The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 83

**Midnight Letters by Daniel Crowe**

**Chapter 83**

**Aysel’s POV**

“Hey! Aysel! Will you ever come back?”

Lykos’s voice sliced through the cool evening air, youthful and laced with an unsteady tremor. Each word felt like a plea, echoing in the stillness of the forest.

Yet, I remained silent, refusing to respond. I didn’t even glance back.

The sound of the car door closing behind me was a soft thud, quickly swallowed by the dense woods surrounding us. Somewhere in the distance, a small stone skittered across the gravel, producing a sound that resonated with frustration and loneliness—an echo of emotions I didn’t want to confront.

He didn’t hate me, not really. Perhaps he never had.

Then, Fenrir’s voice broke through the silence—a rich, deep timbre that carried the weight of authority and age, a voice that only a trueborn heir of Moonvale could possess. He sprinted until he reached the end of the driveway, where Magnus’s sleek black car sat idling, a predator poised and alert.

“Aysel,” he called out, his tone steady and reassuring, “no matter what happens, this will always be your home.”

At his words, my chest constricted painfully.

Home.

That single word had become tainted for me, its meaning twisted. It now reeked of judgment, of confinement disguised as warmth and safety.

Beside me, Magnus sat, his expression a mask of unreadable calm. I could feel the intensity of his aura, sharp as obsidian, cutting through the night air like a warning sign.

To him, the Moonvale Pack was nothing more than a cacophony, a collection of distractions.

Playthings, he seemed to think, every last one of them.

He didn’t need to voice his thoughts for me to sense the simmering emotions beneath his controlled exterior—his irritation, his possessiveness, his claim over me.

“They dare try to lure you back?” His voice was low, smooth as silk yet laced with an underlying growl. “Your home doesn’t come from them.”

I tore my gaze away from the window, focusing instead on the small velvet box resting on my lap. Inside lay the bracelet I had nearly lost tonight; I opened it once more, checking its contents as if it were a reflex, then snapped it shut and exhaled slowly.

“I know,” I murmured softly, hoping to soothe him. “I already have one.”

He responded with a soft, humorless snort, then playfully flicked my forehead.

“No ambition at all.”

Half an hour later, the car came to a halt.

Before me stood a dark manor, vast and silent, bathed in the ethereal glow of moonlight. It wasn’t merely a house; it felt alive, breathing with an energy all its own. The air thrummed with the essence of the pack, infused with the scents of pine and wolflore. My claws flexed involuntarily, a primal response to the energy surrounding me.

“You said… this is my birthday gift?” I asked, incredulous as I stared at the magnificent structure.

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