The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 34

**Midnight Letters by Daniel Crowe**
**Chapter 34**

**Aysel’s POV**

“It’s merely a scratch,” I reassured myself, my gaze fixed on the faint line etched into my forearm. Magnus’s voice lingered in my mind, a haunting echo that filled the silence after our call abruptly ended. There had been no farewell, just that chilling quiet that seemed to stretch across the distance between us, as if the very air was thick with unspoken words.

Sleep should have claimed me, but instead, I found myself awake as the first light of dawn bled through the slats of the blinds. It was a soft, golden glow that eventually lulled me into a restless slumber, accompanied by the gentle hum of my wolf’s contentment. She had a fondness for his voice—an infuriating fondness that I couldn’t quite shake off.

When I finally stirred, the sun was already high in the sky, casting a warm, almost oppressive heat throughout the room. My phone buzzed incessantly, its screen lighting up with notifications: five from Skylar, three from the pack chat, and one from an unfamiliar number that sent a jolt of alertness through my wolf.

Serena: Aysel, have you met anyone… new lately?

Her words were polite, yet they carried an undercurrent of probing curiosity, laced with a hint of unease. I frowned, feeling a flicker of annoyance. Serena Draven was not one to engage in idle chit-chat; she had a purpose behind her inquiries.

Me: Not really. Why?

There was a brief pause before her response came through, as if she were carefully weighing her words.

Serena: No reason. Just wanted to let you know that Knox won’t be bothering you again. He’s being sent abroad.

Sent abroad. In our world, that euphemism was a polite mask for banishment.

A low, satisfied growl rumbled from deep within my wolf. He should count his lucky stars that we hadn’t taken more drastic measures.

With a dismissive flick of my wrist, I tossed the phone aside, stretching out my sore shoulders. My body still throbbed from the altercation at the bar—each muscle tingling with that wild electricity that surged after reminding a predator of their place.

Magnus’s words drifted back to me: You blocked it.

And I had. I had blocked, struck, and commanded. My wolf had reveled in every exhilarating moment of it.

By noon, whispers had begun to snake through the packs like wildfire. The Ironhowl wolves were in a frenzy. Rumors were circulating that half of the young elites who had rallied behind Knox during the previous night had woken up to find their family accounts frozen and their pack lands under scrutiny by the Council.

I didn’t need to witness it to know who had orchestrated this chaos. Magnus might have been thousands of miles away, but his influence was a relentless force that never slumbered.

Still, I decided to play the innocent. When Skylar called, her voice bubbling over with laughter, I let her fill me in on the unfolding drama.

“They’re completely losing their minds,” she gasped between fits of giggles. “Serena’s acting like she knew everything all along, but I swear, the look on her face when the Ironhowl elders got the news—chef’s kiss! Apparently, Knox’s grandfather slapped him so hard that his wolf yelped.”

A grin spread across my face, wolfish and triumphant. “Good. Maybe this will teach the pup some manners.”

Skylar snorted, her amusement infectious. “Manners? He’s lucky he still has a pack name! You know they’re saying you cursed him?”

“Cursed?” I stretched lazily, the corners of my lips curling. “Oh, please. If I wanted him cursed, he’d still be crawling on the floor.”

Her laughter rang out, bright and cruel, cutting through the tension that had settled over me. For a fleeting moment, the weight of it all—the politics, the whispers, the brewing storm beneath the surface—felt almost light, like a distant thundercloud.

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