Page 12 of Heart of the Rebel Mate (Wolf Billionaire #5)

CHAPTER 12

ADRIAN

R isk has to be calculated. It's weighed, measured, and action is taken only when the reward is worth it.

At least that's what I tell myself as I walk through the dimly lit corridors of the Council's detention center. Every step I take is deliberate. Every breath is controlled. My training has taught me how to use my wolf to control my vitals to prevent me from panicking even when I'm in a situation where my nerves should be screaming with anxiety. I've managed to reduce the noise to a whisper and the occasional groan, but this is still too early to celebrate.

This is treason.

I have spent years building a life within the Council's ranks—earning their trust, securing my place and my future. Now, I am about to throw it all away.

For her.

I have to move fast. From what I hear, they aren't giving her much time. If I don't act fast, by tomorrow they could lock her in a hole and throw away the key.

The air is laced with the faint scent of metal and something antiseptic, as if they're trying to scrub away the stench of the lives they keep locked away. The walls are a dull gray color, the kind that invites your brain to conjure up images. The walls were like a blank canvas for your nightmares. Elara would be appalled that architectural knowledge was being used to wage psychological warfare on people.

The hum of security systems is a constant undercurrent, a reminder that every step I take is being monitored, logged, analyzed. But I know the blind spots. I've studied them for years.

I keep moving. The security checkpoints are automated at this hour with the night shift running on routine. I flash my credentials at the scanner, waiting for the small green light to grant me passage. It blinks once, then opens the reinforced doors with a whoosh .

I exhale gradually. The hardest part is yet to come.

Elara's cell is deep in the lower levels, past layers of surveillance and checkpoints designed to contain high-risk detainees. She shouldn't be here. She's not a criminal by any stretch of the imagination or interpretation of our constitution. But that doesn't matter to the Council. They see what they want to see.

My footsteps echo softly as I descend into the depths of the facility. The air grows heavier. The deeper you go, the harder it is to breathe, as if the walls themselves are pressing inward, trying to suffocate any last shred of resistance.

I pause before turning the last corner. A lone guard stands at her cell. He's young—new to the job. I can tell from the uncertainty in his stance. Good. That makes him easy to manipulate.

I approach with measured steps, keeping my voice calm. "You're dismissed."

The guard straightens. "I wasn't?—"

"This is classified." I lower my voice. "She's being moved. The orders just came through."

He hesitates. If I had given this order an hour ago, during peak shift changes, he would have pushed back. But it's late, and fatigue dulls his instincts.

Still, he lingers. "I wasn't told?—"

I let frustration creep into my tone. "Are you questioning the directive?" I step closer, letting my authority press down on him.

He stiffens. "No, sir."

"Then go."

He hesitates only a second longer before giving a sharp nod and retreating down the corridor.

I wait until his footsteps fade before exhaling, then turning to the reinforced door before me. A red sensor pulses at the lock, scanning for clearance. I pull a small device from my pocket, a tool I should never possess, and press it against the panel.

The lock clicks open. Praise Luna.

I step inside.

The cell is small and bare except for a cot as well as a single flickering light overhead. Elara is curled in the corner, knees drawn up. Even in sleep, her body is tense. The dim glow casts sharp shadows across her face, highlighting the bruises along her temple and the dried blood at the edge of her lip.

What have they done to her?

"Elara," I whisper.

She stirs and catches her breath as her eyes flutter open. It takes a second for her to register where she is—to register me.

Then she moves fast, scrambling back against the wall.

"Stay away." Her voice is hoarse. She hasn't had water in a while. I can tell she's beyond exhausted.

I lift my hands, palms open. "I'm getting you out."

She doesn't believe me.

I don't blame her.

"I should let you rot," she mutters, eyes flashing. "You stood there and did nothing."

Guilt claws through me. "I had no choice."

"There's always a choice."

Silence stretches.

She's right. I made my choice when I let them take her. When I stood still as she was dragged away. I could have at least been the one voice of reason in the crowd. Instead, I hid. Why be on good terms with the council if I cannot use it to help Elara?

Anyway I'm making a different choice now.

I step closer, keeping my voice low. "I need you to trust me, just this once."

She exhales sharply, watching me like I might betray her again. But she doesn't fight as I grab her wrist and pull her to her feet.

We don't have time to drag our feet. For all I know, the guard has probably raised an alarm or let it slip to a higher-up that he's been relieved of his duty.

We slip through the halls and the shadows stretching beneath the cold artificial lights appear strange and nightmarish. I pay attention to my breathing. I need to keep my wits about me, especially because Elara's fate is in my hands now. My mind is a map, tracing the safest route, avoiding patrols, and timing every step with the shift rotations I memorized years ago.

The exit is close.

One last door.

Then the alarm blares.

The sound is deafening, ricocheting off the walls like machine-gun fire. A blinding red light floods the corridor and my stomach drops.

Damn it.

I shove Elara forward. "Run."

She hesitates only a second before bolting, her bare feet barely making a sound against the floor. I follow immediately, pushing her ahead, as my mind races with the possibilities of the worst case scenario. This wasn't supposed to happen yet. I'd timed everything down to the second. What went wrong?

The hallway ahead branches into two. I know where each one leads—the left goes to a maintenance corridor that opens into the service docks, while the right would lead us to an open courtyard swarming with patrols.

"Elara, left!" I grab her wrist and yank her in the right direction just as the pounding of boots echoes from behind us.

They're fast.

We have seconds.

I slam my shoulder into the maintenance door, feeling it give way under my weight. The passage beyond is dark, lined with rusting pipes and the faint scent of engine oil.

We're not safe yet.

I grip Elara's hand, pulling her forward. "Keep running."

