The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 61

**Midnight Letters by Daniel Crowe**

**Chapter 61**

In the depths of the northern mountains, Bastien had embarked on a journey that he believed would be straightforward—merely a cleanup of the chaos left behind by a family scandal. He had no inkling that fate would lead him to a scene so haunting and raw.

There, amidst the rugged terrain, he stumbled upon a child—a wild, feral boy, emaciated and gaunt, his clothes stiff and stained with remnants of dried blood and sweat. The child clutched a dying wolf pup to his chest, desperately drinking its blood in a primal fight for survival.

The boy’s eyes blazed with an intensity that sent a shiver coursing through Bastien’s spine. There was no trace of fear in those depths, only the fierce instinct of a creature determined to live against all odds.

Bastien couldn’t help but let out a laugh, the sound ricocheting through the trees like a wild echo. *This one possesses the very marrow of a true Sanchez wolf,* he mused, a glimmer of admiration igniting in his heart.

He took Magnus under his wing, returning him to the safety of his home. In the wake of this decision, he dealt with Ulric, the reckless father, and his venomous mate, Ivy, punishing them for their negligence. Despite the council’s vehement protests, Bastien chose to raise the boy as if he were his own, believing he could guide him toward a brighter path.

As time passed, it became increasingly clear that Magnus was far from an ordinary cub; his senses were astoundingly sharp, and his mind operated with a quickness that left others in the dust. Under Bastien’s careful tutelage, the boy absorbed knowledge and power as if he were a starving wolf devouring a fresh kill, his thirst for understanding insatiable.

By the time Magnus reached maturity, he had begun to carve out his own realm, gathering strays and warriors into what would eventually evolve into his formidable Shadowbane faction. Bastien’s heart swelled with pride at this transformation.

Yet, little did he know, a storm was brewing on the horizon. He had been blind to the growing resentment within Magnus—a smoldering anger rooted in the ghost of his mother, Raya, who had suffered at the hands of the Pack’s cruelty. But the old Alpha had dismissed these feelings as mere sentiment. *Every pack is built on blood and bones,* he reminded himself. *No wolf grows strong without scars.*

For years, Magnus had remained cold and silent, his demeanor unyielding. That was until the incident four winters ago, when he shattered Ulric’s legs, leaving the man crippled. Bastien had hoped that would mark the end of Magnus’s rage, but he was gravely mistaken.

The destruction of Conor and his son Caleb—one left in a comatose state, the other stripped of his wolf—was the moment Bastien finally grasped the depth of Magnus’s vengeance. This was no mere act of retaliation; it was the beginning of something much darker.

Magnus sought more than just revenge; he craved the complete annihilation of the bloodline. He envisioned a world where every Sanchez would tremble in fear, each night haunted by the dread of impending doom.

And then, Aysel entered the picture.

The elders believed they could tame Magnus through a mating bond, tethering him to another main pack in a desperate attempt to anchor his wild spirit. But Magnus saw Aysel as the perfect weapon to wield against them, a sharp-edged blade of chaos.

Aysel was audacious, reckless, and unyielding. Even if her claws had yet to draw blood, she had the power to wound their pride. Just as the pack had once driven Raya to the brink of madness through humiliation and slow torment, Magnus was determined to dismantle their empire piece by piece until every Sanchez quaked under the weight of his retribution.

That evening, Bastien observed Magnus, the flickering firelight dancing across his face—handsome, inscrutable, and merciless.

“You intend to see this through to the bitter end?” Bastien rasped, his once-commanding voice softened by the inevitable passage of time. “Do not forget, I still hold a stake in the Pack’s lands. I could easily raise another heir.”

Magnus’s lips curled into a humorless smile, a glint of defiance in his eyes. “You think that can intimidate me, old wolf?”

He spoke with truth; every network, every trade route, every silver mine bearing the Shadowbane crest now bent to his will. Beyond the mainland, his private armies thrived in the outer territories, feral packs loyal solely to him.

The Sanchez empire was no longer Bastien’s legacy; it had transformed into Magnus’s creation.

In that moment, Bastien understood the gravity of the situation—he could either surrender the pack to Magnus or watch it burn to ashes.

The young Alpha had seized control of the very pulse of their bloodline.

Yet, the old man made one last attempt to reach him. “Your rage clouds your vision. Wolves who feast upon their kin never die clean. And that girl—Aysel Vale—do you truly believe she can love a wolf soaked in blood?”

Magnus rose, his expression unreadable, a storm brewing within his gaze. “No need to concern yourself, Grand Alpha.”

With that, he turned, leaving only the echo of his boots behind and the quiet hum of his power filling the room.

“I’m on Magnus’s side, obviously!”

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