Page 17 of Heart of the Rebel Mate

"No," she says again, stronger now, her gaze burning into mine. "This isn't—I already had a mate."

The haze fractures.

A sharp, cold pain slices through the warmth, cutting deep, and stopping me in my tracks.

Istill.

Her words slam into me like a physical blow, unraveling the tangled confusion in my mind, and dragging a jagged edge through the moment. "What?" I choke out.

I already had a mate.

I don't know why those words feel like claws raking down my spine, why my body instinctively tightens, why the heat of the bond still pulses, stillpulls, even as she backs away.

The panic in her eyes is real. The horror in her expression isreal.

And before I can say anything—before I can make sense of it?—

She turns.

Andruns.

The bond stretches between us, straining, my wolf raging beneath my skin, demanding I go after her, demanding Ifix this.

But I don't move.

I can't.

Because in the space she leaves behind, in the lingering warmth of something that shouldn't be possible?—

I already know the truth.

Elara is my mate.

And though she hasn't rejected me, it's clear that she wants nothing to do with me.

CHAPTER 7

ELARA

The underground wrestling spot thrums with raw energy—bodies slamming against mats, the air thick with sweat, damp earth, and the metallic tang of blood. This is the only place where my mind doesn't consume me.

I tighten my gloves, rolling my shoulders. Ineedthis. I need the burn, the rush, anything to drown out the pull ofhim.

Adrian.

The heat of his touch still lingers, the bond settling deep in my bones.But that shouldn't be possible.I had a mate once—a bond severed as quickly as it formed. I had survived. So how the hell did fate tether me again?

A sharp whistle.

"Thorne!" Garret is one of the few people I trust in this place—a fighter, like me, who knows when to push and when to back off.

Garret stands near the mat, blue eyes gleaming with amusement. He's built for combat—strong, fast, relentless—but more than that, he'strusted.

"You planning to stand there all night?" he taunts.

I shake off the haze, stepping onto the mat. "You in a rush to lose?"

We fight. Strike, counter, block, sweep—every move sharp, controlled. The moment he lunges, I pivot, grip his shoulder, and use his momentum to slam him down. He hits the mat with a grunt.

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