Because if we stop now, we're dead.

The safe house is small, hidden in the industrial district where the Council's reach is weakest. The moment we cross the threshold, I slam the door shut behind us, bolting it.

The air inside is heavy with dust and disuse. A single lamp casts flickering light across cracked walls. The wooden floor creaks softly beneath us. The space is barely furnished—a worn-out couch, a rickety table, a cot pushed against the wall. Nothing here feels lived-in. Just another hollow refuge, meant for passing ghosts.

Elara stands in the center of the room, arms crossed, breathing hard.

She hasn't said a word since we ran.

Now, she turns. Her gaze pins me in place. "You risked everything," she says.

I don't answer.

I don't have to.

She steps closer, voice quiet but sharp. "Why?"

The truth is a Gordian knot in my chest.

Because I couldn't stand watching them break her. Because every time I closed my eyes, I saw the moment she was taken, and I hated myself for not stopping it.

Because she matters more than I should ever admit.

I shake my head. "It doesn't matter."

Her gaze hardens. "It does."

I exhale and massage my temples as the silence passes between us like a noisy ping-pong ball. "I don't know, Elara. Maybe because I started asking questions I shouldn't have. Maybe because I realized the Council isn't what I thought it was."

She watches me, searching for lies.

And then, something shifts.

The mate bond hums between us, electric in the silence.

She feels it. So do I.

I should step back.

But I don't.

Instead, I reach out and my fingertips brush against her wrist. The gesture is a test...a question.

She doesn't pull away.

And then?—

Her lips meet mine.

The kiss is sharp and sudden, filled with something neither of us can name. Her hands grip the front of my shirt and twist the fabric as she leans into me, embracing my warmth. I feel the tremor in her touch. She's still hesitating– fighting against the very clear pull between us. I know this isn't simple or easy in the slightest. But for the first time in weeks, nothing else exists.

I slide a hand up her back and my fingers gently caress the curve of her spine. She exhales against my lips, a trembling breath, and then she's pushing me back—not roughly, but enough to create space. Enough to remind me that she still doesn't trust me.

Not completely.

She steps away, folding her arms. "This doesn't change anything."

I nod to show I understand, and I do, even though the bond between us doesn't agree with her.

Silence stretches between us.

Then she speaks, voice quiet. "Did you know?"

I blink. "Know what?"

Her throat bobs. "That they were coming for me."

The question slams into me. I don't answer right away because the truth is ugly, and she'll see it the moment I speak it aloud.

"Not at first."

Her fingers tighten around her arms. "But you knew before they took me."

I swallow hard. "Yes."

The word lands between us, a confession carved into stone.

Elara turns away, pacing toward the window. The thin curtains do nothing to hide the night beyond; the darkness stretches endlessly through the industrial ruins. When she speaks again, her voice is almost too soft to hear.

"I kept wondering what I did wrong."

I close my eyes.

"I thought maybe I misstepped. That I wasn't careful enough. But it wasn't that, was it?" She turns to face me again, eyes burning. "It was you."

I open my mouth, but nothing comes.

I should tell her I had no choice. That I didn't know until it was too late.

But we both know the truth.

I was complicit.

I was part of the system that destroyed her life.

She exhales, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes. "God, I should hate you."

I don't flinch. "I know."

She drops her hands. Her jaw is clenched. "So why don't I?"

I don't have an answer for that.

She steps closer again, slower this time. The space between is filled with every choice we've made, every betrayal, every wound still bleeding between us.

And yet, the bond hums again, pulling us closer despite it all.

"I want to trust you," she whispers. "I don't know if I can."

I lift my hand, hesitating before I brush a strand of hair from her face. "Then don't."

She blinks.

"Not yet," I say softly. "Just let me prove that I deserve it."

Elara watches me for a long moment, and then, slowly, she nods.

For now, that's enough.

She tilts her head up, and the space between us vanishes.

Her lips are warm, hesitant at first. Then they press harder, like she's chasing something she shouldn't want. Like I'm the last solid thing in a world that has crumbled around her.

I don't deserve this.

But I take it anyway.

My hands slide to her waist, pulling her closer. Her breath hitches and her fingers tighten against my shirt. The kiss deepens, turning from hesitation to something more certain.

The bond flares, and I can feel heat coiling through my veins.

This is dangerous.

But for once, I don't care.

Her lips press together, and for a long moment, she says nothing. Then, softly— "You should've left me there."

The words send something cold through my chest. "I couldn't."

She shakes her head, exhaling hard. "You don't understand what this means. They'll hunt you. They'll use every resource, every connection."

I already know all of this. But hearing it from her makes it more real.

She studies me, and her gaze is sharp. "How can you pick me over something you've known all your life?"

I step closer, holding her gaze. "I think you already know the answer to that."

A muscle jumps in her jaw, but she doesn't look away.

The silence stretches.

Then she speaks, quiet but certain. "If you're with me, you need to understand something. There's no going back."

"I know."

That's when it settles. The reality. The finality.

I am a fugitive.

I have no home, no ties to the Council, no allies beyond the woman standing before me.

For the first time in years, I am truly alone.

Except—I'm not.

Not entirely.

Elara studies me, her expression unreadable. Then she speaks again, voice steady. "If we do this, we do it right. No half-measures. No running just to survive."

"Agreed."

For the first time tonight, I see it in her. The moment she realizes that she's not alone either.

We are in this together.

Our fates are now tied.

I glance toward the window, the city beyond. Somewhere out there, the Council is already moving. Already setting things in motion to erase me the way they tried to erase her.

"They won't stop," I murmur.

Elara's voice is firm. "Neither will we."

This is the start of a commitment neither of us can take back.