Page 22 of Heart of the Rebel Mate

The air between us vibrates, charged with something alive, something thrumming beneath my skin, wrapping itself around my ribs, pullingtight. The bond coils, unrelenting, invisible butthere, a tether I can't sever, no matter how much I try.

"Elara."

Her name escapes before I can stop it, slipping past the last of my restraint, softer than I intend.

Her breath hitches.

She doesn't move. Doesn't blink.

Her eyes lock onto mine, and suddenly, nothing else exists.

The dim glow of the overhead lamps, the scratch of pens on paper, the distant whisper of pages turning—it all fades to static.

She sways, barely perceptible, like the pull is working against her will, like shefeelsit too but refuses to acknowledge it.

My pulse thrums, a steady, insistent beat against my throat.

I step closer.

She doesn't stop me.

The space between us is a breath, a heartbeat,nothing at all.

The warmth of her skin radiates through the inches of air that separate us, her scent wrapping around me—something familiar, something intoxicating, something Ishouldn'tbe drowning in.

Her lashes flicker.

Her chest rises, falls—too fast, uneven.

My gaze dips.

Lips parted, her breath unsteady, her pulse hammering at the base of her throat. My fingers twitch at my sides, every instinct screaming at me to close the last of the distance, to chase the heat curling between us, to press forward until Ican't stop.

The moment stretches, fragile, waiting to snap.

Her breath ghosts against my lips.

A shiver rolls down my spine.

Then—

She moves.

Not toward me.

Back.

The absence is immediate, a sharp, jarring cold that replaces the warmth between us.

"No."

Her voice is quiet, but the force behind it slams into me, cutting through whatever had wrapped around us seconds ago.

Her shoulders are rigid, hands clenched into fists at her sides, her breath still unsteady but now forced into something controlled, somethingcalculated. The flicker in her eyes is gone, replaced with something cold, something distant.

"Whatever this is," she says, her voice clipped, each word deliberate, "it doesn't change anything."

A muscle in my jaw tightens.

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