The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 255

**Midnight Letters by Daniel Crowe**
**Chapter 255**

The world around Lykos began to shed its deceptive layers, revealing a truth that felt both unsettling and inevitable.

Inside the dimly lit holding room of the outpost, a soft, rhythmic tapping filled the air—one finger drumming lightly against the surface of a wooden table. Moments later, a languid, deep voice resonated, embodying the commanding presence of an Alpha who required no volume to assert authority.

“Alpha Fenrir,” Magnus drawled with a hint of amusement, “if you’re intent on disciplining your pup, why not take him home to your den? What’s the point of staging a spectacle here?”

Fenrir’s posture stiffened, his spine straightening at the challenge. His eyes snapped toward the man lounging casually beside Aysel.

Magnus exuded an effortless confidence, the kind that came from a wolf unafraid of anything—human laws, pack repercussions, or even the fury of another Alpha. One sleeve of his shirt was rolled up to the elbow, exposing a forearm defined by taut muscles, veins glistening with the faint luminescence of Shadowbane lunar energy. His left hand retreated from the table, settling on his knee, while his right arm stretched possessively along the back of the bench where Aysel sat, as if her mere presence anchored his restless spirit.

He didn’t appear to be the continent’s mightiest Alpha—Rafe reborn—dressed in a shirt that hung loosely, a couple of buttons undone, revealing faint red marks scattered across his collarbones. His typically sharp, dark hair was tousled, casting shadows beneath his wolf-gold eyes.

Yet, that did nothing to diminish the lethal glint in his irises.

He regarded Fenrir with a mocking smile that curled his lips, a predator sizing up its prey.

Fenrir remained silent, his attention drifting back to Aysel.

She observed the chaotic scene unfolding before her with an air of serene neutrality—no sorrow etched on her features, no anger boiling within her, not even a hint of disdain. Her aura radiated calm, a coolness akin to the moonlight, as if she stood atop a mountain peak, watching wolves tear into each other far below.

A soft breath escaped Fenrir’s lips, the weight of realization settling upon him.

She was no longer the girl he had once known.

Ultimately, Fenrir led Lykos out of the station. Luna Evelyn’s condition had improved, and she had expressed a desire to see him. The elders had signed the discharge papers, leaving the remaining details to be handled by their legal counsel.

As they stepped into the cool night air, Aysel mentioned escorting Jenny home, but the girl shook her head vehemently, her braids almost slapping her own face in protest.

“No, no, absolutely not,” Jenny insisted, her voice firm. “I’m not worthy of making Alpha Magnus my chauffeur.”

With a playful grin, she linked arms with her friends.

“We’ll go together! Everyone’s crashing at my place tonight. We can split up in the morning.”

There was safety in numbers, but Magnus, ever the protector, arranged for two Shadowbane drivers to accompany them.

While their side radiated warmth and the joyous sounds of youthful laughter, the Moonvale brothers stood shrouded in a coldness sharp enough to freeze the very breath in their lungs.

Lykos turned his gaze towards Aysel, her silhouette illuminated beneath a streetlamp, laughter echoing softly into the night before he shifted his attention back to Fenrir.

“What you said earlier,” Lykos murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, “was that real? You would actually give up on me?”

He had hoped that Fenrir’s harsh words had merely been a provocation, a desperate attempt to draw Aysel into the fray, to exploit the remnants of her compassion. But the exhaustion wafting from Fenrir told a different, more painful truth.

And Lykos, who had always been the closest to him, sensed it immediately.

If not for Luna Evelyn’s fragile voice on the other end of the line…

Fenrir truly might have left him to rot in that holding cell.

“Why?” Lykos’s voice trembled, barely containing the hurt.

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