Page 31 of Heart of the Rebel Mate (Wolf Billionaire #5)

CHAPTER 31

ADRIAN

T he stronghold's inner chambers are a labyrinth of stone and shadow, the air thick with the stink of old blood and damp earth. The corridors are narrow, designed to bottleneck attackers—a death trap. But we expected that. Planned for it.

I lead the charge, wolves flanking me in tight formation. The sound of claws scraping against stone echoes through the tunnels as we move fast, cutting through the last remnants of resistance guarding the Council's sanctum.

We're close.

Then a roar shatters the air.

I barely have time to react before something massive barrels into me.

I hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the breath from my lungs. Claws rake across my chest, tearing deep, hot blood spilling instantly. My vision blurs for half a second, my body instinctively shifting—wolf and man at war for control.

The enforcer on top of me is a monster. Bigger than any wolf I've ever faced, his fur dark as the void, his fangs bared in something between a snarl and a grin.

He presses down. His weight is crushing, suffocating.

I see the killing blow coming?—

And then Elara is there.

She slams into him with enough force to send them both rolling. A snap of teeth, a blur of movement, and she's back on her feet, blocking his path to me.

I push off the ground, chest heaving, blood dripping from my wounds. My wolf rages inside me, the urge to rip, tear, destroy nearly blinding.

The enforcer—Tiberius. One of the Council's top executioners.

His yellow eyes flick between us, assessing. Calculating.

"Cute," he rumbles. "You think you can take me?"

Elara doesn't hesitate. She lunges.

And the fight truly begins.

Tiberius moves like a phantom. Despite his size, he's fast, his strikes vicious and precise. I barely dodge his next attack, feeling the rush of air as his claws swipe inches from my throat.

Elara circles him, her wolf low to the ground, muscles coiled tight. We don't need words—our bond is instinctive. I feint left; she attacks from the right.

We are relentless.

Tiberius doesn't break.

He counters every move, his strength unyielding, his speed unnatural.

Then—he catches Elara mid-strike.

A brutal backhand sends her flying, her body slamming into the stone wall.

I see red.

A snarl rips from my throat, my vision narrowing to one goal.

Kill.

I charge, fangs bared, claws aiming for his throat?—

But Tiberius is ready.

He twists, faster than I anticipate, and his claws sink deep into my side.

Pain explodes through me.

He doesn't stop. He shoves me back, twisting the claws deeper, smiling as I choke on my own blood.

"You were always the strongest," he says, almost wistful. "But strength means nothing without control."

I roar, forcing my body forward, ignoring the searing pain. I drive my knee into his ribs, breaking the hold, then sink my teeth into his shoulder.

Bone cracks.

Tiberius howls, but he doesn't go down.

Neither do I.

"Elara—now!"

She's already moving.

A blur of silver-and-black fur as she lunges straight for his throat.

Tiberius turns—too late.

Her jaws clamp down.

A brutal twist?—

And the Executioner falls.

After much snarling and striking on both sides, the battle is over.

The Council's stronghold, once an impenetrable fortress, now stands in ruin. The corridors stink of blood and burning fur, the air heavy with the cries of the wounded. Bodies litter the stone floor—ours and theirs. Victory should feel sweeter. But all I taste is iron.

We push forward, deeper into the heart of the stronghold, until we reach the chamber where the last of the Council's leaders have barricaded themselves. Heavy doors, once a symbol of their untouchable power, now hang half-broken on their hinges.

The rebels surround the chamber, their breath coming in harsh, exhausted pants. Some shift back into human form, gripping weapons scavenged from fallen enemies. Others remain in wolf form, eyes glowing, hackles raised, teeth bared.

Elara steps beside me, her fur matted with blood that isn't hers. Her golden eyes meet mine, and I see the same thing reflected in them: we're almost there.

I nod.

Then I kick the doors open.

Inside, the last of the Council huddle together—a handful of them, their fine robes tattered, their faces streaked with sweat and filth. The high-ranking enforcers who had been protecting them are dead. They have nothing left. No army, no power.

And yet, they sneer.

"You think you've won?" snarls Ephraim, one of the Council elders. His lips curl back over yellowed teeth, his face twisted with rage. "You think this changes anything?"

Elara steps forward before I can. "It changes everything." Her voice is steady, but I can hear the undercurrent of fury.

Another Council member, Laurel, spits on the floor between us. "Whelps playing at leadership. You don't understand the forces at work here. Kill us, and you'll see what rises in our place."

