Page 32 of Heart of the Rebel Mate (Wolf Billionaire #5)

CHAPTER 32

ELARA

T he war is over, but the real work is just beginning.

In the weeks since the Council's fall, the rebellion has shifted from battle to governance. The bloodstained halls of the stronghold now serve as makeshift offices, filled with rebels combing through documents, arguing over policies, and trying to rebuild from the ruins.

It's a different kind of fight now—one waged with paperwork and strategy instead of claws and teeth. But it's just as vital.

I sit at a long, scarred table, old records spread before me. The Council documented everything—not for transparency, but for control. Every birth, every death, every alliance, every betrayal. A meticulous web of power and secrecy that let them reign for centuries.

Zara tosses a thick folder onto the pile of damning evidence. "Bribery, intimidation, secret deals... I knew they were corrupt, but this?" She shakes her head. "They had their claws in everything."

Ethan flips through another ledger, then exhales sharply. "Here's something worse."

I take the paper he slides across the table, my pulse spiking as I skim it.

Alliances between the Council and powerful human organizations. Corporate sponsors who profited from our oppression. Politicians who turned a blind eye for favors. Even rogue werewolf factions who betrayed their own for power.

"They were selling us out," I murmur.

Zara clenches her jaw. "Not just to humans." She taps another document. "Some of our own were in on this."

Bile rises in my throat.

Ethan shakes his head, speaking volumes.

If we expose this, we'll solidify our new government and force the outside world to reckon with what's happened here.

Zara exhales. "We need to be careful. If we move too fast, the wrong people could bury this."

"We'll be strategic. But we won't hide it. Not like they did."

The Council might be gone, but their ghosts still linger—in the systems they built, in the way we were forced to live.

If we don't tear out every last root of their corruption, we risk the same cycle repeating.

And we can't let that happen.

Despite the chaos of the rebellion, I haven't forgotten where I started. I was a lecturer before I was a leader, or a fighter. And now, with the Council gone, it's time to return to my roots.

The university had remained neutral during the war, but it hadn't been untouched. Some professors had supported the rebellion in quiet ways—shielding students, passing along intelligence. Others had been forced into silence, afraid of what speaking out might cost them.

The air smells of old books and ink, of a life I thought I'd left behind.

Professor Adewale greets me first, his eyes sharp behind thick glasses. "Elara," he says.

"I need to talk to the faculty," I tell him. "We can't afford to be separate anymore. The university and the rebellion—we need each other."

Adewale studies me for a long moment, then nods. "Come with me."

I follow him into a lecture hall, where a small gathering of professors and administrators wait. Some flinch when they see me. Others straighten their backs. They know who I am now—not just Elara, the architect and lecturer, but Elara, the rebel leader.

I don't waste time. "The Council controlled every aspect of our society," I say, meeting their eyes. "They used their power to suppress knowledge, to shape history in their favor. We have a chance to change that. But we can't do it alone."

A woman in the front row—Dr. Stone—speaks up. "What are you asking of us?"

"Education was always our greatest weapon. We need to rebuild, infrastructure and minds alike. We need to teach people what really happened...to make sure this never happens again."

Adewale speaks. "You're talking about rewriting history."

"I'm talking about telling the truth."

The university is a crucial part of the new world we're building.

Later that night, Adrian's hands are warm on my skin, his touch sending shivers down my spine as he presses me gently against the cool stone wall of our chamber. The day's exhaustion weighs on me, but his presence ignites a fire that burns away the fatigue. We've spent hours unraveling the tangled mess of our government, dismantling the systems the Werewolf Council had twisted to control us. Now, in this moment, it's just him and me, raw and unguarded.

His lips find mine, hungry yet tender, as if he's claiming me all over again. I melt into him, my hands gripping the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. The kiss deepens, his tongue tangling with mine, and I taste the faint bitterness of stress mingled with the sweetness of relief. His hands slide down my back, tracing the curve of my waist, and I feel the heat of his desire through the thin fabric of my dress.

"Elara," he murmurs against my lips, his voice thick with need. "Gods, I've missed this."

I smile, breathless, as he nips at my jawline, trailing kisses down my neck. His touch is deliberate, worshipful, as if he's rediscovering every inch of me. My head tilts back, exposing more skin for him, and I moan softly as his lips close around the sensitive spot where my pulse thrums wildly.

"Adrian," I whisper, my fingers threading through his hair, holding him close. "Please."

He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark and intense, filled with a hunger that mirrors my own. "Tell me what you want," he demands, his voice rough.

"You," I reply without hesitation. "All of you."

His hands move to the laces of my dress, tugging them loose with practiced ease. The fabric falls away, pooling at my feet, leaving me bare before him. His gaze rakes over me, slow and thorough, and I feel both vulnerable and powerful under his scrutiny.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, his hands skimming over my hips, my stomach, my breasts. I arch into his touch, craving more. He teases me, his fingers brushing lightly, never lingering long enough to satisfy. "Always so beautiful."

I reach for him, impatient now, and he lets me. His shirt comes off in a rush, and I run my hands over the hard planes of his chest, the ridges of his abs, the scars that tell the story of our battles. He hisses as I trace one particularly jagged line, his head falling back in a silent plea for more.

"Elara," he groans, capturing my wrist and pressing my hand to his chest. "Touch me. Everywhere."

I obey, my fingers exploring every inch of him, relearning the contours of his body as if it's the first time. His breath quickens, his control slipping, and I relish the way he responds to me. His skin is warm under my fingertips, his muscles tense with anticipation. I trace the lines of his shoulders, the dip of his spine, the curve of his hips, and he shudders with each touch.

