Page 29 of Heart of the Rebel Mate (Wolf Billionaire #5)

CHAPTER 29

ADRIAN

T he night presses in around us, thick with the scent of damp earth, steel, and the sharp tang of anticipation. The rebellion is poised on the edge of something final—whether it's victory or annihilation remains uncertain.

The second hideout is a far cry from the fortified camp we left behind. The stone walls of the bunker are crumbling, vines creeping through the cracks, and the air is thick with the scent of old wood and rain-dampened earth. But it's shelter. The rebels move with quiet determination, checking weapons, adjusting armor, whispering amongst themselves. Some are confident, eager for the fight. Others are quieter, their eyes shadowed with the weight of what's coming.

I stand at the center of the war map we've laid out in the remains of an old storage bunker, the dim lantern light casting flickering shadows on the cracked walls. The air is taut with tension, the hushed murmurs of rebel commanders discussing formations barely cutting through the thick silence.

Every piece is in place. Every contingency considered.

And yet, my mind keeps straying—to her.

Elara.

She's out there now, speaking with Cassian, Isla, and the others, finalizing last-minute details. I should be focused on our battle plans, on the weaknesses in the Council's fortifications, on the soldiers counting on me to lead them through this fight.

But my body remembers the way she kissed me before we left the camp. The way her fingers tightened in my hair. The way she didn't say goodbye, just pressed her lips to mine like it was the only thing that mattered.

I exhale sharply. I need to get a grip.

"Adrian."

I turn to find Ethan watching me. He's leaning against the bunker wall, arms crossed, his keen gaze cutting through me.

"You keep looking at the damn door," he says. "Go find her. You're useless to me like this."

I huff a laugh, shaking my head. "We don't have time for distractions."

Ethan snorts. "Call it whatever you want. But if this is the last night we've got, you'll regret not taking it."

He's right. And I hate that he's right.

I shake off the temptation. Later. Right now, my people need me.

I move through the camp, stopping to speak with some of the younger rebels. A few joke with each other, forced laughter cutting through the night, but I see the fear behind their eyes. They know what's coming.

I spot Gary, a lanky nineteen-year-old, sitting on a broken crate, sharpening his knife with slow, deliberate strokes. His hands are steady, but his face is pale, his jaw tight.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," I say, stopping beside him.

Gary startles, then forces a smile. "Just... thinking."

I crouch down, resting my forearms on my knees. "Thinking about what?"

He exhales through his nose, glancing at the others before meeting my gaze. "What if I freeze up out there?"

I smile slowly. I know that fear. I felt it once.

"Listen to me," I say, my voice steady. "Fear is natural. But fear doesn't get to decide who you are. Only you do."

Gary looks at me, his brows furrowed.

"My mentor used to tell me," I continue, "Courage isn't the absence of fear—it's what you do in spite of it."

Something in his face shifts, the tension easing just a little. He exhales, nodding. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."

I smirk. "Good. Now, tell me—are you leaving anyone behind?"

His expression softens. "Not yet."

"Then you'd better survive long enough to change that," I say, clapping a hand on his shoulder before standing.

Gary grins, some of the tension melting away. "I'll do my best."

I nod and move on, weaving through the camp. There are more people to check on. More hands to steady, more fears to quiet.

Because tomorrow, everything changes.

The night air is cold, but my skin is hot.

I find her standing near the edge of the clearing, away from the others, staring out into the dark expanse of trees. Her posture is rigid, hands clenched at her sides, like she's holding something in.

She hears me approach but doesn't turn.

"We're ready," she says. "Everyone's in position. The next time we walk into that stronghold, it'll be for war."

I step closer, my chest almost pressing to her back. "And you? Are you ready?"

She lets out a breath, slow and measured. "I don't know," she admits. "It feels different this time. Like everything's about to change."

"It is."

She turns then, and I see it—the weight in her eyes, the fire that's always burned there flickering just a little unsteady. I know that feeling. The edge of something vast and unknown, where one wrong move could mean losing everything.

I reach for her hand. "Come with me."

She doesn't hesitate.

The room we find in the hideout is small, but there's a good, sturdy bed in it. The rest of it feels like an abandoned supply shack—wooden beams worn down by time, dust clinging to the stale air, the scent of old wood and forgotten things lingering. It doesn't matter. None of it does.

Because the moment the door shuts behind us, she turns.

