The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 257

**Midnight Letters by Daniel Crowe**
**Chapter 257**

The atmosphere in the dimly lit office was thick with an almost palpable tension, the scent of lingering Alpha dominance wafting through the air like an insistent whisper. Quentin’s breath, warm and deliberate, brushed against Celestine’s ear, carrying with it the faint, primal scent of his pack—a reminder of the power he wielded. “A useless whelp, versus the heir of a bright future for a great family. Miss Ward, if you had to choose… which would you pick?” His voice dripped with that intoxicating blend of Alpha challenge and predatory amusement, a dangerous game played with words.

Celestine felt her body freeze, every muscle taut with a mix of fear and instinct. The sharpness of his meaning sliced through the haze of pain that still lingered in her midsection, a reminder of her vulnerability. She instinctively leaned back, trying to create a distance, yet in the delicate, retreating posture she adopted, she only appeared more fragile, more enticing—a wildflower shivering in the cold embrace of moonlight.

The Ward bloodline was famed for its beauty; from Yuna to Luna Evelyn, each generation of daughters carried the signature grace and lethal allure that defined their lineage. As Quentin closed the distance between them, a faint, knowing smile played on his lips, a predator savoring the moment before the kill. His hand shot forward, gripping Celestine’s chin with an intensity that was both possessive and wolfish, leaving her breathless.

“How about it, sister-in-law?” he murmured, his voice roughened by a mix of mockery and challenge. “Have you ever considered me? Becoming the daughter-in-law of the Blackwood Pack doesn’t necessarily mean it must be Damon, does it? I can offer you far more than he ever could.”

A flicker of disgust mixed with conflicted emotions danced in Celestine’s eyes. Yet, when Quentin leaned in closer, the scent of other women faintly lingering on him, she found herself unable to retreat. Her claws dug into her palms, a physical manifestation of her inner turmoil as she closed her eyes, bracing for the imagined dominance—but the anticipated kiss never arrived.

Instead, his grip on her jaw tightened, and she blinked in startled realization, meeting the gleaming, mocking gaze of Quentin. His expression was a mix of thrill and disappointment, as if he had just caught the scent of his prey. “My older brother, that prideful, brilliant wolf, isn’t so clever after all,” he teased, tapping her cheek with a casual, dismissive hand. “Miss Ward… you don’t really think I have any interest in you, do you? Everyone knows you’ve tangled with the future Mrs. Sanchez. You think it’s worth my risk with Magnus? Only my brother could be that naive—abandoning his lifelong companion to protect a woman, and still—well, this is all he earns.”

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