistence. The sound of a kiss echoed in the air, and Magnus returned it with quiet delight, each one a cherished token that fueled the bond between them.

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