Elara crashes into me, her body pressing flush against mine, her lips claiming me with a hunger that burns through every last thought in my head. Her fingers slide into my hair, gripping, tilting my head to the angle she wants, forcing me to yield to her. There's no hesitation this time—no cautious exploration, no waiting for me to take control.

She wants.

She's taking.

A groan rumbles in my throat as she bites my lower lip, a sharp sting that makes my pulse hammer. My hands fall to her waist, but before I can grip her, she shoves me back, pinning me against the wooden door with a force that makes it creak.

Her breath fans against my lips. "Not tonight, Adrian."

A shiver runs down my spine at the way she says it—low, firm, possessive.

I want to fight her for control. Want to flip her against the door, press her beneath me, make her gasp my name like she always does. But there's something in her eyes—something raw, something desperate—and I realize this isn't just about pleasure for her.

It's about taking something back.

Letting her have it is the easiest choice I've ever made.

She undoes my shirt with deliberate, agonizing slowness, her fingertips grazing my skin as she peels the fabric away. Goosebumps rise in the wake of her touch. My breathing is uneven, but she—she's perfectly composed, watching me like she already owns me.

Then she leans in, her lips brushing my ear, her voice a whisper of sin. "On your knees."

A growl vibrates through my chest, but something dark and electric surges through me at the command. I don't fight it. I drop.

She's already half-undressed, the last of her clothes sliding from her skin, and when I look up at her, I forget how to breathe. She's a vision—fierce and unshaken, her body taut with tension, with need.

She smirks, satisfied. "Good."

Then she steps closer, her fingers threading through my hair, gripping just enough to own me. I groan as she tilts my head back, her other hand trailing down my chest, my stomach—lower.

"Touch me," she whispers.

And I do.

I worship her, pouring everything I have into the way my hands and mouth explore her, into the way I make her fall apart. She shatters above me, gasping, her nails raking down my shoulders, her body trembling in my hands. But she doesn't give me time to recover.

She takes again.

And I let her.

She doesn't give me time to recover.

Before I can fully catch my breath, she pulls me to my feet, pressing me against the wall, rolling her hips in a way that has me aching.

"You always take control," she murmurs against my lips. "Tonight, you're mine."

Then she sinks down onto me, and I swear I see stars.

I grip her hips as she rides me, slow at first, teasing, drawing moans from both of us. Then she smiles—a wicked, knowing thing—and moves harder, faster, her pace unrelenting.

I groan, my fingers digging into her, barely holding on as pleasure builds, winding too tight, too fast.

"Fuck, Elara?—"

"Not yet," she whispers, biting my jaw.

I growl, but I let her have this. Let her own me. Let her push me to the edge and hold me there until I'm begging.

She presses her forehead to mine, her breath ragged. "Now."

And we fall together, coming at the same time because our bodies, through our bond, are in perfect sync. I can't even imagine myself with anyone else but her.

In that moment, the sweat on her breasts and face glistens in the light and she looks like an angel, with her flowing hair and smile. I immediately want to go back to worshipping her body.

The silence after is thick, heavy with everything we don't say.

Elara rests against me, her fingers tracing idle patterns over my chest. My body still hums from her touch, but something lingers beneath the surface, something unspoken.

She exhales, shifting slightly. "We should talk."

I know that tone. I tense instinctively. "About what?"

She sits up, eyes locked onto mine, her expression unreadable. "About what happens if one of us doesn't make it tomorrow."

A growl rumbles in my throat before I can stop it. "We don't talk like that."

"Adrian—"

"No." I push myself up, the air between us suddenly charged, my pulse spiking again. "I need you to believe we're both walking out of this. I need you to fight like you know we're making it to the other side."

Her jaw tightens. "And I need you to accept that there are no guarantees."

Anger sparks between us, quick and sharp.

"I can't." My voice is rough. "I won't."

For a second, we just stare at each other, the weight of tomorrow pressing down on us. Then she exhales, shaking her head, her frustration bleeding into something else—something deeper.

She reaches for my hand, pressing it to her chest, right over her heart. "Feel that?"

I do. Her heartbeat—steady, calm.

"This is peace, Adrian." Her voice softens. "With you, I'm not afraid."

My breath catches. She takes my other hand and places it over my own chest. "And you? Before, you were shaking. Now?" Her lips brush mine, gentle, grounding. "You're steady."

She's right.

For the first time in a long time, I am.

I pull her closer, my mouth claiming hers again, slow and deep, our breaths tangling, our bodies pressing together as the last of the tension dissolves.

"We survive," I murmur against her lips.

Her fingers curl into my hair. "Together."