I exchange a glance with Elara. We knew this moment would come. The decision. The final act of this war.

The rebels shift restlessly behind us, the hunger for vengeance thick in the air. The Council has ruled with an iron fist, severing bonds, killing without mercy. Some of the rebels—many of them—want blood.

I take a slow breath. No.

That's not the kind of leader I want to be.

"They live," I say, voice hard as stone. "They will face judgment. Not execution."

A murmur of protest ripples through the crowd. Elara stiffens beside me, but she doesn't contradict me. She knows why. We fought this war to end their tyranny, not replace it.

"You expect us to let them breathe after what they've done?" someone growls from behind us.

I turn to face them. "We show them what justice looks like. The world they ruled with fear? It's gone." I meet their gazes, one by one. "We are not them."

A heavy silence falls.

Then, one by one, the rebels lower their weapons.

The Council members are dragged from the room, their wrists bound, their mouths still spewing venom.

"This isn't over!" Ephraim howls. "You'll regret this! We are the foundation of the packs! Without us, there will be chaos!"

Elara watches as they're pulled from the chamber, her expression unreadable. When she speaks, it's quiet, but absolute.

"The only thing collapsing here is your reign."

The adrenaline fades, leaving only the wreckage of what we've won.

Rebels move through the stronghold, tending to the wounded, collecting the dead. The fires we set to smoke out the Council burn low now, casting eerie shadows across the walls.

And Cassian...

His body lies where he fell, surrounded by those who fought beside him. Blood soaks his torn shirt, his face peaceful despite the violence of his end.

He died saving us.

Guilt digs its claws deep into my ribs. We fought together for so long, even when I didn't trust him completely. And now he's gone.

Elara kneels beside him, fingers brushing his cooling skin. Her face is tight, her shoulders stiff. She won't cry here. Not yet.

I place a hand on her back, grounding her. She exhales slowly, then rises to her feet.

There's still one more thing left to do.

Elara steps onto the crumbling dais in the middle of the hall, the throne room where the Council once ruled. The rebels gather around, faces streaked with blood and soot, their bodies battered but unbroken.

She doesn't need to raise her voice to command their attention. When she speaks, they listen.

"We did this," she says, sweeping her gaze over them. "Not because we were stronger. Not because we had numbers. But because we refused to be afraid."

A murmur ripples through the crowd. Some nod, others shift uneasily, grief still weighing on them.

She continues. "The Council ruled us with fear. They broke our bonds. They took our freedom. And they thought we would never rise. But look around you—we have. And now, no one will ever live in fear of them again."

A cheer erupts, raw and desperate. A release of everything we've endured.

Elara's voice softens, though it still carries. "I won't tell you this victory was without cost. We have lost friends, family, packmates. But their sacrifice was not in vain. We honor them by building something better."

Silence follows. Then someone howls. Another joins in.

The sound spreads, rolling through the stronghold, out into the night—a song of mourning, and of triumph.

The battlefield is quieter now, but the air is heavy with blood and loss. I move past wounded rebels and lifeless bodies, the weight of sacrifice pressing down. Then I see him—Gary. He lies on a stretcher, pale, barely conscious, a bloodied bandage around his head. Just a kid.

He blinks up at me and somehow manages a weak smile, lifting a shaky thumbs-up. My chest tightens.

"You did good," I tell him, gripping his hand.

He shouldn't have been here.

"You're going to be fine," I promise, even as the cost of this war settles deep in my bones.

The bodies have been moved. The fires burn low.

Elara and I stand at the edge of the stronghold, watching the sky lighten at the horizon. Dawn.

I feel her shift closer, and without thinking, I wrap an arm around her. She exhales, her breath warm against my neck, before resting her head on my shoulder.

For a long time, neither of us speaks.

"I keep thinking this is some kind of trick," she murmurs eventually. "That they'll come back. That we'll wake up and still be fighting."

I tighten my grip. "They're done. And even if remnants try to rise, they won't have the power the Council had."

She nods, but I can still feel the tension in her. The grief she hasn't let herself feel yet.

I press a kiss into her hair, breathing her in. "We made it," I whisper.

She tilts her head up, and when our eyes meet, I know she understands what I'm really saying.

We survived.

We're still us.

And no one will ever be able to sever that bond.

As the sky turns from deep indigo to pale gold, I hold her closer, and for the first time in a long, long while?—

I let myself believe in a future.