Page 14 of Heart of the Rebel Mate (Wolf Billionaire #5)

CHAPTER 14

ADRIAN

T he corridor is cold. The kind of cold that seeps into your skin, into your bones. Torches line the stone walls, their flickering flames casting long, restless shadows. The damp air carries the scent of earth and iron, a reminder of how deep underground we are. How far we've fallen from the world above.

Cassian stands a few feet away, his back straight, his expression unreadable. The only movement is the slow rise and fall of his chest, measured and controlled. He's always been like this—still, deliberate, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

I know his kind.

I've fought men like him before, and I know exactly what they're capable of.

But this is different. This isn't some battlefield. This isn't war.

Or maybe it is.

"Tell me," I say, my voice low, steady, "why is it that every time we talk, it feels like you're trying to convince me of something?"

Cassian tilts his head slightly, his mouth curving into something that isn't quite a smile. "Because I am."

I let out a sharp breath, shaking my head. "You really think I don't see through you?" I take a step forward, closing some of the distance between us. "You talk like you're some great liberator, like you're giving her a choice. But I know what you're doing."

His expression doesn't change. "Do you?"

I clench my jaw. "You're leading her into a fight she's not ready for."

Cassian scoffs. "She's more ready than you give her credit for."

"Is she?" My hands curl into fists at my sides. "Or are you just using her as another pawn in whatever war you think you're waging?"

His amusement vanishes, his gaze turning sharp. "You think I'm the manipulative one?" He takes a step toward me now, and for the first time tonight, I see something raw in his eyes. "What exactly do you think you're doing, Adrian? Watching her every move, hovering just close enough to pull her back the second she gets too far? You think that's not manipulation?"

"I'm protecting her," I snap.

"No," he says, and his voice is quieter now, but somehow, it cuts deeper. "You're trying to keep her in a cage."

Something in me recoils at his words, but I don't let it show.

Cassian exhales, his eyes searching mine like he's waiting for something—waiting for me to understand.

"She isn't yours," he says. "She doesn't belong to me, either. But you're fooling yourself if you think she'll ever let you dictate where she stands."

I don't answer.

Because I know he's right.

Elara has never been someone to be owned, to be controlled. That's one of the things I?—

I close my eyes briefly, shaking the thought away before it can fully form.

Cassian watches me carefully, like he knows exactly what's happening in my head. "You hate this, don't you?" he muses. "The fact that you can't stop her. The fact that she doesn't need you as much as you need her."

My breath comes a little sharper.

I could hit him.

It would be easy. A single step forward, a fist to his jaw, the satisfying crack of bone against bone.

I want to.

But that would mean he's won.

I take a slow breath, keeping my hands at my sides. "This isn't about me."

He smirks. "Isn't it?"

Something inside me snaps.

Before I know it, my hand is on his collar, gripping tight, yanking him forward. He doesn't flinch. He doesn't even try to pull away.

Instead, he just stares at me with that same maddening calm, like he's been waiting for me to break.

The torches flicker around us, casting jagged shadows across his face.

"You have no idea what's coming," I say, my voice like a growl. "You think you're ready for this fight, but you don't understand the cost."

Cassian's gaze darkens. "And you do?"

"I know what happens to people who think they can take on the Council alone." My grip tightens on his collar. "They die."

He doesn't blink. "Then maybe that's the price we have to pay."

I shake my head. "You don't get to make that decision for her."

"And you do?"

We're at an impasse, two forces colliding with no room to bend.

Then, from down the corridor—footsteps.

A familiar presence, the shift in the air before she even comes into view.

Elara.

Her dark silhouette appears at the end of the hall, her gaze flicking between us. She's cautious, her posture stiff, as if she already knows what she's walked in on.

I let go of Cassian, stepping back.

His smirk returns, faint but infuriating.

"Think about what I said," he murmurs, before turning and disappearing down the hall.

Leaving me there.

Alone.

And more unsettled than I've ever been.

The underground corridors stretch ahead of me, dimly lit by flickering torches. The shadows ripple along the stone walls as I move, my steps heavy, my body thrumming with restless energy. The confrontation with Cassian still lingers in my head, a storm I can't outrun. I can still hear his voice, smug and certain, picking at every insecurity I refuse to name.

She doesn't need you as much as you need her.

I grit my teeth, pushing forward, willing myself to let it go.

But I can't.

Because part of me knows there was truth in what he said.

I know Elara isn't mine to protect. She's made that clear time and time again—standing her ground, making her own choices, proving she doesn't need anyone deciding her path for her. And yet, no matter how many times I tell myself to step back, to let her fight her own battles, the instinct remains.

It's not about control.

It's not about jealousy.

It's something else. Something deeper, something I can't put a name to.

I exhale sharply, rolling my shoulders as I reach the training facility—a repurposed section of the underground stronghold that reeks of sweat, old leather, and damp stone. The scent of blood lingers faintly in the air, a testament to the countless battles fought here.

The werewolves built this gym to push their limits, to train in the raw, brutal way our kind thrives on. Heavy sandbags hang from thick chains, weight benches are shoved against the walls, and the sparring ring in the center of the room is surrounded by a circle of scuffed mats. It's not elegant. Not refined. But it's effective.

And right now, it's exactly what I need.

"You look like hell."

