The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 66

**Midnight Letters by Daniel Crowe**
**Chapter 66**

In the heart of the marble courtyard, Alpha Blackwood concluded his conversation with the attendants, the anxious flicker in his eyes fading into a carefully crafted smile. He strode across the polished stones, his presence commanding yet amiable, towards his ally, Alpha Remus. The atmosphere buzzed with anticipation, and the weight of the moment hung heavily in the air.

“Brother Remus,” Alpha Blackwood began, his tone light as he approached, “are you leaving the honor of the announcement to me this time?” His voice resonated with warmth, yet there was an undercurrent of urgency beneath the surface.

Leaning in closer, he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, meant only for the keen ears of wolves. “Damon’s been found. He’ll be here shortly. We just need to buy a little time.” The gravity of his words hung between them, a shared secret that bound them in this moment of suspense.

Straightening up, Alpha Blackwood turned to face the gathering of wolves—nobles, high-ranking members of their packs, and the elders of the ancient houses who had once sworn fealty under the same celestial body. “My dear friends,” he began with a warm, inviting tone, “you all know that our children have grown together under the same stars. Their bond is fated, their affection has long been evident. Today, we gather not just to feast, but to witness a sacred union—Moonvale and Blackwood, bound by both blood and moonlight.”

A soft murmur spread through the crowd like a gentle ripple on a still pond. His practiced voice, steady and reassuring, quelled any lingering doubts. No one in that moment could question the narrative unfolding before them; Damon’s absence was merely a prelude to a grand surprise.

Even Alpha Remus, despite the tension etched on his face, played along, a light laugh escaping him to ease the palpable tension in the air. Servants bustled about, preparing the open-air projection—the ancient moon-scry, a mystical device used to display cherished memories and vows through the ethereal light captured from the auras of those present.

Amidst the guests, Luna Evelyn moved with an elegant grace, assisting Luna Blackwood in diverting attention away from the brewing tension. On the dais, the enchanted screen shimmered to life, illuminating the faces of the gathered wolves.

The scenes that unfolded were intimate glimpses gifted by Damon himself—fragments of a life spent alongside Aysel. From the joyous hunts beneath frost-laden pine trees in their youth to the nights filled with laughter around crackling bonfires, their bond had been profound and sacred. Yet, in recent years, those memories had become fewer and farther between, a testament to the challenges they faced.

Damon had even envisioned a moment after the official proclamation, a chance to renew his vows before all—an Alpha’s promise made beneath the watchful gaze of the full moon.

However, the younger wolves, eager for drama, sighed in disappointment when nothing extraordinary transpired. Their interest began to wane. Among them, Damon’s friends exchanged knowing smirks, their whispers laced with mockery.

“See?” one murmured with a conspiratorial grin. “Aysel’s little rebellion was merely for show. That Vale girl is as tamed as ever.”

“She can pretend to be cold, but she’ll always come running back to him,” another chimed in, their laughter ringing softly, assuming the night would culminate in yet another dazzling display of affection between the eastern Alpha and his chosen Luna.

Yet, as the first image flickered across the moon-scry, the laughter abruptly ceased. A collective gasp surged through the crowd, rippling like a shockwave.

Faces paled under the silvery glow of the projection.

There, before the assembly of packs, stood the missing groom—Damon himself—locked in an embrace not with his betrothed, but with her elder sister, Celestine.

The scene unfolded in the eastern gardens, where moonlight painted silver lines along the ivy. Their auras intertwined in a way that spoke of undeniable intimacy. Damon’s hand brushed through Celestine’s hair with a tenderness that seemed almost sacred. “Do not fear,” he whispered, his voice captured by the recording spell, soft yet resolute. “I will stay by your side, always.”

“Say it again,” Celestine urged, her voice a tremor of vulnerability.

“I love you,” he declared without a hint of hesitation.

“And this bond you are forced to forge with another—?” she questioned, her tone laced with sorrow.

“There is no other,” he swore fervently. “You are the only one I will ever claim.”

Those words fell like blades, slicing through the air with a sharp finality. Even the wolves who were seasoned in the brutal politics of their kind found themselves rendered speechless.

This was no mere rumor. This was not an illusion. It was a live feed from sacred grounds, cast by one of the Luna orbs, irrevocably altering the course of their evening.

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