The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 49

**Midnight Letters by Daniel Crowe**
**Chapter 49**

**Aysel’s POV**

Climbing the staircase, I found myself enveloped in a heavy silence that wrapped around Magnus and me like a thick fog, a silent pact forged in the absence of any mention of Damon Blackwood. It was as if his presence had been completely expunged, leaving only the steady rhythm of our breaths and the soft patter of rain against the den’s windows—a soothing melody that accompanied our shared solitude.

“Happy birthday,” Magnus whispered, his voice low and warm, wrapping around me like a comforting embrace on a chilly night.

With a deft motion, he unveiled a delicate silver chain, its luster catching the dim light and casting a soft glow. He fastened it around my neck with meticulous care, and I marveled at the rose pendant that dangled from it—a beautiful bloom, its thorns both delicate and fierce, embodying a striking blend of grace and resilience. It was enchanting enough to catch the eye yet subtle enough to seamlessly integrate into my everyday life.

I let my fingers glide over the pendant, feeling the cool metal against my skin. “It’s beautiful,” I breathed, a swell of gratitude rising within me.

This was my second gift of the year; the first had come from Skylar—a breathtaking painting crafted by a master from the north, delivered just before she left the continent. Her message had arrived at dawn, a soft whisper through our pack link, like the first light of frost on a winter morning, a bittersweet reminder of her absence.

Magnus’s gaze lingered on the pendant resting against my throat, a flicker of satisfaction darkening his features. I could feel his Alpha energy radiating approval, an undercurrent of possessiveness suggesting that this gift represented something much deeper than mere adornment—it was a marker of our evolving connection.

“Thank you,” I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. “For the gift… and for being here.”

Without Magnus’s presence, I might have found it impossible to emerge from the graveyard today. The thought of facing that empty den alone had loomed over me like a dark cloud. Whatever Damon had said about Magnus’s danger or instability, at least Magnus had not concealed his true self. He had stood firm when others had chosen to flee.

His molten eyes locked onto mine, and for a fleeting moment, I felt utterly exposed, as if he could see straight through the layers of my soul—my quiet gratitude, my fragile trust laid bare before him. I was no longer shielded; the hedgehog had revealed her soft underbelly to the wolf.

And somehow, this seemed to rattle him.

Magnus turned my chair to face him, and suddenly we were mere inches apart, our noses almost brushing. His breath was a warm whisper against my lips, thick with the tension that had enveloped the room before Damon’s unexpected intrusion.

“Then,” he said, his voice gravelly and low, “why don’t we finish what we started?”

Heat rushed to my cheeks at his words, igniting a blaze of embarrassment within me.

The earlier moment replayed in my mind like a cherished memory—the closeness, the almost-kiss, the electric charge that had filled the air. My wolf stirred beneath my skin, a restless energy bubbling to the surface, confused yet eager.

He continued to watch me, his eyes smoldering with that playful glint capable of melting steel. Perhaps this was his way of receiving gratitude—maybe this was how Alphas expressed their appreciation.

Gathering my courage, I leaned in and pressed my lips against his.

Just once.

It was a fleeting, feather-light brush against his cheek, so brief it could have been imagined, a whisper of a kiss.

That should suffice, right? Anything beyond felt… excessive.

I quickly turned away, clearing my throat to dispel the awkwardness. “Ahem. The soup’s getting cold.”

Magnus remained motionless, one hand resting casually on his thigh while the other draped languidly over the back of my chair. He stared at me as if I had just committed an unfathomable act of confusion.

What was going on with him?

This man was notorious across the continent for his ruthlessness, his untamed nature—the Alpha of Shadowbane Pack, a wolf of storms. And yet here he sat, frozen in place, as if I had cast a spell simply by kissing him on the cheek.

He should have been smirking, pulling me closer, whispering something scandalous in my ear. Instead, he was sitting there as if someone had short-circuited his instincts.

I suppressed a smile and picked up my spoon, determined to keep the moment light.

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