The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 44

**Midnight Letters by Daniel Crowe**
**Chapter 44**

In the dim recesses of his mind, where shadows of the past danced like phantoms, Damon found himself ensnared by the heavy chains of regret. The echoes of that fateful storm haunted him relentlessly, a constant reminder of the sacrifice made by his dearest friend, Dariusz, who had given everything to save him. Dariusz’s death loomed over him like a dark cloud, casting a pall over his every thought and action. Celestine, who had survived the tempest, now looked at him through the lens of her grief, seeing in him a reflection of Dariusz—a ghost of the mate she had lost.

The chapter unfolded like a tapestry woven with threads of sorrow and guilt, exploring the tumultuous emotions that churned within Damon as he struggled to fill a role he never wanted. Celestine was a woman trapped in a labyrinth of madness, her heart clinging to the belief that Dariusz had somehow returned to her, reborn in Damon’s form. Each day, Damon felt the weight of this delusion pressing down on him, suffocating his own sense of self as he tried to help her heal while grappling with the fact that he could never truly be the man she sought.

He often found himself lost in memories of the days before their lives were irrevocably altered. The three of them had been inseparable, an unbreakable trio bound by laughter and shared dreams. Dariusz had been the sun, his charisma radiating warmth and joy, while Celestine, with her effervescent spirit, brought light to even the darkest corners. And then there was Damon, the steadfast protector, always prioritizing the needs of others over his own heart’s desires, a role that had become a burden he could no longer bear.

That night, the storm had raged with a ferocity that seemed almost sentient, as if the heavens themselves were angry. Dariusz had been fearless, his laughter ringing out against the howling wind, as they ventured onto the sea. He had believed he could tame the storm, that they could conquer the waves together. But as the tempest unleashed its fury, the ship was no match for nature’s wrath. Damon could still see the fierce determination in Dariusz’s eyes as he fought against the tide, saving Celestine first, pulling her through the icy grip of the ocean, his strength waning with each desperate stroke.

When Damon had found himself trapped beneath a broken mast, it had been Dariusz who had turned back, diving into the depths to save him. But that sacrifice had cost him everything. The memory of Dariusz’s final moments haunted Damon, a specter that refused to fade, leaving behind a chasm of guilt that echoed in the silence of his heart.

Days later, when Celestine finally awoke, the truth crashed over her like a tidal wave, shattering her spirit into fragments too fragile to piece back together. She had tried to follow Dariusz into the depths of despair, her attempts thwarted by the healers of Moonvale, who fought to bring her back from the brink of oblivion. Each time they pulled her from the abyss, she returned empty, her wolf howling in anguish for the mate she believed had been taken from her.

In the aftermath of one particularly desperate attempt, Celestine had awoken gasping for air, and the first face to greet her was Damon’s. In that moment of confusion, her shattered mind had filled in the blanks, convincing herself that Dariusz had returned in Damon.

At first, Damon had tried to speak the truth, to bring in healers and mind-menders who might coax her back from the edge. But Alpha Remus and Luna Evelyn had intervened, forbidding him from revealing the harsh reality. They deemed her mind too fragile to withstand another shock; healing had to be gradual, or she would lose herself completely. And so, Damon found himself ensnared in a web of guilt and memories that refused to release him.

Each time Celestine called him Dariusz, Damon felt the icy grip of the ocean tightening around his heart—the roar of the waves a haunting reminder of the life that had slipped away. Yet, when she smiled at him with those luminous eyes, he was reminded of Aysel Vale, standing alone in the rain, oblivious to the turmoil that raged within him.

Despite holding the title of Blackwood Alpha—the strongest among the East—Damon felt utterly powerless against the ghost of another wolf’s love. He had once sworn an oath beneath the sacred moon to protect Aysel, yet those promises felt like silver chains that burned against his skin, especially now that guilt had consumed him whole. The packs had whispered that Dariusz’s death was a matter of fate, but Damon knew the truth: Dariusz had died saving him. That debt weighed heavily on his soul, intertwining with Celestine’s madness like a noose.

Celestine no longer saw the world as it was; her fractured mind could only perceive her lost mate. When she looked at Damon, she saw Dariusz returned, an illusion that both comforted and tormented her. The healers murmured that her spirit had splintered under the crushing weight of her grief, that even the scent of the sea could send her into a frenzy. Yet no one dared to speak the truth: that her beloved was lost to her forever. The Moonvale Pack had strictly forbidden it.

And so, Damon bore the burden of that lie, shackled to Celestine’s delusions, even as he felt himself slipping further away from Aysel. He remained by Celestine’s side, enduring the tumult of her uncontrolled heat, when her wolf cried out for the one who would never answer again. She would cling to him, calling him Dariusz, her voice filled with longing, and he would lower his head, allowing her scent to envelop him like chains forged of iron.

He could not refuse her. Not when he owed her so much. Not when every breath he took reminded him that Dariusz had perished to save him.

Even his father, Lord Blackwood, had coldly declared, “Our pack cannot raise an heir accused of ingratitude. You owe her blood and peace.”

The Moonvale Pack had long since transformed their grief into accusations. Aysel, the true daughter of Alpha Remus, stood alone against the tide of blame. She shared the same blood as Celestine, yet she was treated like an outcast, whispers circulating through the pack that Aysel had been responsible for Yuna’s death.

And so, Aysel bore that stain, carrying the weight of her family’s legacy on her shoulders.

With no fortune, no allies, she held only the fierce pride of a wolf who had already lost everything. Celestine, though merely a fostered ward, shone like a pearl in Moonvale, wrapped in golden sympathy and protected by the pack’s favor. The lands, Fenrir’s loyalty, everything bent toward her.

But Damon’s loyalty burned where it should not.

He was bound to Aysel by an unspoken claim—two hearts raised beneath the same moon, a love hidden between rival packs. Their bond had always been fragile, yet real. Until guilt consumed him.

After Dariusz’s death, every eye turned toward Damon. And when Celestine began to wither, when the cries of her wolf echoed through the halls, the elders summoned him.

He had resisted at first, but when Luna Evelyn spoke softly, “Stay with her, Damon. Your presence calms her wolf. She believes you are her mate… let her believe it a while longer,” he surrendered.

And when he did, he asked for only one thing: “Do not tell Aysel.”

Because he knew her.

He understood the wild purity in her soul, how she regarded love as sacred, as sacred as the moon’s vow. To her, deception was betrayal. Even pity was poison.

So the packs wove their lies together.

Aysel noticed the changes—the distant calls in the night, the scent of another female lingering on Damon’s coat, the missed moons, the silences, and the way he avoided her heat rituals.

Yet, she remained silent.

Until the night she followed his scent through the frostbitten forest to the Moonvale amphitheater, where she saw him cradling Celestine Ward beneath the falling snow, whispering sweet nothings and pressing his lips to her brow.

Celestine trembled in his embrace, her wolf teetering on the brink of madness. “Why does she call you so often, Damon?” she asked, her voice breaking. “Celestine Ward—she calls and calls. Tell me, what is she to you?”

Her tone was petulant, trembling, almost childlike. Her eyes glowed with an intensity that pierced through the winter chill.

Damon stood with his back to the door, frozen as the cold air shifted—he sensed Aysel’s presence, her scent cutting through the atmosphere like a sharpened blade.

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