The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 234

**Midnight Letters by Daniel Crowe**
**Chapter 234**

**Third Person’s POV**

**Finished**

In the dimly lit corners of the hall, two young souls were entwined, their lips meeting in a fervent kiss that spoke of longing and desperation, as if the very air around them had shrunk, leaving only the two of them to exist in that moment. They were oblivious to the world, lost in each other, drawing breath after breath without the desire to part.

Yet, on the opposite side of the festivities, Damon found himself engulfed in a turmoil that mirrored the darkness of Olivia from the Darkmoon Pack.

Tonight marked the annual celebration of the Blackwood lineage, a night that should have been filled with joy and camaraderie. Instead, his father had stormed into the grand hall, radiating an air of triumph as he paraded Quentin—the newly acknowledged bastard son—right beside him, as if he were a trophy of conquest.

Damon’s eyes narrowed, fixating on the silver cufflink glinting on Quentin’s sleeve, a cruel beacon of everything he had lost.

Within him, his wolf—a shadowy Alpha born of power and ferocity—raged, claws itching beneath his skin, his irises igniting with a feral crimson hue.

That cufflink was no mere accessory; it was Aysel’s gift to him, a cherished token from the very first day he had stepped into the company as an intern.

“What gave you the right,” he growled, his voice laced with a deep, guttural resonance that echoed the primal fury within, “to touch what belongs to me?”

Quentin, unfazed, glanced down at the cufflink, brushing his thumb across its surface with an air of mockery. He raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“This?” he replied, his tone light and teasing.

A sharp, taunting smile spread across his face, reminiscent of a young wolf testing the limits of his pack.

“Brother, you do have exquisite taste.”

Crack—

In that moment, Damon could no longer contain himself.

His fist shot forward, a blur of motion driven by rage. Quentin staggered back from the impact, but to Damon’s utter fury, the bastard merely wiped the blood from his lip and grinned wider, a challenge glinting in his eyes that was almost feral.

“I merely borrowed a cufflink from your collection,” Quentin murmured, his voice low enough to evade the ears of the elders nearby.

“Is that truly worth such a tempest of rage? Come now, Alpha Damon—look around. Half the pack is watching you.”

As if summoned by his words, several guests had turned their attention toward the escalating tension, murmurs rippling through the crowd like a wave.

Damon’s fists clenched tighter, his claws threatening to puncture his own skin in a futile effort to contain the storm brewing within him.

In just a few short days, Quentin had waltzed into the Blackwood estate, taken residence in the main house, and ingratiated himself into the very fabric of the company.

He wore the title of the second young master, yet in reality, he had usurped everything Damon had once held dear:

Status.

Authority.

The favor of the pack.

Even the affection of their father.

Earlier that evening, as they departed for the Blackwood feast, what had once been a tight-knit family of three had inexplicably morphed into four.

Damon’s father had made no mention of it—he simply commanded Quentin to share the front seat with him, leaving Damon and his mother to ride in the other vehicle, as if they were mere afterthoughts.

Even his mother, who had once fiercely defended him against all odds, had begun to soften toward Quentin, her protective instincts toward Damon waning like the light of a setting sun.

It was utterly absurd.

Cruel, even.

Damon Blackwood—heir to the mightiest pack in the East, a prodigy born with Alpha blood coursing through his veins—was now overshadowed by a bastard who lacked the strength to stand against him.

Everything Quentin touched…

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