Page 111 of Heart of the Rebel Mate

I spring up, snarling, circling him. He's a brute—bigger than most, his dark fur streaked with scars, his red eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. A veteran. An executioner.

He lunges again. I don't meet him head-on. I'm faster, lighter. I duck beneath his strike, twisting behind him before sinking my teeth into the base of his skull. He thrashes, trying to throw me off, but I hold on, biting down harder until I feel the snap of bone.

He goes limp.

Blood drips from my muzzle as I lift my head, scanning the battlefield. Rebels and enforcers are locked in a brutal dance of survival, the air thick with snarls, screams, the sickening crunch of breaking bones.

Adrian is near the stairwell, holding his own against two enforcers. One of them catches his side with a slash of claws, but he doesn't slow. He moves like a storm—calculated, relentless, his jaws closing around the throat of one opponent while he rips into the other with his claws.

Cassian is near the west wing, leading a group deeper into the stronghold. He glances back, meets my eyes for a second. A silent message: Keep moving. No stopping now.

I push forward, weaving through the carnage. I don't think about the fallen, about the rebels who won't rise again. Not now. If we stop, if we hesitate, we lose.

A deafening roar echoes through the halls. Not a wolf. Something else.

Then I see him.

A towering figure steps through the haze of battle—human in shape but monstrous in presence. Council armor gleams beneath the blood splattered across his chest. His expression is calm, controlled. Too controlled.

Isaac.

My breath stills. The Council's enforcer. Their deadliest weapon. He scans the battlefield, assessing, then his gaze locks onto me.

A slow, deliberate smile spreads across his face.

The battle is about to take a deadlier turn.

I barely have time to react before something massive crashes into me, the force sending me sprawling across the blood-soaked ground. The impact rattles through my bones, sharp pain lancing up my side as I slam against the unyielding stone.

Too fast. Too strong.

I scramble to my feet, ignoring the fiery ache in my ribs, but the moment I lift my head, he's already there.

A colossus of a wolf, fur black as shadow, eyes like molten gold. His presence alone is suffocating—power bleeding from every inch of him. I don't need to ask who he is.

An enforcer. One of the Council's elite.

And he's hunting me.

He moves with terrifying precision, closing the distance between us before I can regain my stance. I lunge, aiming to slash at his throat, but he's faster—so much faster. His massive paw catches me mid-strike, claws tearing through my shoulder in a burning arc of pain.

I snarl, twisting to break free, but he's already behind me, slamming his full weight into my back. I hit the ground hard, breath knocked from my lungs.

His voice slithers into my ears, low and mocking.

"You're weaker than I expected."

I push up, ignoring the sting in my limbs, but he doesn't let me move. His paw presses down, claws digging into my shoulder, pinning me beneath his crushing weight.

"This resistance of yours?" he murmurs, his hot breath ghosting over my ear. "It dies tonight."

I thrash, snapping at him, but his claws sink deeper, sharp enough to make my vision blur. Blood seeps into my fur, matting it, the pain sharpening with every second.

I hate that he's right.

I'm losing.

Not because I'm not strong enough, but because he's been trained for this. Enforcers don't fight with brute force alone—they're strategic, merciless, and conditioned to break rebels like me before the kill.

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