Page 15 of Heart of the Rebel Mate (Wolf Billionaire #5)

CHAPTER 15

ELARA

I t took me some effort to avoid all Council's patrols to get to Zara's place. Her news for me does require the trouble to see the proof myself, or else, I cannot believe—my father was a traitor to the Council.

The papers tremble slightly in my hands. Whether from the weight of their meaning or the unsteady rhythm of my breathing, I'm not sure. The candlelight flickers across the ink, making the words seem alive, shifting and rearranging themselves under my gaze. But no matter how many times I read them, the meaning doesn't change.

I sit stiffly in Zara's study, the scent of aged parchment, dust, and burning wax thick in the air. The room is cramped, lined with bookshelves that groan under the weight of old tomes and fragile documents. A fire crackles in the corner, its warmth failing to chase away the cold that seeps into my bones.

Across from me, Zara leans against the desk, arms crossed.

I exhale sharply through my nose, setting the papers down carefully on the desk as if they might crumble to dust. "How long have you known?" My voice is steady, but I can hear the tightness behind it, like a dam waiting to break.

Zara doesn't answer right away. She glances toward the fire, basking in its heat. Then, finally, she sighs. "A while."

I push back from the desk and stand abruptly, pacing toward the far end of the room. I think back to my childhood—the dignified way my father carried himself, the way he spoke carefully, always weighing his words. The way he never spoke about his past, his allegiances.

Had I been blind?

The Council had always scrutinized me, their watchful eyes tracking every move I made, every decision, every theory I dared to voice. I thought it was because of my work. Because I questioned their authority, pushed against their boundaries.

But now I see the truth.

It was never just about me.

It was about my name.

The Council had been waiting for me to become him.

"This changes everything," I say.

Zara nods. "Yes. It does."

I swallow past the lump in my throat and straighten. "Then we have work to do."

Zara studies me, then gives a slow, approving nod.

We do.

And this time, I won't stop until the Council falls. If it's personal for them, then they expect the exact same approach from me.

The training hall is quiet at this hour, empty except for the soft creak of wooden beams settling above me. The scent of sweat, leather, and aged oak lingers in the air—an interplay of discipline and exhaustion and the years of battle ingrained into the very walls. I step inside as the door whispers shut behind me, sealing me away from the world outside.

My muscles are tight and restless energy is lodged beneath my skin. My father's secret. The Council's watchful eyes. Adrian. It all churns together, a storm with no outlet. That's why I've come here: to channel all this energy into something productive and let it out.

I cross the floor and my fingers graze the smooth wooden rack before selecting a practice blade. The weight is familiar and grounding. I shift into stance, feet sliding into place, letting my body dictate movement before my mind can interfere. A breath in. A strike. The wood slices the air in a controlled arc, the movement sharp, measured.

Again.

Again.

The repetition dulls everything else. Each strike is a tether, something tangible in a sea of uncertainty. The Council had been watching me long before I started this fight. Not because of my defiance, but because of him. My father. A rebel hidden in plain sight.

The thought makes my grip tighten. My next strike lands hard, sending a sharp vibration up my arm.

"Elara."

The voice slides through the dimly lit room like a bullet.

I still, heart hammering against my ribs. I recognize the voice before I turn.

Cassian.

He stands near the entrance. From what I can see, his dark tunic is slightly rumpled and although he's assumed a deceptively relaxed stance, there's a tension in his shoulders, a careful control in the way he holds himself.

I lower my sword. "You're following me now?"

A humorless smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "You're not easy to find when you don't want to be."

I rest the blade against my shoulder. "Then maybe take the hint."

Cassian steps further inside, his boots near silent against the wooden floor. "I don't think I will."

The words settle between us, weighty in their simplicity.

I exhale, tilting my head back slightly. "Let me guess. This is about Adrian."

His jaw tightens, just enough to confirm it.

"You've been different," he says, voice low but sharp. "You don't even see it, do you?"

I give him a flat look. "Spare me the lecture, Cassian."

He huffs a quiet laugh, but there's no amusement in it. "You think this is about control? About me being jealous?" His gaze darkens. "You and I were something once. And now, you look at him the way you used to look at me."

A wave crashes through my chest. Is it guilt that Cassian might be right after all, or frustration at having to revisit this matter in the training room of all places– a space I picked to help me get rid of my frustration? I shove it down.

"That was a long time ago."

Cassian shakes his head, taking another step forward. "It doesn't just disappear, Elara. Not for me." His voice dips lower, roughened by desperation. "I see the way you let him in. The way you trust him."

I cross my arms and dig my fingers into my skin, just a bit. "That's not your concern anymore."

His eyes flash. "It should be. You're walking into something dangerous, and you know it."

I bite back the instinctive retort that rises, forcing my tone to stay even. "I can take care of myself."

