The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 43

**Midnight Letters by Daniel Crowe**
**Chapter 43**

As Magnus stepped into the dimly lit room, a palpable transformation washed over him. The warmth and playfulness he had so carefully curated for Aysel dissipated like fog under the sun, replaced by a chilling, authoritative demeanor that he wore like armor against the world. He reached for his phone, the cool surface sending a shiver through his fingertips, and dialed with an urgency that echoed the storm brewing within him. His voice, low and edged with authority, cut through the silence. “Has the Moonvale Pack made any contact regarding the project in the East District?”

A mocking laughter crackled from the other end, dripping with condescension. “What’s the matter, Magnus? Did the Moonvale Pack get under your skin? I hear they’ve been relentless about this project—it’s been their main focus for years. Their young heir has been obsessively involved for nearly three years now.”

Magnus felt a fire ignite in his chest, eyes narrowing as he clenched the phone tightly, the tension radiating from his fingertips. “Terminate the project team. Hand the whole endeavor over to their rivals—the Redmoon Pack.”

The laughter on the other end morphed into a mocking chuckle. “You’re not seriously holding a grudge against Moonvale, are you? This project… it symbolizes their transformation.”

A muscle in Magnus’s jaw twitched, the surge of power within him awakening his wolf, restless and eager to pounce. The intoxicating urge to obliterate every obstacle in his path coursed through him. His voice turned frigid, a warning wrapped in ice as he replied, “They can’t even manage their own family. They’re utterly unfit for anything. And while we’re at it, give them something to keep them occupied. They’re getting far too comfortable.”

He didn’t need to elaborate; everyone understood what “too comfortable” implied—a threat that loomed large, embodied in the very essence of Aysel. She was the one person for whom he would willingly sacrifice his principles, the one who could penetrate the armor of his pride and stir emotions he had long buried.

The project in the East District was more than just a business venture; it was a declaration, a resounding message to Moonvale, a warning to anyone who dared to challenge the territory he claimed as his own.

Taking a deep breath, Magnus forced his wolf back into submission, wrestling with the chaos that threatened to consume him. He turned toward the kitchen, the tension in his hands tightening as he resolved to brew a cup of ginger tea, hoping the soothing warmth would quell the tempest raging within.

Meanwhile, the absence of Aysel from Moonvale gnawed at Damon’s mind, creating an unsettling void that echoed with worry. Earlier, he had tried to reach her, but her phone had been unreachable—an ominous sign that struck him like a cold wave. She was no longer at the pack’s compound. A deep-seated anxiety coiled in his chest as he sat in his car, frustration simmering just beneath the surface, threatening to boil over.

His phone buzzed insistently in his hand, and he glanced at the screen to see Celestine’s name flashing back at him. For a fleeting moment, he contemplated ignoring it. The tension between them had become suffocating, and the thought of navigating that conversation made his stomach churn. But the phone continued to ring, relentless.

With a resigned sigh, he answered, his tone clipped and terse. “Celestine, what is it?”

Her voice trembled on the other end, barely a whisper, yet it was laced with panic. “Dariusz… it’s thundering outside. I’m scared. Where are you?”

Damon’s heart sank at the mention of that name, a physical blow that sent shockwaves through him. The name Dariusz dredged up a torrent of memories—painful, suffocating memories that threatened to drown him. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, his vision blurring as the weight of his past washed over him.

The burden of a life lost.

For years, Damon had carried the guilt of his actions with Aysel, the unrelenting feeling that he had never been enough, that he had failed to be there when it truly mattered. But now, this new weight—this responsibility for Celestine’s fragile state—felt unbearable. Her broken mind, the web of lies she spun, and the chilling, unspoken guilt that clung to him like a shadow were all pulling him under.

Yet he couldn’t abandon her. Not when her fractured heart mirrored his own.

When Damon finally arrived at the Moonvale Pack, he found Fenrir waiting for him at the entrance. The tall, brooding heir of Moonvale regarded Damon with sharp, penetrating eyes that seemed to see far deeper than anyone would care to admit.

“She’s not here,” Fenrir stated flatly, though a hint of concern flickered in his gaze. “She left earlier… and hasn’t returned.”

Damon’s jaw clenched, a bitter laugh escaping his lips involuntarily. “Of course she didn’t come back. Why would she? She has every right to see how her ‘boyfriend’ flirts with other women.”

Fenrir remained silent, the weight of unspoken truths hanging heavily between them. They both understood the reality of Damon’s failures, the slow erosion of Aysel’s spirit—rooted in his inability to fully commit, to be the partner she needed. Memories of all the ways he had let her down flooded his mind.

“Celestine is upstairs,” Fenrir muttered, avoiding Damon’s gaze. “Maybe you should go see her.”

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