The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 59

**Midnight Letters by Daniel Crowe**
**Chapter 59**

The air was thick with tension, a palpable force that crackled like electricity among the Shadowbane wolves. Ulric stood at the center of it all, his expression a mask of barely contained fury, his face a steely gray that mirrored the iron resolve within him. Every muscle in his body was taut, and the rapid pulse at his temple throbbed as if it were a drumbeat heralding the storm brewing inside him.

In stark contrast, Magnus seemed utterly unfazed by the charged atmosphere around him. With a casual grace, he wrapped an arm around Aysel’s waist, his laughter ringing out like a bell in the stillness. “Forgive us, esteemed elders,” he said, his voice smooth and rich like aged whiskey, tinged with a playful mockery. “My Aysel has a tendency to lash out when she feels cornered. There’s no real malice in her—just a touch of mischief.”

He turned to Aysel, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “But, my love, do keep in mind that my father’s heart is delicate. We wouldn’t want him to seize up again, would we? I doubt my future stepmother, blessed by his unwavering devotion, would appreciate being the one to clean up after him.”

A heavy silence fell over the room, thick and suffocating. Every wolf present held their breath, caught in the web of Magnus’s audacious words.

Ivy, Ulric’s second mate, stood frozen, her expression a tumultuous mix of outrage and shame. She had once been the nurse who cared for Ulric during his recovery, a role that now felt like a distant memory. Magnus’s jibes hung in the air, sharp and unforgiving, leaving Ivy with no words to defend herself or Ulric.

Ulric’s fury crackled like a live wire. His claws flexed involuntarily, veins bulging beneath his fur, a clear signal of his rising anger. With a violent scrape, he pushed his chair back, the sound echoing ominously through the hall. “Magnus, you—”

But before he could finish, Ivy, her face drained of color, forced a brittle smile as she nudged the chair toward the exit. “Come, Ulric,” she urged, her voice tight with tension. “You need to rest.”

The humiliation was a bitter pill to swallow, one that left a sour taste in Ulric’s mouth. The Shadowbane wolves watched in silence as their patriarch was escorted away, disgraced by the very son he had raised, accompanied by the enigmatic woman at his side.

Magnus’s smirk deepened, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. “Looks like they finally got the message,” he quipped, his tone dripping with triumph.

As the pack observed Ulric and Ivy’s departure, the aggression that had once filled the room began to dissipate like mist in the morning sun, one wolf at a time. The storm had calmed, leaving only Magnus and Aysel at its epicenter.

—

At the head of the table, Bastien, the ancient Alpha, remained an imposing figure, silent and contemplative throughout the chaos. His silver eyes glimmered with the weight of countless generations, revealing nothing of his thoughts or feelings.

Yet Aysel seemed undeterred by the tension that hung in the air. With a playful tug on Magnus’s hand, she flashed a bright smile. “So, Alpha Shadowbane, when do we eat? I’m absolutely starving.”

Magnus’s gaze softened at her words, and he playfully pinched her nose, a gesture filled with affection. “Fear not, little wolf. Under my roof, you shall never know hunger.”

He glanced at the steward, who sprang into action at once, his movements efficient and practiced. After a long, hesitant pause, Bastien merely inclined his head, granting permission that unleashed a flurry of activity. Servants rushed in, carrying trays laden with steaming meat and silver platters brimming with succulent venison.

As the feast commenced, a veil of tension hung over the gathering, casting a shadow over the festivities.

—

Conversations were scarce, the air thick with unease. Only Magnus and Aysel seemed capable of laughter, their bond standing in stark contrast to the somber wolves gathered at the long table. Magnus’s demeanor was unusually light; he deftly peeled crimson shrimp shells, placing the tender morsels into Aysel’s bowl, his eyes sparkling with quiet indulgence.

To the others, it appeared almost scandalous. Here was Alpha Magnus, a figure of fear and respect, now seemingly tamed by a woman who, in their eyes, should have been beneath his notice.

Aysel took a bite, savoring the explosion of flavors dancing on her tongue. “Hmm. These garlic ribs are far superior to yours,” she murmured playfully, her voice barely above a whisper.

Magnus’s jaw twitched, caught between amusement and indignation. “You’re becoming quite the connoisseur, little wolf.”

“I’m merely assisting you in refining your culinary dominance,” she replied sweetly, her expression a blend of innocence and teasing.

Their playful exchange elicited a few stifled gasps from the other wolves. The table fell into an uneasy silence, each wolf avoiding eye contact, pretending not to notice the flirtation that hung in the air like an unspoken claim.

Every wolf present felt it: the bond between Magnus and Aysel pulsed strong and bright, radiating danger and permanence.

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