The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 38

**Midnight Letters by Daniel Crowe**
**Chapter 38**

In the dimly lit expanse of the lower level, the anticipation for Celestine and Aysel to return with the gifts stretched on, elongating the minutes into what felt like hours. Alpha Remus, despite his stern demeanor, found himself glancing toward the staircase, a blend of curiosity and unease swirling within him.

Luna Evelyn, her brow knitted in concern, felt a familiar tension in the air. “Aysel has a temper. They won’t start fighting, will they?” she whispered, her wolfish instincts prickling at her senses like a warning bell. The thought of conflict made her stomach churn.

Remus, maintaining his stoic composure, remained firmly seated, his fingers tapping rhythmically against his thigh. “Not today. The weight of the day keeps her contained,” he replied, his deep voice rumbling as he caught the scent of the emotional storm brewing on the upper floor.

Lykos, the embodiment of impatience, began to pace, his frustration palpable in the air. “I’ll go nudge them,” he growled, determination etched across his face as he started toward the stairs. But Fenrir, ever vigilant, stepped in front of him, muscles tensed like a coiled spring. “If anything erupts, you’ll only make it worse. I’ll handle this,” he asserted, his voice firm, knowing the volatile nature of Aysel and Lykos—two young wolves, wild and untamed—could lead to chaos in the confined space of the estate’s upper floor.

As Fenrir ascended the staircase, a chill raced down his spine, a premonition of the impending clash. Reaching the second floor, he halted abruptly. From behind a closed door, a piercing cry shattered the silence, sharp with terror and pain. “Please! No!” The sound was followed by the harsh thud of something heavy crashing to the floor, echoing like a death knell.

Instincts surged within him, claws digging into the wooden floor as he propelled himself forward. The unsettling sounds had reached those still below, prompting them to follow, their senses heightened and alert.

When the door swung open, the sight that greeted them was heart-wrenching. Aysel stood rigidly across from Celestine, her stance tense and defensive. At her feet lay a Swiss-made dagger, glinting ominously in the dim light—a gift Fenrir had once given her for protection during a past Shadowfang kidnapping incident. The blade, once a cherished symbol of safety, now lay discarded, a silent testament to the chaos that had unfolded.

Celestine’s eyes were red-rimmed, tears streaming down her cheeks as she clutched the damaged portrait of Yuna, her mother—a vision of grace and warmth now marred by violence. Without hesitation, Fenrir lunged forward, stepping over the fallen dagger, his heart racing as he steadied the portrait before it could tumble further to the ground.

“Aysel! What are you doing?!” Remus’s growl thundered behind them, a mix of authority and disbelief.

Members of the Moonvale pack had gathered, drawn by the commotion, their nostrils flaring as they struggled to comprehend the intense scene before them. Celestine’s usually composed demeanor shattered as she cried out, her voice thick with anguish and betrayal. “Aysel! I know you resent that our parents left grandmother’s room to me! If you wanted it, I would have given it. But you burned it in silence? Why destroy my mother’s painting? She cared for you! Even in death, she deserved your respect!”

The air was heavy with the scent of betrayal, anger, and grief, a palpable tension that wrapped around them like a suffocating fog. Aysel’s lips pressed together tightly, her jaw clenched, her eyes glinting with an unspoken feral restraint that she had maintained for years. She remained silent, the weight of her emotions pressing down on her.

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