I glance up just in time to see Karina smirking at me from inside the ring. Her long black hair is pulled back in a tight braid, dark eyes gleaming with anticipation. She's taller than most, lean muscle carved into every inch of her frame. If anyone in this place could keep me from sinking too deep into my own head, it's her.

I shake off my jacket, tossing it to the side. "You offering to make it worse?"

Karina cracks her knuckles, stepping forward. "Wouldn't be the first time."

I climb into the ring, rolling my shoulders. My body is tight, every muscle wound too hard, too stiff. I need to work this out of me before it eats me alive.

The moment I take my stance, Karina moves.

Fast.

Her first strike comes at my ribs, sharp and clean. I barely block in time, my forearm catching the brunt of it before she pivots and sweeps low, aiming for my legs.

I leap back, dodging just in time.

She grins. "Slow today."

I don't answer.

Instead, I lunge forward, throwing a right hook. She ducks, slipping beneath my swing with ease. Before I can react, she drives a fist into my stomach. Not hard enough to do real damage, but enough to knock the breath from my lungs.

Damn it.

I recover quickly, twisting to block her next attack, but my reaction time is off. Every move feels half a second too late, like my body is moving through fog.

Karina doesn't hesitate to take advantage of it.

She keeps me on the defensive, her strikes relentless, forcing me to retreat step by step. I barely see the hit coming before her fist slams into my ribs, sending me stumbling back against the ropes.

I curse under my breath.

She raises a brow. "You here to train or mope?"

I glare at her, jaw tight. "Shut up."

She smirks. "Hit me, then."

I push off the ropes, launching forward with a sharp jab. She dodges. Again. Too fast, too smooth. She isn't even breaking a sweat.

The next moment, her leg hooks behind mine, and suddenly I'm on the mat, flat on my back.

Karina stands over me, arms crossed. "Pathetic."

I close my eyes, exhaling sharply through my nose.

"Come on, Adrian. I've seen you fight half-dead and still put up more of a challenge than this." She nudges my side with her foot. "Whatever's in your head, you need to get rid of it. Fast."

I don't answer.

Because she's right.

I should be better than this. Should be faster, sharper. But my mind is somewhere else, tangled in thoughts I can't afford right now.

Elara.

Cassian.

Everything unravels around me, no matter how hard I try to hold it together.

Karina huffs, crouching beside me. "Let me guess—this is about her."

My eyes snap open, sharp and warning.

She just smirks. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

I push myself up, muscles aching from the hits I let her land. "It's none of your business."

Karina shrugs, leaning back on her heels. "Maybe not. But whatever it is, it's messing with your head." She tilts her head slightly, studying me. "You never fight like this. Distracted. Reckless. It's like you want to lose."

I grit my teeth, shoving to my feet. "I don't want to lose."

"Then prove it."

I roll out my shoulders, shaking off the ache. Fine. If that's what she wants, I'll give it to her.

We reset, circling each other again. This time, I don't hesitate.

I move first, closing the distance between us in a sharp burst. Karina reacts fast, but I'm faster, feinting left before striking right. My fist connects with her side, not enough to do real damage, but enough to make her stumble.

She grins. "There he is."

She recovers quickly, but this time, I don't let her take control. I meet every attack head-on, no longer just reacting but anticipating. I let the frustration bleed into my movements, let the anger fuel me. Not just at her, but at myself.

I refuse to keep losing.

The fight drags on, each of us landing blows, each of us pushing harder. My breath comes sharp, my muscles burning, but I don't stop. I can't.

And then, finally—an opening.

Karina moves to strike, and I catch her wrist, twisting fast. She tries to counter, but I pivot, knocking her off balance. The moment she falters, I sweep her legs out from under her.

She hits the mat hard, breath rushing out of her.

For a moment, we're both still.

Then, she groans, staring up at the ceiling. "Damn."

I offer her a hand. She takes it, letting me pull her up.

"That's more like it," she mutters, rolling out her shoulders. "You finally decide to stop sulking?"

I exhale, dragging a hand through my hair.

No.

Not even close.

But I know one thing for sure.

No matter how tangled things get, no matter how much it costs me—I won't stop fighting for Elara.

Even if it means risking everything.

As I make my way home, under the cover of night, one of my many encounters with Elara comes to mind. We are in her office. This was way before the arrest, of course. The memory floods my mind and I let it:

She doesn't know what she does to me.

Or maybe she does.

Elara leans past me, reaching for something on the table. Her body brushes mine, soft and firm in all the right places, and I go rigid, every muscle locked tight.

The worst part is, it's not intentional. It's not a game.

She's not trying to drive me insane.

And yet, I am.

The scent of her skin, the faintest brush of her hair against my jaw—it's too much. My pulse kicks hard, heat surging low in my gut. My body reacts before I can stop it, instinct roaring to the surface.

She freezes.

She felt it.

Slowly, she turns her head.

The space between us is a breath, a whisper. Her lips are close enough that if I moved even an inch, they'd be against mine.

Her gaze flickers—uncertainty, curiosity, something deeper.

I can't think.

I don't breathe.

Then she sways forward, just slightly, and it's like a match to dry kindling, my restraint burning up in a rush of heat.

"Elara," I rasp, my voice wrecked.

She blinks, as if coming back to herself, and suddenly she's stepping away, putting distance between us.

But it's too late.

I already know.

And so does she.