The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 250

**Midnight Letters by Daniel Crowe**
**Chapter 250**

**Third Person’s POV**

The room lay cloaked in an impenetrable darkness, the curtains drawn tight as if to keep the world at bay. The air was thick with an acrid mix of stale alcohol and the remnants of Alpha pheromones, a toxic blend that suffocated any flicker of hope.

Without warning, the door burst open, and in that moment, Luna Blackwood stood at the threshold, her heart racing as the pungent odor of liquor assaulted her senses. Her eyes scanned the disheveled scene before her, taking in the empty bottles strewn across the floor like fallen soldiers on a desolate battlefield. A wave of anger surged within her, darkening her features as she marched towards the window, determined to bring light into this pit of despair. With a swift motion, she yanked the curtains apart, allowing blinding sunlight to flood the room.

“How long do you intend to rot in this misery?” she demanded, her voice icy and unwavering.

On the floor, slumped against the bed like a defeated creature, sat Damo—the once-mighty pride of the Blackwood Pack. Now, he appeared unkempt, his eyes hollow and devoid of life, drowning in an ocean of despair.

The sudden onslaught of light pierced through the darkness he had grown so accustomed to, causing him to blink rapidly, instinctively raising an arm to shield his face from the harsh brightness.

Beside him, the communicator buzzed incessantly, flashing with incoming messages, each one a reminder of the world he had abandoned.

But he paid them no heed.

Instead, he lifted the bottle to his lips once more, seeking solace in its numbing embrace.

Luna Blackwood felt her composure shatter. In a fit of rage, she lunged forward, snatching the bottle from his grasp and smashing it against the ground, the glass exploding into a shower of shards that glinted ominously in the sunlight.

“You’ve looked like a ghost ever since you returned from the Moonvale Pack,” she snapped, her voice cutting through the air like a knife. “Do you honestly believe that drowning yourself in alcohol will earn you any sympathy? The only ones who rejoice in your downfall are your enemies!”

Damon emitted a hollow, broken laugh, a sound that echoed with despair. He reached down, his fingers finding another half-full bottle, as if clinging to the last vestiges of his former self.

“Mom?” he drawled, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “No… shouldn’t you be preparing to play the role of Quentin’s mother by now? Luna Blackwood—what business do you have with me?”

For a fleeting moment, pain flickered across her face, a crack in her otherwise steely demeanor.

“Is this truly all it takes to break you?” she said, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “Your life isn’t even one-third over. Setbacks are mere blips in the grand scheme of things. A single retreat doesn’t equate to permanent defeat.”

In the long game of dominance, a moment of humiliation was inconsequential.

Even though the visible power of the Blackwood Pack had shifted to Quentin, countless hidden resources remained at their disposal. If Damon were to ask, both she and Alpha Blackwood would still be there to support him.

And one day—when Magnus stopped watching so closely, when Damon regained his strength—reclaiming everything he had lost would not be an impossibility.

But Damon continued to drink, his spirit unyielding.

Win or lose—what did it matter?

Time was a relentless river that could never be turned back.

And the most cherished treasure of his life had already slipped through his fingers.

With renewed determination, Luna Blackwood seized the bottle from him once again and hurled it across the room. Without a moment’s hesitation, she struck his face with a sharp slap that resonated in the stillness of the darkened space.

“You were never worthy of Aysel, even without Celestine and her mother,” she declared mercilessly.

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