He steps back just enough to shed the rest of his clothes, and I drink in the sight of him, strong and unashamed. His body is a map of our struggles and triumphs, each scar a testament to his strength and resilience. Then he's back, pressing me against the wall again, his lips devouring mine as his hands roam lower. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of my undergarments, sliding them down my legs with deliberate slowness. I kick them aside, my legs trembling with anticipation.

"Adrian," I gasp as his fingers brush between my thighs, finding me already wet and eager. "Please."

He groans, his breath hot against my ear. "Not yet. I want to savor you."

His mouth trails down my neck, over my collarbone, pausing to lavish attention on each breast. His tongue swirls around my nipples, his teeth grazing them gently, sending sparks of pleasure through my body. I moan, my hands gripping his hair, urging him closer. He takes his time, his touch both gentle and demanding, as if he's mapping every inch of me with his lips and tongue.

"Adrian," I plead, my body arching into his touch. "I need you."

He chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrates against my skin. "Impatient, aren't we?"

He steps back, his eyes roaming over me with a hunger that makes my knees weak. He kneels before me, his hands gripping my thighs as he spreads them slightly. His breath is warm against my core, and I shiver with anticipation. His tongue dips between my folds, slow and deliberate, tasting me with a thoroughness that makes me cry out. He hums, the vibration sending waves of pleasure through me, and I grip his hair tighter, my head falling back against the wall.

"Adrian, please," I beg, my voice hoarse.

He looks up at me, his eyes burning with desire, and I feel him rise to his feet, his hands guiding me toward the bed. He lays me down gently, his weight careful, reverent, as he joins me. His lips find mine again, his hands roaming, mapping my body as if memorizing every curve. I'm drowning in him, in the feel of his skin, the scent of him, the sound of his ragged breaths.

He teases me, his mouth trailing down my body, his tongue leaving a trail of fire in his wake. My body arches instinctively, my fingers tangling in his hair as he moves lower.

"Adrian," I whimper, my thighs trembling as his lips press against the sensitive skin of my inner thigh.

He growls, a deep, primal sound that sends a shiver through me. "I love hearing you like this," he murmurs against my skin, his breath hot, teasing. "Completely undone for me."

I'm already aching, desperate, my need a physical pulse between my legs, but he takes his time. His tongue flicks out, a slow, deliberate stroke that makes me cry out. He holds me down as I try to lift my hips, his strong hands gripping my thighs to keep me in place.

"Let me enjoy you," he says, his voice dark with amusement and hunger.

And then he devours me.

His mouth moves with expert precision, his tongue stroking, teasing, circling until I'm writhing beneath him. My fingers clutch the sheets, my head thrown back as pleasure builds, coiling tighter and tighter inside me.

I can't think. I can't breathe. I can only feel.

I come with a sharp cry, my body shaking as the release crashes through me. Adrian doesn't stop—he licks me through it, his tongue working me until I'm gasping, until it's too much and I have to push weakly at his shoulders.

He laughs, pressing a final kiss against my thigh before crawling back up my body, his lips capturing mine in a searing kiss. I taste myself on him, a reminder of how completely he owns me in this moment.

But I want more. I need more.

"Adrian," I whisper against his mouth. "I need you inside me."

His body tenses above me, his cock hard and pressing insistently against my entrance. He meets my gaze, his eyes dark, full of an emotion I can't name.

"You're mine, Elara," he murmurs, his voice rough with possession. "Always."

I nod, pulling him closer. "And you're mine."

With one slow, deliberate thrust, he sinks into me. I gasp at the stretch, the fullness, my body molding around him in perfect alignment.

Adrian groans, his forehead resting against mine. "You feel incredible."

He starts to move, slow at first, his hips rolling in a rhythm that has me gasping, my nails digging into his back. But it doesn't take long for restraint to snap. The need is too great, the hunger too consuming.

He thrusts harder, faster, our bodies colliding in a primal, desperate rhythm. Sweat slicks our skin, the room filled with the sound of our moans, the slap of flesh against flesh.

I meet him thrust for thrust, my legs wrapped tight around his waist, pulling him deeper. He growls as he shifts, his hands gripping my hips, changing the angle until he hits that perfect spot.

I shatter.

My orgasm rips through me, violent and all-consuming, dragging him over the edge with me. Adrian lets out a strangled sound, his body tensing as he comes, his hips stuttering as he spills inside me.

For a long moment, we simply lay there, tangled together, our bodies slick with sweat, our breathing uneven.

Adrian finally moves, rolling us onto our sides so he doesn't crush me, but he doesn't let me go. His arm wraps around my waist, pulling me against his chest, his lips pressing lazy, lingering kisses against my shoulder.

He's still inside me, still connected to me in the most intimate way, and I feel safe. Loved.

"Move in with me," he murmurs suddenly, his voice husky, spent.

I blink, turning my head to look at him. His eyes are soft, filled with something that makes my heart ache.

"Adrian..."

"I mean it," he says, brushing my damp hair back from my face. "Everything's settling down. No more running. No more battles. Just us." He pauses, then smirks. "And your ridiculous collection of books."

I laugh softly, my fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest. The thought of a life with him, of peace, of building something together... it's everything I never let myself believe I could have.

"Yes," I whisper. "I'll move in with you."

His arms tighten around me, and for the first time in a long time, the future feels real.