Page 23 of Heart of the Rebel Mate (Wolf Billionaire #5)

CHAPTER 23

ADRIAN

T he summit hall is packed with representatives from different factions—alpha leaders, high-ranking warriors, rogue delegates who have managed to stake a claim at the table. The air is thick with anticipation, but beneath it, there's something volatile, an electric charge waiting for the right spark to ignite it.

Elara stands at the center of it all.

I've seen her fight, seen her stand her ground against impossible odds. But this—this is something else entirely. She commands the room not with brute strength, but with her words.

Her voice is steady, unwavering, carrying through the vast chamber.

"For decades, the Council has manipulated our nature, turning what should be sacred—our mate bonds—into chains they can pull at will. They have controlled who we love, who we fight for, who we submit to. They have used our instincts against us. But we are not weapons. We are not pawns in their endless game of power. We have a choice."

Murmurs ripple through the crowd. Some look stunned, others furious. A few exchange glances that tell me everything I need to know—they already suspected, but hearing it aloud forces them to acknowledge the truth.

Cassian stands a few steps behind her, arms crossed, reading the room with the practiced eye of a strategist. Isla lingers at the far edge of the space, observing like she's picking apart every expression, every reaction, calculating who is a potential ally and who will become an enemy before the night is over.

Elara continues, voice sharper now.

"They fear what we could become if we broke free. They fear our unity. That is why they have kept us divided, why they have shackled us with laws designed to keep us obedient. But if we do nothing, if we continue to bow our heads, then we are complicit in our own enslavement."

The murmurs turn into growls of dissent. Some are directed at the Council. Others—at her.

A faction leader at the back slams his fist onto the table. "You expect us to believe that the Council would go this far? That they have been manipulating our instincts, our very bonds?" His voice is thick with skepticism, but beneath it, there's fear. He knows, deep down, that it's true.

"Believe it or don't," Elara says coldly. "The truth remains unchanged."

A second voice, sharper, filled with barely contained rage, cuts in. "If what you say is true, then what do you expect us to do? March into war? You'll have us all slaughtered!"

Elara doesn't flinch. "I expect you to decide whether you will live as cattle under the Council's rule or as wolves—free and untamed. The choice has always been yours."

The tension in the air tightens like a noose.

Then—

A scream.

The first shift happens so fast that for a split second, I don't register it. A chair topples over, and suddenly, a figure lunges toward Elara, body contorting, bones snapping as they shift mid-air. Their clothes shred as muscle expands, fur bursts forth, a snarl ripping from their throat. The attack is precise, targeted.

Loyalists.

The hall explodes into chaos.

I shift without thinking. My clothes shred, skin stretching, reforming into something larger, stronger. My wolf form takes over, instincts sharper than my thoughts. Around me, rebels and loyalists collide in a blur of claws and teeth. The scent of blood floods my senses, thick and metallic.

Snarls fill the air, the sound of bodies crashing against tables, against walls. Glass shatters as someone is thrown against a window. A rogue alpha grapples with a loyalist warrior, their claws locked in a deadly struggle. A second later, the warrior wrenches free, fangs sinking deep into the rogue's throat.

Elara moves like lightning, dodging an attack and slamming her elbow into a loyalist's throat. He chokes, staggers back. Another lunges at her—she ducks, spins, and her blade flashes as she slashes through tendons.

She's trained for this. She thrives in it.

But even she can't see everything.

I spot the attacker before she does—a brute of a wolf, twice her size, aiming straight for her exposed back. The beast's eyes are locked onto her, saliva dripping from its bared fangs.

I don't think. I react.

I throw myself between them, meeting the wolf head-on. The impact is like being hit by a wrecking ball. My ribs scream in protest. Teeth sink into my side, ripping through fur and flesh. A hot, blinding pain explodes through me.

I don't care. I tear into the bastard's throat before he can do more damage. Warm blood spills down my muzzle.

Another set of claws rakes down my shoulder. A different loyalist—lean, fast, his eyes burning with fanatical rage.

I pivot, but my body is sluggish. The pain is slowing me down.

I hear Elara scream my name.

Then everything tilts sideways.

Something soft and warm presses against me.

I blink, vision sluggish. My body is fire, my blood thick with pain and adrenaline, and every nerve screams at me to stay down. But then I smell her—Elara.

"Elara?" My voice is rough, rasping through my throat like gravel.

She's holding me.

I'm barely aware of where we are—somewhere dark, away from the fight. Maybe a side corridor, maybe a hidden passage. It doesn't matter.

What matters is her hands on me, pressing against my wounds, trying to keep me steady. Her scent surrounds me, all-consuming. My wolf stirs beneath my skin, restless, hungry—not just for blood, but for her.

Her breathing is ragged. She looks at me, and I see the war in her eyes.

She's terrified.

Not of the fight. Not of the chaos.

For me.

The realization sends something sharp and primal through me, cutting through the pain like a blade. I'm burning. Not just from the wounds, not just from the adrenaline still pumping hot through my veins, but from her.

"You're a reckless idiot," she whispers, but her hands tremble where they hold me. "You could have?—"

She doesn't finish.

I want to tell her I'd do it again. That I'd throw myself into a thousand fights if it meant keeping her safe. But the words don't come.

Because all I can focus on is her.

She's so close. Too close. Her body, warm and pressed against mine, is the only thing keeping me upright. Her breath fans against my neck, and the heat of her skin seeps into me, igniting something dangerous.

My gaze drops to her lips.

