The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 261

Chapter 261

Third Person’s POV

Just as they noticed the wolves shadowing them from afar, Derek Sanchez-quietly fishing along the wind- cooled rail-also sensed the bright, unguarded gaze Aysel cast in his direction.

He turned his head slightly.

Across the deck, he saw Magnus and Aysel feeding sea birds, the ocean wind tugging playfully at her hair. For the briefest heartbeat, something rare flickered across Derek’s usually cold, predatory eyes-an instinctive spark, as though some ancient wolf-sense stirred within him.

Separated by a short distance, the two sides exchanged a polite nod-territorial wolves acknowledging one another. Neither showed the slightest intention of joining the other; when powerful Alphas shared a space, boundaries were always a delicate thing.

Aysel was hardly familiar with Derek. Counting today, she had only seen him once-at Bastien Sanchez’s lunar-feast birthday gathering. Rumor held that Derek’s appearance and temperament mirrored his late father, Phelan Sanchez of the Shadowbane line, more than any of his brothers. His wolf aura carried that same quiet nobility-disciplined, measured, shaped meticulously by his mother, Ulva, who had spent years crafting her son into a perfect gentleman-wolf.

And that pair-mother and son—

Across every turbulent turning point in the Shadowbane family’s history, they always seemed to make the. one choice that kept them untouched by bloodshed.

After Phelan’s death, Derek had relied on both the Old Alpha, Bastien Sanchez, and the strength of Ulva’s ancestral line to secure his footing within the Shadowbane Pack. Later, when Magnus rose like a blade drawn from darkness-challenging the hierarchy, overturning old power-he eventually withdrew, choosing a different path entirely.

While the Shadowbane Pack tore itself apart in those brutal internal wars, Ulva and Derek remained untouched, distant, stable-

Their small ship sailing smooth through every storm.

If not for the complicated nature of their lineage, Aysel might have admitted that the mother and son were… admirable. Smart. Wolves who knew when to stand still and when to move.

But she remembered Magnus’s warning clearly:

“Including him, there isn’t a single good wolf in the Shadowbane Pack.”

The memory settled like cold iron in her chest.

Aysel’s wolf remained instinctively wary.

Just then, Derek reeled in the last of his line. With a clean, practiced motion, he pulled the fish into the wooden bucket at his feet, rinsed his hands in seawater, and walked toward them.

He stopped before the pair-Magnus leaning lazily against the rail, Aysel nestled comfortably in his shadow

1/3

Chapter 201

and lifted the bucket lightly.

“Want to try?” he asked in a calm, even tone. “Today’s been good hunting.”

He spoke the same way he had spoken at the feast-when he had effortlessly diverted attention away from Aysel teasing old Bastien Sanchez, simply calling out “Grandfather” to smooth the moment over.

Aysel’s lips curved. “No need. I can’t sit still long enough to fish.”

Derek paused, glancing toward Magnus-who, as always, was positioned in a way that made it abundantly clear: Aysel’s word was law. Whatever she wanted, that was the pack’s direction.

He let out a small, polite laugh. “Alright then. I’ll head back.”

He handed the fishing rod and fresh catch to a nearby attendant, instructing them to have the kitchen prepare the fish for tonight’s meal. Then, with the composed bearing of a well-trained heir, he excused himself to return to his cabin.

Aysel watched his retreating figure, tapping her chin thoughtfully.

“Honestly? Your brother is pretty handsome. And he carries himself well.”

Magnus lifted a hand and gently covered her eyes, drawing her back into the circle of his arms-pressing her between his chest and the iron rail as the sea roared below.

“Don’t look,” he murmured, voice low and possessive. “He has nothing to do with you.”

In this life, she was bound to him-

Even in death, he would have their ashes intermingled, buried together in the eternal night.

Aysel pried down the hand obstructing her view. “You didn’t let me finish. He’s not my type.”

Magnus huffed a quiet laugh. One arm locked firmly around her waist as he leaned close to her ear, breath brushing her skin.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify