THE SOLSTICE GALA

The Great Hall was transformed. Garlands of evergreen and holly hung from the rafters, and the massive stone hearth roared with a fire that cast long, dancing shadows against the walls. It was the night of the Solstice Gala, the most formal and dangerous night of the year.

​Rhea sat on her throne, her shoulder bandaged beneath a gown of deep crimson silk that left her back exposed, showing the intricate tattoos of her lineage. She looked every bit the queen, but beneath the silk, her heart was a storm. She had returned from the hunt with the stag’s heart—and a Blight-Wolf’s head—silencing the Council and sending Kael into a fit of humiliated rage.

​But the victory felt hollow. Elias’s words about her father haunted her.

​The doors swung open, and the Southern delegations arrived. Leading them was Alpha Silas of the Iron Claw, Kael’s father, a man whose smile never reached his cold, calculating eyes.

​"Alpha Rhea," Silas said, bowing stiffly. "A magnificent hunt. Though some say you had... help from a nameless shadow."

​"My forest provides what I need, Alpha Silas," Rhea replied, her voice steady. "I suggest you focus on the dancing. The floor is less treacherous than the woods."

​The music began—a haunting melody played on bone flutes and drums. Rhea watched the room, her eyes searching for Elias. He hadn't been seen since they returned.

​Then, she saw him.

​He wasn't in the shadows this time. He was dressed in a formal black doublet, looking more like a prince than a rogue. He walked straight toward her, ignoring the gasps of the nobility. He reached the foot of her throne and held out a hand.

​"May I have this dance, Alpha?"

​The room went silent. A rogue asking an Alpha to dance during the Solstice was a scandal of the highest order. Marcus stepped forward, his hand on his sword, but Rhea held up a hand to stop him.

​She stood, her crimson skirts rustling, and placed her hand in Elias’s. "One dance."

​As they moved to the center of the floor, the world seemed to fall away. Elias moved with a grace that matched her own, his hand firm on the small of her back. The "sweetness" of the moment was undeniable—the way his eyes locked onto hers, the way their steps aligned as if they had danced a thousand times before.

​"You look beautiful," he whispered, his voice vibrating through her.

​"Save the flattery, Elias. Tell me what you found," she hissed, keeping her face a mask of regal indifference.

​"The Blight-Wolves are being kept in the old mines on the southern border," he said, spinning her effortlessly. "And Silas isn't the one in charge. He’s just the purse. The one calling the shots is a man known as the 'Alchemist.' He’s been using Silver Bane blood to create his monsters."

​Rhea stumbled slightly, and Elias caught her, pulling her flush against his chest. For a heartbeat, the "Wild Desires" she had been suppressing surged to the surface. She wanted to forget the pack, the traitors, and the war. She wanted to sink into him.

​"Why are you telling me this?" she asked, her breath hitching.

​"Because," Elias said, his voice dropping to a growl that made her wolf howl in agreement, "I’m tired of watching you fight alone. And because once this is over, Rhea, I'm going to challenge you for more than just a dance."

​Before she could respond, the heavy oak doors of the hall were blown off their hinges. A wave of Blight-Wolves, their eyes glowing a sickly green, poured into the room. The screaming started instantly.

​Rhea didn't hesitate. She ripped the silk from her legs, revealing the daggers strapped to her thighs. "Elias!"

​"On it," he said, his daggers already out.

​The Solstice Gala had become a slaughterhouse. And Rhea realized, as she dove into the fray, that the "Tameless Heart" she prized so much was finally being put to the ultimate test.