The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 33

**Midnight Letters by Daniel Crowe**
**Chapter 33**

From a distance, Kian had observed the unfolding drama at the Moonfang Bar, his presence a silent sentinel amid the chaos. Initially, he hadn’t intended to get involved; he merely wanted to witness the spectacle, ready to intervene only if Aysel Vale truly spiraled out of control. However, as he watched her assert dominance over the Ironhowl wolves, it became abundantly clear that the notorious daughter of the Moonvale Pack was more than capable of handling herself.

“Not a rose,” he muttered under his breath, his gaze fixed on her commanding stance. “More like a fire pepper straight from the Shadowlands.”

A wry smile tugged at his lips, and he let out an amused whistle. Nearby, Skylar, the Frostfang female, was capturing the moment with her camera, egging Aysel on like a painter reveling in the chaos of a battlefield. The scene was nothing short of brutal, yet undeniably glorious.

Kian couldn’t help but think that somewhere across the vast ocean, Magnus was bound to catch wind of this spectacle.

And indeed, he was right.

At that very instant, a message flashed across his comms—clean, direct, and as sharp as a claw:

Magnus: “You’re letting my wife handle my enemies? Are you useless?”

Kian nearly sputtered his drink. Wife? When had Aysel Vale been elevated to that status? He scrolled back through the messages, rereading with disbelief, as if expecting the words to morph into something more mundane.

Wife.

So, this was how the formidable Magnus Sanchez was now referring to his supposed “ally.”

“Man, you wolves are unbelievable,” Kian chuckled, tossing his device aside with a low laugh. “Didn’t you say she was just your partner? A sword in your hand, a deal in your ledger?” He shook his head, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Heh. Men.”

Still, the amusement lingered, a warm glow in his chest. He had seen enough tonight to know that when Magnus returned from his campaign in Shadowbane, someone was going to get a hefty slice of humble pie. And Kian, as always, would be there to relish the unfolding drama.

Later, when Aysel finally escorted Skylar home and returned to her apartment, her phone began to buzz insistently.

Incoming video call: Magnus Sanchez.

As the screen lit up, the image that greeted her was almost scandalous—Magnus, draped in a black robe, his chest bare, dark hair tousled as if he had just rolled out of bed. His molten gold eyes pierced through the dim light, sharp and alert.

“You should be asleep,” Aysel remarked, raising an eyebrow. “It’s past midnight on your side.”

Magnus remained silent, his gaze sweeping over her with an intensity that made her pulse quicken, lingering on the slash along her arm. She was still adorned in her red dress from the bar—short, fitted, and revealing an alarming amount of pale skin and wolf-marked curves. Her hair cascaded down her shoulders, dark as the night, and her lips were painted a deep crimson, reminiscent of blood.

Magnus’s jaw clenched. He had never seen her like this before—had never needed to, as their days had been consumed by strategy sessions, a blend of feral instincts and civilized decorum. But this? This was a different realm altogether.

He blinked, forcing himself to focus. “Sit back. Let me see your arm.”

Aysel frowned, bewildered. “What?”

He didn’t repeat himself, instead fixing her with that commanding gaze that always made her wolf bristle with a mix of annoyance and excitement. Reluctantly, she leaned back, holding her phone farther away, trying to gauge his reaction.

“What are you doing?” she asked, a hint of playful disbelief in her voice. “You realize how weird this looks, right? It’s the middle of the night, and you’re asking to see a woman’s arm?”

But as she followed his gaze, she noticed the dried blood staining her skin and froze, her heart racing.

“Wait—how did you know?”

Magnus tilted his head, his expression shifting to one of concern. “So you *are* hurt.”

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You put a tracker on me?”

He paused, genuinely considering it. “Not yet. But it’s not a bad idea.”

“Absolutely not.” She crossed her arms in defiance. “Personal privacy, Alpha.”

A low chuckle rumbled from him, deep and rich. “Relax. Someone sent me the video—your little performance at the bar. You looked… spirited.”

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