บททั้งหมดของ WILD DESIRES TAMELESS HEART : บทที่ 11 - บทที่ 20

The silence that followed the destruction of the Hive was deceptive. While the pack labored to scrub the green bile from the stone floors of the manor, Rhea found herself haunted by the memory of the hawk she had seen circling the ramparts. Its feathers hadn't been brown or black, but the exact shade of arterial spray.​She sat in her father's study—now her war room—staring at a map of the continent. The Silver Bane was isolated, protected by the jagged teeth of the Northern Peaks, but the "United South" that Elias had mentioned was a sprawling empire of city-states and industrial packs.​"You're looking at the borders again," Elias said, stepping into the room. He was carrying two mugs of bitter herbal tea, the steam curling around his scarred fingers.​"The Alchemist was a pioneer, Elias. But pioneers have patrons," Rhea said, taking a mug. Her fingers brushed his, and the mate bond thrummed—a steady, "sweet" resonance that acted as a balm to her frayed nerves. "He mentioned a High

The morning after Inquisitor Vane’s ultimatum, the Blackwater River looked like a graveyard of iron. Three massive Southern warships sat anchored in the center of the flow, their steam vents huffing rhythmic clouds of grey smoke into the pristine mountain air. They were "teeth" of a different kind—not bone and sinew, but coal and steel.​Rhea stood on the battlements, her fingers tracing the rough stone of the manor. Beside her, Elias was a statue of suppressed fury. The grey-gold veins on his neck pulsed in time with the thrumming of the ships' engines.​"They aren't here to talk, Rhea," Elias said, his voice dropping to that dark, resonant frequency. "Vane is a 'Harvester.' Her job isn't to audit; it’s to collect the parts and burn the rest. The High Council sees this territory as a failed experiment that needs to be wiped clean so they can start again."​"They won't burn my people," Rhea said, her golden eyes fixed on the lead ship. "Marcus!"​The Beta appeared from the stairwell,

The "Reaper" arrived not by water, but by air.​Two weeks after the incident on the Frost-Shelf, the sky over Black Ridge was darkened by a massive, steam-powered dirigible. It was a bloated, predatory shape, plated in dark brass and armed with repeating swivel-guns. Unlike the ironclads, this vessel didn't dock. It hovered directly over the Silver Bane manor, casting a permanent shadow across the training grounds.​A single metal capsule was dropped from the bay. It hissed as it hit the courtyard, steam venting from its seams.​Rhea, Marcus, and Sela stood in a semicircle, weapons drawn. The capsule hissed one last time and split open like a piece of overripe fruit. Inside stood a man—or what had once been a man. He was encased in a suit of blackened iron, his limbs replaced by hydraulic pistons, his face hidden behind a cold, unmoving steel mask.​"I am Unit 01," the machine-voice echoed through the courtyard. "The High Council has designated this territory a 'Resource Reclamation Z

The arrival of Dr. Aris was a distraction.​While Rhea was dealing with the "Ethics Committee," a shadow moved through the lower levels of the manor. It was a face Rhea hadn't seen in months—someone who knew the secret tunnels better than anyone.​Elder Silas.​He had escaped the dungeons during the chaos of the dirigible crash. But he hadn't fled. He had gone straight to the nursery.​Rhea felt the shift in the pack-bond—a sharp, sudden spike of terror from the nursery attendants. She didn't wait for Marcus. She shifted mid-stride, her white fur bristling as she tore through the corridors.​She burst into the nursery to find Silas standing over a cradle, a vial of concentrated Blight-gas in his hand.​"One step closer, Rhea, and the future of the Silver Bane dies in a cloud of green," Silas hissed. His face was gaunt, his eyes hollow with madness. "The South promised me a kingdom. You gave me a cell. If I can't rule this pack, no one will."​Rhea shifted back, her hands raised, her h

The Sun-Tower was a marvel of architectural arrogance. Every floor was a concentric circle of glass and cold, white marble, designed to keep the "biologicals" in a state of perpetual observation. Rhea stood in the center of her guest suite, the silver chainmail of her dress feeling like a lead weight. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city of Oakhaven pulsed with artificial light, a sprawling machine that never slept.​"Alpha, the warriors are restless," Marcus whispered, stepping into the room. He had refused to change out of his travel-worn leathers, standing out like a charcoal smudge on a clean sheet of paper. "Sela has her scouts positioned at the stairwells, but the Council has 'Suppressant Mist' venting through the air ducts. Our wolves are sluggish. They can't catch a scent, and their instincts are being muffled."​Rhea turned, her golden eyes flashing with a predatory light that the Council’s luxury couldn't dim. "That’s the point, Marcus. They don’t want us to fight;