Third Person's POV The Shadowbane wolves were seething. Ulric's face had gone the color of iron, his pulse beating visibly in his temple. Magnus only laughed softly, curling an arm around Aysel's waist. His voice came out smooth as aged whiskey, touched with dangerous amusement. "Apologies, elders. My Aysel tends to bite when cornered. No real malice in her-just mischief." Then he turned, smirking down at her. "But love, my father's heart is fragile. Don't make him seize again. I doubt my future stepmother, blessed by his undying devotion, would want to be the one cleaning after him." The air went deathly still. Ivy, Ulric's second mate, froze where she stood. Her expression twisted-caught between outrage and shame. It was no secret she'd once been the nurse who tended to Ulric after his injury. Now the insult was direct, cold, and impossible to answer. Fury licked at Ulric's aura. His claws flexed, veins bulging beneath fur-patched skin. He shoved his chair back, chest heaving. "Magnus, you-" But Ivy, face ashen, forced a brittle smile and pushed the chair toward the exit. "Come, Ulric," she said tightly. "You need rest." The humiliation was unbearable. The Shadowbane wolves watched as the patriarch of their line was wheeled out-disgraced by his own son and the strange woman at his side. Magnus's smirk deepened. "Guess they finally took the hint." Silence rippled through the hall. The rest of the pack, seeing their Alpha's parents driven off, abandoned their aggression one by one. The storm subsided, leaving only the two wolves at its center - Magnu and Aysel. Bastien, the ancient Alpha at the head of the table, had not spoken throughout the chaos. His silver eyes gleamed like dull moonlight, the weight of generations behind them. No one could read his thoughts. But Aysel was unbothered. She tugged lightly on Magnus's hand, her lips curling. "So, Alpha Shadowbane, when's the meal? I'm starving." Magnus's gaze softened instantly. He pinched her nose affectionately. "Never fear, little wolf. You'll never go hungry under my roof." A glance to the steward - and the man instantly sprang into motion. After a long, uncertain pause, Bastien merely inclined his head. That single gesture opened the floodgates: servants poured in with trays of steaming meat and silver platters of venison. The feast began under a veil of tension. No one spoke much. Only two wolves at the long table - Magnus and Aysel - seemed capable of laughter. Magnus's mood was uncharacteristically light; he peeled crimson shrimp shells and set the flesh into her bowl, eyes gleaming with quiet indulgence. To the rest, it was almost obscene. Alpha Magnus - feared, blood-tempered - smiling like a wolf half-tamed by a woman who should've been beneath his notice. Aysel took a bite, savoring the taste. "Hmm. The garlic ribs here are better than yours," she murmured under her breath. Magnus's jaw twitched, half amused, half insulted. "You're getting picky, little wolf." "I'm helping you improve your culinary dominance," she replied sweetly, all innocence. The exchange earned a few stifled gasps. The others at the table avoided eye contact, pretending not to hear the flirtation that tasted like territorial claim. Every wolf present could sense it: the bond between them pulsed strong and bright. Dangerous. Permanent. They all knew what it meant. If Aysel Vale became the Luna of the Shadowbane Pack, every wolf under this roof would live under her shadow - and her temper. And judging by the smirk curving her lips, she knew it too. When the plates were cleared, Magnus was summoned to Bastien's study. The Alpha elder's summons carried the weight of command; even Magnus did not refuse. Aysel remained downstairs, calmly slicing fruit with a silver blade. The others - stripped of courage after the earlier confrontation - avoided her completely. Conversations turned to whispers. Games began at distant tables, card decks flickering in the low light, but no one dared approach her couch. It was a polite exile, the kind only old packs could master. Ulva, the widow of Magnus's eldest uncle Phelan, finally broke the tension. She gave the young woman a kind smile. "Aysel, dear, if you're bored, come join us for cards. We're one short." Aysel glanced over, her golden eyes reflecting candlelight. Seated at the table.Aysel smiled politely. "Thank you, Luna Ulva, but I don't play. I'd only ruin your fun." A snort came from the corner - a lean teenage wolf, probably seventeen, lounging on a couch with a game console. His voice was careless. "Pretending you don't know how? Classic." Aysel didn't bother to answer. She looked once, briefly, at the pup, then slid her headphones on. Ulva merely sighed and changed the subject, summoning another player instead. She even sent a servant to bring Aysel another plate of fruit - a small act of kindness in a den of daggers. Upstairs, however, the atmosphere had changed. In the study, Bastien sat behind a desk carved from ancient oak, his claws tapping the wood. His gaze lingered on his grandson - tall, broad-shouldered, his aura dark and unwavering. "The woman you brought into my hall," Bastien said quietly. "You're serious about her?" Magnus met his gaze. "Of course." Bastien's tail flicked once, slow and deliberate. "With your status, you could claim any Alpha daughter from the six continents. Yet you bring home a near-orphan, a broken wolf from a fallen Pack?" Magnus's mouth curved into a wolf's grin - sharp, defiant. "She's an unwanted daughter, and I'm a cursed Alpha. Seems poetic, doesn't it?" The old Alpha stared at him for a long moment - then exhaled through his nose, half fury, half reluctant awe.