Cassian watches me for a long moment. I expect him to burst into laughter and reassure me this was all a joke and be on his merry way, but, if anything, the opposite happens. Too fast that I do not see it coming or even have time to react, he closes the distance between us.

He lifts his hands slowly, but doesn't touch me. He stops a breath away from my cheek in hesitation.

"Elara," he says, softer now.

His voice tugs at a feeling deep inside me, something buried under years of loyalty and loss.

I hate that he still has this effect on me.

Cassian moves before I can react. His fingers brush my jaw, barely there, and then—his lips ghost toward mine.

I shove him back.

Cassian staggers a step, as shock flashes across his face like lightning. I hold my ground, although my pulse is hammering, resounding in my brain.

"Don't," I warn him.

The flicker of vulnerability vanishes and his countenance hardens. He exhales sharply, turns away for a brief second before facing me again. "I needed to know," he mutters, almost to himself.

My throat feels tight, but I keep my voice steady. "Now you do."

The room is so quiet you could hear a pin drop. The silence is filled with everything we aren't saying.

Then, Cassian gives me a single nod, stiff and resigned, before walking away.

The door swings shut behind him.

I stand there for a long time. The wooden blade is still clutched in my fingers and I grip it so tightly that my knuckles turn white. Then, finally, I let it drop.

The silence in the training hall stretches long after Cassian is gone, yet his presence still lingers like a scent that refuses to fade. My breath comes in slow, controlled draws, but my pulse hasn't settled. A restless energy hums beneath my skin, a tremor in my muscles, the kind that comes from too much emotion left unchecked.

I should move. Shake off the encounter. But I don't. I stand there, hands clenched at my sides, jaw tight, staring at the empty space where Cassian had stood. His words replay in my mind, his accusations curling like smoke in my thoughts.

Betrayal.

As if I owed him something. As if I had ever belonged to him the way he once belonged to me.

A sound—a shift in the air.

I stiffen.

The training hall is mostly empty, the dim overhead lights casting long shadows across the floor. For a second, I think I'm alone, that the sound was nothing more than my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.

Then I feel it.

That unmistakable presence.

My breath hitches as I turn, my gaze searching the darkness beyond the training mats. He's standing there, at the far end of the hall, barely visible in the dim light.

Adrian.

He doesn't move. Doesn't speak. But his presence fills the room, heavy and charged, like the moments before a storm breaks.

The shadows cling to him, stretching across his sharp features, but I can still see the tightness in his jaw, the way his hands curl into fists at his sides. His posture is rigid, coiled, like he's holding something back.

I swallow, my throat dry. "Adrian."

The word is barely above a whisper, but it echoes in the empty space between us.

Still, he says nothing.

My stomach twists. I don't know how long he's been standing there, how much he saw.

But he saw enough.

Enough to have his eyes darkened with something raw and dangerous, his expression carved from stone.

I take a step forward, but he doesn't react.

"It wasn't ? —"

I don't mean to get too close. It happens in a blur—the moment shifting, slipping out of my control.

Adrian steps toward me, his presence suffocating in the small space. My back brushes the cool stone wall, and his arms cage me in, one hand braced beside my head, the other resting lightly—too lightly—on my hip. Not restraining. Not demanding. Just there. There is pain in his eyes. The sight of me and Cassian must have driven him mad. But he can't help but touch me and feel close to me.

The heat of his palm seeps through my clothes, burning, branding. My pulse skitters.

"Elara," he says, low and rough, the sound coiling in my stomach.

His scent—something dark and crisp, edged with steel and cedar—fills my lungs, and suddenly I can't breathe right. My body betrays me, reacting before my mind can form a protest. My skin tightens, my thighs press together as a slow, aching warmth spreads between them.

I tell myself it's just the situation. The tension. The proximity.

But then he moves his thumb, just the barest stroke against my waist, and I feel it deep, a pulse of need that shocks me.

I look up, and his eyes are unreadable, but I know he sees it. Knows it.

I push at his chest—not hard enough to make him move, just enough to remind myself I can .

"Cassian was just being Cassian. Please–"

At that moment, he flinches, just a tiny bit, but I notice. It's my fault. I shouldn't have mentioned Cassian while we were sharing an intimate moment, but I felt I needed to clear the air.

Adrian pulls back a bit more. I stay silent, knowing it's a lost cause by now. He turns on his heel and walks away.

The air leaves my lungs in a sharp exhale.

Not a word.

Not a glance back.

He just walks away, like I'm nothing. Like I didn't just stand here and push Cassian away.

The weight of it crashes into me all at once, sudden and brutal. My pulse pounds in my ears, my hands shaking at my sides.

I did nothing wrong.

So why does it feel like I did?

I press a hand to my temple, inhaling deeply. The scent of sweat and wood polish, usually grounding, suddenly suffocates. The training hall feels too vast, too empty.

I should leave.

I should go after him.

But I don't.

Instead, I stand frozen, heart hammering, the ghost of Adrian's stare still burning into my skin.