Page 101 of Heart of the Rebel Mate

I smile, cupping his face, my thumb tracing over his cheek. "Always."

Time passes quickly. Before I know it, we're pawing at each other again.

Adrian crushes his lips against mine, his kiss fierce and consuming, his tongue sweeping into my mouth, demanding, claiming. I meet him with equal fervor, our breaths mingling, our bodies moving in perfect, desperate sync. His hands roam over my heated skin, sliding down my back, gripping my hips, then moving up to cup my breasts. He kneads them, his thumbs brushing over my hardened nipples before pinching them just enough to send a sharp spark of pleasure straight to my core.

I arch into his touch, a needy whimper escaping me. The tension inside me coils tighter, every nerve sparking with sensation, pushing me toward the edge. But I don't want to go alone—I want him with me.

"Adrian," I gasp, nails digging into his back, my legs locking tighter around his waist. "I'm so close."

A growl rumbles deep in his throat, his movements becoming rougher, more frantic. His control is slipping, his body tightening, his cock driving into me with an urgency that makes my vision blur. "Me too," he grits out. "Fuck, Elara, I?—"

His words dissolve into a low, broken moan as his body shudders, his release hitting him hard. The sensation of him spilling inside me, the deep, pulsing warmth, sends me spiraling over the edge with him. My orgasm crashes through me in waves, my body convulsing, my cries mixing with his as we cling to each other, lost in the overwhelming pleasure.

We collapse together, tangled and breathless, our skin slick with sweat, our chests rising and falling in time. Adrian rolls onto his side, wrapping me in his arms, his embrace strong yet tender. He presses a kiss to my temple, his lips lingering, his voice husky with emotion. "I love you," he murmurs.

A warmth spreads through me, different from the heat of passion—deeper, more profound. I run my fingers through his damp hair, tilting my face up to meet his gaze. "I love you too," I whisper, meaning it with every piece of me.

The threat of the Council looms over us, a shadow waiting to strike, but right now, in this moment, none of it matters. All that exists is us—our bodies still entwined, our hearts beating as one. And no matter what happens, no matter how fleeting this may be, I know I'll cherish this night. I'll cherish him.

The room is quiet except for the sound of our breathing. My skin is still flushed, my body languid and aching in the best way possible. Adrian lies beside me, his arm draped over my waist, his fingers tracing absent patterns along my hip.

I should feel exposed. Vulnerable.

Instead, I feel...whole.

He shifts slightly, pressing a lazy kiss to my shoulder before resting his forehead against the curve of my neck. "I should probably apologize," he murmurs, amusement threading through his voice.

"For what?"

"For not stopping."

I turn my head, meeting his gaze. His expression is softer than I've ever seen it, his usual intensity tempered by something deeper, something almost tender.

"I didn't want you to stop," I admit.

His fingers still against my skin, his eyes searching mine. Then, slowly, a small, knowing smile tugs at his lips.

"Good," he says.

I let out a breathy laugh, shaking my head. But the moment doesn't last. Reality presses back in, heavier than before.

I roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling. "Everything feels impossible," I whisper. "The Council, the war... Isla's story..."

Adrian props himself up on one elbow, watching me. "It's not impossible," he says. "We've already done the impossible, Elara. We'll do it again."

I wish I could believe that completely.

But as I think about what we uncovered tonight, about the horrors hidden within those files, I know one thing for certain.

This fight is bigger than us. Bigger than anything I ever imagined.

And the battle is far from over.

CHAPTER 27

ADRIAN

The war council gathers in the dimly lit command room, maps spread across the long table, their edges curling from use. A single lantern flickers at the center, its weak glow casting distorted shadows against the stone walls. The scent of wax and old parchment clings to the air, but beneath it, the room pulses with something far heavier—fear, tension, the unspoken weight of what we're about to do.

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