I shouldn't be thinking about this now. Not when we're in danger, not when we're barely surviving. But gods, she's right there, and the mate bond is singing in my blood, and I swear I can feel her pulse racing just as hard as mine.

She looks at me, and for a second—just a second—I know she feels it too.

It's in the way her fingers tighten on my shoulders. The way her lips part, like she's about to say something but can't force the words out. The way her eyes darken, heavy-lidded, not with fear but with something else entirely.

Hunger.

It crashes through me so hard I almost forget to breathe.

I could take her now. Right here, in this moment of desperation, of survival. I could press her against the rough stone wall, tear away the barriers between us, and lose myself in her. Claim her, mark her, own her in every way that matters.

My cock hardens at the thought, at the sheer need of it.

I drag in a breath, trying to steady myself, but it's impossible with her so close. My grip tightens on her waist, just a fraction. She gasps, her body shuddering, and it's the most beautiful sound I've ever heard.

She wants this. She wants me.

Her pupils are blown wide, her lips parted, her body trembling against mine. Like she's barely holding herself back. Like all she wants to do is?—

A growl rumbles in my chest. My fingers flex on her waist.

"Elara," I rasp. I don't even know what I'm asking for. Permission? Control? Or just her.

She shudders, and gods, her scent—sweet, dark, intoxicating—thickens in the air, flooding my lungs, my mind.

Then, slowly, carefully, she leans in. Her lips brush my jaw, soft and burning all at once. A single, fleeting touch. A taste.

I snap.

My mouth crashes against hers, teeth and heat and desperation. She gasps, but she doesn't pull away. No—she leans into me, her fingers twisting in my hair, pulling me closer.

I grip her hips, drag her against me, let her feel how hard I am for her. She whimpers against my lips, and the sound makes my vision go dark with need.

I want her. I need her. Now.

I break the kiss, panting, my forehead pressed against hers. She looks up at me, her lips swollen, her breathing uneven.

For a moment, we don't move.

Then—

A distant howl cuts through the haze.

Reality slams back into place.

We don't have time for this.

I let go.

She pulls back too fast, too abruptly, like she's just realized what almost happened.

For a moment, she doesn't say anything. Then she swallows hard, nods. "We have to go."

I nod back, but something in me knows—whatever this is between us, whatever almost happened—it's not over.

Not even close.

The fight rages on as we re-enter the battlefield. Once she's sure that I'm fine—my wounds have already begun to feel better—Elara goes back into her vicious mode, ready to tear through any attackers.

She doesn't hesitate.

One moment, she's human, fierce and untouchable. The next, her body shifts, bones snapping, muscles stretching, reforming. It's seamless, almost beautiful, the way her human frame melts into something lethal, something more.

Her wolf form takes over with fluid ease.

She's magnificent.

Her coat is a deep, midnight black, catching the flickering torchlight like an omen of death. Her eyes burn, liquid gold, reflecting the battlefield in every wicked detail. Power coils in her frame, raw and deadly, and when she lunges, she moves like she was born for this.

She tears through loyalists with a brutal efficiency that's mesmerizing.

Claws slash through flesh, fangs sink into throats. Blood sprays. She never hesitates, never missteps. Every movement is calculated. Every strike lands true.

And the rebels see it.

They feel it.

A new energy surges through our side, a rallying cry rising from the chaos. They fight harder, faster, pushing back against the Council's forces.

Cassian, locked in a brutal fight with an enemy alpha, spares her a glance. Recognition flickers in his expression, something grudging, something undeniable.

Respect.

I don't waste time. My own shift tears through me, fire burning along my spine as my body changes. My muscles expand, my limbs elongate, my senses sharpen to an almost painful degree. The world explodes into new colors, new scents, new awareness.

The battlefield is a living, breathing thing.

I smell the coppery tang of blood thick in the air, can hear every heartbeat thundering like war drums, can feel the vibrations of claws scraping against stone, bodies colliding, bones breaking.

I throw myself into the fray.

A loyalist comes at me, teeth bared, but I'm faster. I duck under his strike, hook my claws into his ribs, and rip. He howls, crumpling beneath me.

Another attacks from behind. I spin, meeting him mid-air. My jaws clamp around his throat, and I squeeze until his windpipe gives, until his body slumps in my grasp.

But the Council's forces are relentless.

They fight like zealots, fueled by something beyond orders—beyond fear. Their strikes are meant to kill, every claw aimed for an artery, every lunge meant to tear flesh from bone.

The rebels fight differently.

They're brutal, yes. But they're also measured. They don't kill if they don't have to. They disarm, disable, subdue. They fight not for bloodlust, but for freedom.

The contrast is striking.

And then?—

A massive wolf—bigger than the others, stronger—lunges for Elara.

I see him too late.

She twists, but he's fast. His claws rake down her side, deep and cruel, slicing through fur and flesh.

She snarls, stumbling back, but the bastard is already going in for the kill.

I see red.

I move.

I hit him like a wrecking ball, the force of my attack sending us both rolling. His teeth snap at my throat, but I dig my claws into his shoulders and throw my weight down, pinning him beneath me.

I don't hesitate.

I tear into his throat, hot blood flooding my mouth as I rip through tendons and muscle. He gurgles, chokes, thrashes—then goes still.

The moment he collapses, my gaze snaps to Elara.

She's breathing hard, blood staining her fur, but her golden eyes meet mine.

And for a moment—just a moment—there's nothing else.

We're covered in blood, surrounded by death. The battle still rages around us. But all I can think about is her.

How she looked at me before. How she held me. How badly I wanted to claim her.

How badly I still do.

The battle isn't over.

But something between us has already begun.