The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 45

**Midnight Letters by Daniel Crowe**
**Chapter 45**

**Aysel’s POV**

The hearth crackled softly, its gentle warmth radiating through Magnus’s den, creating a cocoon of comfort that enveloped me. The rich, earthy aroma of pine smoke mingled with the savory scent of simmering meat broth, infusing the air with a sense of home. Flames flickered and danced, casting lively shadows on the stone walls, transforming the space into something almost enchanting.

I was wrapped snugly in a thick fur throw, my legs tucked beneath me, leaving only my face exposed to the world. Magnus often teased me, likening me to a snow cub—small, innocent, and far too curious for my own good. A small smile crept onto my lips at his playful comparison, but it was quickly overshadowed by a nagging uncertainty that tugged at my heart.

“Magnus,” I began, my voice slicing through the comfortable silence that had settled between us, as I watched him move with an effortless grace around the kitchen. His movements were fluid, almost predatory—a characteristic that seemed inherent to Alphas. “If staying by my side meant you would be labeled a traitor by your Pack… if others manipulated your choices with debts or honor, would you still choose to remain with me?”

—

He didn’t lift his gaze from the pot, steam curling around his hands as he poured the broth into a beautifully carved stone bowl. “If someone can quantify your worth, Aysel,” he replied, his voice steady and calm, “it means they’ve already made a judgment about you.”

Then he turned to face me, his eyes deep and dark, reminiscent of the night sky blanketing the mountains. “And if he allows you to fall, regardless of the reasons he offers—duty, gratitude, morality—it only signifies that the weight on the other side mattered more than you. He may aspire to be a noble wolf, but he is not a loyal one. That distinction is crucial.”

—

Magnus set the steaming bowl before me and crouched down, effortlessly lifting me from the couch and placing me on his lap before settling me at the table. His breath was warm against my neck—steady, soothing, and oddly intimate.

“But I’m not that kind of wolf,” he murmured, his tone low and serious, a hint of vulnerability peeking through his usual bravado. “You seem to forget our second meeting, little Vale. For me, being labeled ungrateful or faithless isn’t the worst of my sins. My claws are already stained with blood.”

I stared at him, momentarily taken aback by his raw admission. My heart raced, revealing a strange thrill at his acceptance of his darker nature. There was an unsettling comfort in his honesty, even if it left me feeling exposed.

He leaned closer, our noses almost brushing together. “If something is truly mine, I would never allow it to be placed on a scale. I don’t compare what belongs to me.” A low growl of amusement rumbled in his chest, and his lips curled into a teasing smile. “But if you wish to step off that scale, Aysel Vale… you must try harder.”

Try harder.

A knot tightened in my chest. Was I still something he could measure? Did he mean that I should somehow win him over—prove myself worthy enough that even an Alpha of the Shadowbane Pack would protect me as if I were his most treasured possession?

The thought felt overwhelming, and I struggled to believe that I could ever be that precious to him.

It was inconceivable to picture a creature like Magnus Sanchez, the wolf known as Rafe, losing control over anyone.

Yet, despite my trepidation, I found myself asking softly, “And how exactly should I try, Magnus?”

We were too close, the air thick with tension. My words brushed against his lips, and the mingling scents of pine and wild mint from his skin intertwined with the faint aroma of green tea soap that clung to me. I noticed his pupils dilate, the atmosphere around us thickening with an electric charge.

I watched his throat move as he inhaled deeply, his breathing becoming more ragged, primal—a deep rumble building within him that felt almost animalistic.

Just as the tension coiled tightly between us, a sharp chime echoed through the den, shattering the moment like fragile glass.

A visitor.

Magnus froze, his expression darkening as if a storm cloud had settled over him.

I stood up, instinctively wrapping the fur throw tighter around myself, but before I could take a step, his hand shot out, gripping my wrist firmly. “Stay.” His voice was low, edged with an intensity that sent shivers racing down my spine. “That scent…”

But I already knew.

It was Damon.

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