The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 53

**Midnight Letters by Daniel Crowe**

**Chapter 53**

**Magnus’s POV**

The hour was late when I finally made my way back home, the moon casting its silvery glow above, a silent guardian in the night sky. The pack council meeting, which had promised to be a gathering of camaraderie, had instead devolved into a farcical display of hollow laughter and empty toasts, the kind that echoed with insincerity. Jackson, my loyal driver, was supposed to ferry me back to the Shadowbane estate, but an unexpected yearning stirred within me, altering my course entirely.

“Turn this car around,” I commanded, my voice firm, leaving no space for argument.

Jackson blinked at me, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Sir?”

“Take me to Moonvale. Aysel’s den,” I clarified, my tone steady yet tinged with an urgency that even I struggled to understand.

He didn’t question me further, though I could sense his bewilderment radiating from him like heat from a flame. I caught a mumble escape his lips, something about my supposed obsession, a jab directed at the Alpha who would rather seek solace in a modest apartment than return to the vast, sprawling estate of his own territory. He wasn’t entirely wrong. Since Aysel had entered my life, the sharp edges of my temperament had dulled, and the pack had taken to calling her a blessing. Jackson, with his unwavering loyalty, often referred to her as my undoing.

As we arrived at the building, I dismissed him with a flick of my foot, eager to avoid yet another lecture. I could feel his heartbeat quicken—fear, pity, and a hint of amusement all tangled together in his chest. Poor Jackson. Little did he know that the true fear lay with me. An inebriated Alpha is never forgiving, especially not to the one who holds his heart in her delicate hands.

Crossing the threshold into Aysel’s dimly lit apartment, I was enveloped by a comforting darkness, reminiscent of an old wolf welcoming me home. The air hung still, punctuated only by the soft rhythm of her breathing, a soothing sound that resonated through the silence. Though the lights were off, I could discern her silhouette curled up on the couch, small and fragile, as she often did when the weight of the world became too much to bear. The wolf within me stirred, protective and restless.

I didn’t bother reaching for the light switch. Instead, I locked the door behind me, traversing the room in silence before gathering her into my arms. She stirred only when her body pressed against my chest, her scent cutting through the lingering haze of alcohol like a soothing balm—wild jasmine, moonlight, and the essence of home.

Suddenly, she jolted awake, her fists flying in instinctive defense. I caught her hand effortlessly, pressing it against my heart, feeling the frantic rhythm of her pulse beneath my palm.

“Easy,” I murmured, my voice rough and low, more growl than words.

“Magnus—what are you doing? Let me go.” Her voice trembled against my collarbone, laced with confusion and a hint of fear.

Instead of releasing her, I tightened my embrace, reveling in how perfectly she fit against me—too perfectly. I brushed her hair back from her face, my fingers gently tracing her cheek, then the soft line of her neck. My senses were overwhelmed with her warmth, her heartbeat, and the unwavering trust she placed in me. I shouldn’t have indulged this primal urge, but the wolf within me—Rafe—was deaf to any notion of restraint.

No perfume, no artifice—just the pure, untainted scent of the girl who had never bowed to power. It soothed something wild within me, and I found myself inhaling her fragrance repeatedly, as if it were the only air I could breathe.

“You’ve been crying,” I whispered, my heart tightening at the sight of her red-rimmed eyes. “Someone came here?”

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify