The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 268

Chapter 268

Third Person’s POV

Was Magnus truly bewitched by Aysel Vale? Did he not fear the old flames that lingered in Damon’s presence? Would he not sense the precariousness of Aysel’s loyalty, the risk that fissures could form between them?

Yet his demeanor spoke volumes. Calm, unyielding, and certain, he strode forward, every movement measured like a predator claiming his territory.

Celestine’s amber gaze flicked sourly toward Damon, standing a distance away, yet still unmistakably centered on Aysel. Luck seemed to favor Aysel like a wolf always finding the choicest prey-first Damon, and now Magnus. Why was it always her who received the pack’s favor?

Magnus’ patience had run thin. With a commanding tone that carried the authority of a pack leader, he called, “Aysel.”

Aysel spun around, and a smile lit her face. “Finally,” she murmured, pouting slightly, her voice carrying the soft lilt of playful complaint. “You’re late.”

Magnus allowed the rebuke, stepping close enough to drape a protective arm around her shoulders. “My fault, little wolf,” he murmured, slipping her coat around her. “Forgive me.”

As her small hands brushed his face, testing the warmth of his skin, Magnus’ brow furrowed. “Cold… too cold,” he murmured, entwining his fingers with hers. “Back to the den-we’ll have them brew you ginger broth.”

Aysel laughed, slipping easily into his embrace. “No need. This will do.” The wind tugged at her fur lightly, but she was stubborn, unwilling to cede to the mundane comforts of hot drinks.

Satisfied that she was well, Magnus kissed her hands, waited until her warmth returned, then exhaled in relief.

Yet even as the embrace deepened, the wolf within him stirred, uneasy. Aysel had just spoken with Damon Blackwood and Celestine Ward’s venomous words had reached Magnus’ ears. “She’ll never forget her first mate. I’ll always be second,” Celestine had said, cunningly, twisting truths into knives.

Magnus’ wolf bristled. The deception gnawed at him, the idea that a she-wolf’s envy could weave such lies. Damon? That impudent Blackwood Alpha! Aysel deserved no such torment from fools!

Nearby, Serena-responsible for overseeing the gala’s security-finally found a moment to breathe. Just minutes before, she had been managing Olivia’s sudden outburst, rushing to ensure the Ironhowl Pack’s guests were protected, and now she glimpsed Aysel and Magnus, moving through the deck with that effortless, predatory confidence.

Serena’s sharp jaw clenched. “Now? What time is it?”

Zane Draven, late to the scene, glanced at his timepiece. “Four in the afternoon. Why?”

Serena ground her teeth. The two-day, one-night excursion had barely begun, and yet chaos already ruled. Her wolf growled, impatient and righteous. She would kill whoever had sent these invitations.

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“Now! Immediately! Get everyone to the deck!” she roared, her voice slicing through the wind like a hunting cry.

The yacht staff scrambled in panic, only to hear the thud of splashes-two distinct “plops”-followed by gasps of horror from the other pack members and guests. “Someone jumped!”

Before the staff could react, Serena’s roar cut through the confusion. “Move! Save them!”

She gritted her teeth, claws of frustration extending metaphorically. Withdraw the investment! This yacht, she thought, had yet to earn a shred of profit, and here she was, nearly succumbing to a wolfish heart attack. She had intended only a small wager, a playful gathering with friends… not to orchestrate life-and-death rescues on a vessel adrift in the pack’s territorial waters.

If anyone had truly died today, Serena’s reputation as a competent strategist would be shredded forever.

The yacht erupted into chaos. More splashes of “plop, plop” sounded as the crew and guests, trained in etiquette but not in the ways of wolfish survival, jumped overboard in panic. This gathering had drawn the young heirs and heiresses of wealthy packs; any casualty would spark investigations and furious pack councils.

Amid screams, the scramble for lifeboats, and frantic barking orders, a few nearby fishermen lowered their rods, exchanging glances. The sudden tumult had likely scared all the fish away anyway, and the last thing they wanted was to reel in a thrashing human-or wolf-instead. Better to remain spectators to the chaos.

At the center of the storm, Aysel’s golden eyes met Magnus’s, his presence like a shadowed Alpha claiming his territory. Her expression was a mix of exasperation and incredulity. “That… wasn’t me who pushed them, right?”

Magnus’ lips curved in a faint, predatory smirk as his fingers ruffled her hair. “Of course not. They’re just clumsy.”

Aysel blinked. The scene had been so theatrically perfect-the two plunging into the dark waters with almost cinematic timing-that she momentarily doubted herself.

Five minutes earlier, she had sought out Celestine and Damon, who had been lingering too close, drawn together by pack tension and old instincts. Confronting the interloper Luna and the Eastern Alpha, Aysel had sharply reminded them that her allegiance was solely to Magnus. Any imagined entanglements they concocted were theirs alone, not to meddle in her pack bonds.

Celestine’s jaw dropped. She hadn’t meant for Aysel to be so direct. A few whispered provocations, meant only to sow doubt in Magnus’ mind about Aysel’s feelings for Damon, had backfired spectacularly. Bold, yes -but saying a word against Magnus in his own presence? She had underestimated the wolf beneath the Alpha’s calm exterior.

Damon, the Blackwood Alpha, had watched the exchange, his pulse quickening with a mixture of wounded pride and possessive instinct. “I think there’s no need for further discussion,” he said, shaking off Celestine’s hand with a clipped, controlled movement.

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