The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 62

**Midnight Letters by Daniel Crowe**

**Chapter 62**

In the dim light of the room, Magnus remained inscrutable, his expression a mask of calm as he caught Aysel’s car deftly between his fingers. His voice, when it emerged, was low and laced with an unspoken promise that hung in the air like a charged storm.

“Remember what you said, Aysel.”

It was a statement that resonated with weight, one that suggested a future yet unwritten. Whether it unfolded now or later was of little consequence to him; the connection they shared would only grow stronger. Magnus was patient, a predator who had learned to stalk the endless corridors of time. He knew that eventually, Aysel would come to see him as her first choice.

The sun was still high in the sky, casting long shadows as the Moonvale Pack prepared for their grand celebration at dusk. Aysel, the supposed guest of honor, should have been at the ancestral Hall, bustling about with last-minute preparations. Yet, she had chosen instead to retreat to her city den, seeking solace in sleep to recover from the day’s overwhelming exhaustion.

Magnus, without a second thought, trailed her back to her sanctuary.

As she entered, she found him sprawled across her bed, an image of casual dominance as if he had every right to be there. Aysel paused, her gaze locked on him, speechless for a moment as her mind raced with a mix of annoyance and intrigue.

“The couch is piled high with your stylists’ gear,” he remarked innocently, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “No room for a wolf to rest comfortably.”

The remnants of her stylist team had left their tools scattered about after an exhausting evening of preparations. They had pleaded with Aysel to let them finish early, but she had dismissed them with a wave of her hand. This birthday feast was not a celebration of her; it was yet another performance orchestrated by Moonvale, a clever ruse designed to bind her to their expectations.

Had it not been for Magnus’s insistence on “a touch of ceremony,” she would have gladly donned a simple pair of jeans and a loose shirt, her usual attire for such occasions.

Now, with only one bed available and the formidable Shadowbane Alpha lounging upon it, Aysel let out a resigned sigh. Kicking out the most dangerous wolf on the continent was not a viable option.

“Relax,” he said, raising his hands in a mock gesture of surrender. “We’ve shared a bed before. I promise I’ll behave.”

Aysel couldn’t deny the truth in his words; one stormy night had blurred the lines between them, lines that had never quite been redrawn.

With a determined huff, she tossed a blanket between them like a makeshift battle line. “You take the left. I’ll take the right.”

Perhaps it was the fatigue from her earlier confrontations that weighed heavily on her, for sleep swiftly claimed her, even with another wolf so close.

Magnus remained awake, listening intently to the soft rhythm of her breathing. In the shadows, his eyes opened wide, revealing depths of emotion that were turbulent and unreadable.

As the first knock from Lisa broke the silence, dusk had already begun to cloak the world outside in shades of twilight. They left the sanctuary of her den later than intended, the lingering scent of sleep still clinging to them like a second skin.

When the Moonvale mansion came into view, its grand banners fluttering in the evening breeze, the atmosphere inside was thick with tension and disapproval.

They had been trying to reach her all day, completely oblivious to the fact that Aysel had blocked every one of their numbers, a silent act of defiance that only fueled their frustration.

The elders wore grim expressions, their faces set in stone as guests began to arrive.

“She’s doing this on purpose,” Fenrir muttered, his voice tight with barely contained resentment.

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