Third Person's POV Magnus left the compound with a rare lightness in his chest. Even though the messages from Aysel kept flooding in-complaints, reminders, little threats about her hunger-his mood didn't darken in the slightest. He approved the dinner menu she sent, but exercised his Alpha veto over her growing list of snacks. Leaving the supermarket, he made a brief detour to a private patisserie known only to the upper packs. He waited patiently among humans and lesser wolves, finally securing a small strawberry cake. Conor's curses still echoed in his head-how no one would ever love him-but Magnus found them meaningless. Love was a fragile, human thing. He didn't need it. He only claimed what was his, and once claimed, he never let go. Aysel-his delicate little rose from the Moonvale Pack-wasn't something he'd call love, not yet. But she had already been marked in his mind, placed under his protection. A fragile bloom, perhaps, but one he didn't mind nurturing. His pleasant mood, however, soured the moment he reached her apartment building-and saw the pest waiting downstairs. Damon Blackwood. The once-proud Alpha of the Blackwood Pack, now reduced to a lovesick shadow haunting her territory. Magnus's jaw tightened. The air around him crackled with suppressed dominance, the scent of danger curling like smoke. Damon had been waiting Aysel's regrets for weeks, guilt and desperation etched into every line of his face. He had told himself he was waiting for Aysel to calm down, to reach out first. But as days bled into nights, and her silence stretched on, anxiety hollowed him out. He replayed their last argument endlessly-her fire, his pride. He thought of the small cottage that had burned down, the one tied to Aysel's late grandmother. The Moonvale Pack had tried to hide the truth, worried Celestine's fragile health would worsen. But when Luna Evelyn brought up the land deed, she'd been forced to admit it: the place was gone. Celestine had wept, heartbroken. "That was Grandmother's most precious thing. How could Aysel be so cruel?"Evelyn had comforted her gently, promising to find something "just as meaningful." Celestine's words echoed in Damon's ears, but he had only half-listened. He knew how deeply Aysel loved her grandmother. If Celestine was this distraught, what must Aysel have felt-what despair had pushed her to burn it all down? Regret clawed at him. When she'd needed him most, he hadn't been there. He tried to call-blocked. Went to her home-no answer. He'd even considered alerting the city patrols, until Skylar cursed him out over the phone and told him Aysel was fine. Fine-but unwilling to see him. Now, night after night, he waited below her window, watching the faint light through her curtains. He'd knocked until the guards were summoned. His once-proud posture had wilted, and the Alpha of the East looked more like a beggar in love. His mother had noticed. She remembered Aysel as a bright, sweet pup-the darling of the Moonvale Pack. But over time, resentment had crept in as the Wards became more favored, as Celestine's delicate health won sympathy and status. Watching her son return each night defeated, she snapped. "Maybe it would have been better if your engagement was with Celestine instead." She hadn't expected the look he gave her-feral, deadly. "I will only ever marry Aysel," he said, voice low and trembling. "Then why," his mother shot back coldly, "do you always choose Celestine over her?" Her words cut like claws. Even she could see how the Moonvale elders preferred Celestine, how Aysel had grown up in their shadow-and yet Damon had still stood against her, time and again. Out of guilt. Out of cowardice. Leaving home that night, Damon went back to her apartment again, driven by the same desperate hope: that she'd finally open the door. But to Magnus, the scene was nothing short of disgusting.The Alpha loitering around his territory, tainting the scent of his little rose. He exhaled slowly, suppressing the growl that threatened to break free. A pest. A crawling parasite that fed on regret. He wondered, almost idly, if he should break Damon's legs-or dig out those pleading eyes. The thought brought him a calm sort of satisfaction. He'd investigated Damon before-his history with Aysel was in every report. The rejected proposal, the misplaced loyalty, the pathetic begging. Even now, Damon's presence was a stench in the night air. "Crawling bug," Magnus murmured to himself, sliding his hands into his pockets, eyes glowing faintly with the shadowed gold of his wolf. "Doesn't know when to stay out of another Alpha's den."