The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 22

22 /280

**Midnight Letters by Daniel Crowe**
**Chapter 22**

**Magnus’s POV**

The feeble glow of the overhead light flickered sporadically, struggling to penetrate the oppressive darkness that enveloped me. I reclined in the chair, a sense of ease washing over me as the shadows wrapped around me like an old, familiar cloak. My tall figure cast an elongated silhouette across the floor, marred with streaks of crimson, and between my fingers, a silver blade twirled lazily. Its razor-sharp edge caught the light intermittently, glimmering like a wolf’s fang poised for the kill.

“I hear you’ve been busy gathering a few old generals, Uncle Conor,” I remarked casually, my voice dripping with a lazy nonchalance. “Foreign funds, fresh alliances… It appears your prolonged slumber was merely a prelude to this—your grand ascent to the heavens. Truly, you age like a fine wine.”

Conor Sanchez, my fourth uncle, was a shadow of his former self, barely recognizable beneath the layers of bruises and blood that marred his once-pristine appearance. His body quivered, sweat mingling with tears that stained his elegant suit. He had believed that hiring Charles would be the final nail in my coffin. He had unleashed a dozen elite assassins, and yet here I stood, unscathed. The aroma of his fear was intoxicating, sharp and metallic, like iron mixed with salt.

Now, Charles’s lair lay in ruins, reduced to ash, his men scattered like leaves in a storm. Every piece of Conor’s meticulously crafted game board had been overturned, each pawn uprooted and set ablaze. The man who once reveled in his identity as the wolf of the capital now cowered like prey ensnared in a trap.

“Magnus,” he rasped, his voice hoarse and trembling, “I am still your uncle. If you kill me, your grandfather—Alpha Bastien—will never forgive you.”

“Kill you?” I replied, a smile curling my lips, the sound low and menacing. “Uncle, my intention is not to end your life. Wolves must face the consequences of their actions. You will merely be an audience to the spectacle I have prepared for you.”

His eyes widened in horror, darting to the other side of the room. There, bound and blindfolded in a steel chair, sat his son, Caleb Sanchez, trembling violently.

“What—what are you doing?!” Conor’s voice cracked with panic.

I tilted my head, observing him with a mixture of amusement and disdain. “Your son has been quite active, hasn’t he? A month ago, he was entangled with another Alpha’s fiancée, and just two weeks later, he was indulging in twisted games with underage girls. And each time, you protected him under the illustrious Sanchez name.” I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, my gaze piercing. “Such decay should not be passed down, don’t you agree?”

“No! Please! He’s my only son—Magnus, I beg you!”

Desperation flickered in his eyes, a familiar sight I had witnessed before in the faces of men who believed that blood could shield them. It never could.

With a flick of my fingers, one of my pack enforcers stepped forth, a silent specter clad in a mask and gloves, moving toward Caleb.

“Stay away! What are you doing?!” Caleb screamed, his voice cracking, the metallic tang of fear saturating the air.

Crack.

The sound was wet and final, reverberating through the room like a death knell. Caleb’s scream pierced the silence, echoing off the concrete and steel walls.

“MAGNUS! YOU MONSTER!” Conor’s voice shattered in a cacophony of rage and despair.

I remained silent, my expression impassive. Caleb’s body went limp, fainting from the shock. Conor’s face contorted with agony, hatred igniting in his eyes before it crumbled into despair.

“You… bastard,” he spat, his voice quaking with fury. “You’re avenging her, aren’t you? That whore you called a mother! She was nothing—just a rutting bitch—and you are her spawn! You’re both abominations! Cursed wolves! Everyone will always fear you! Hate you! No one will ever love you!”

“Teh.” I clicked my tongue dismissively, rubbing my ear as if to brush off his venomous words. “Such ugly talk. Cut his tongue.”

“Yes, Alpha.”

Conor’s growl morphed into a scream, then fell into an eerie silence.

When the chaos subsided, both father and son lay unconscious, sprawled across the floor like discarded carcasses. They would survive, though not as they once were. Wolves had a remarkable ability to endure almost anything—sometimes, that was the cruelest punishment of all.