Page 68 of Heart of the Rebel Mate

The way I glance at Elara when I speak.

The way my voice changes when I address her.

It doesn't go unnoticed.

I see it in Cassian's smirk, in Ethan's quiet knowing glance.

The meeting adjourns as dusk settles in. Conversations linger in pockets, people discussing what comes next, but I step outside first, needing air.

Elara follows a moment later.

We don't speak.

But in the quiet of the cooling night, with the shadows stretching long and the stars just beginning to prick the sky, I know we both feel it.

Something is shifting.

But this was a good day, even with Cassian's stunt. This was progress. We might just win this war yet.

The night air is cool against my skin as I ride back home, the weight of the meeting still pressing against my thoughts. The tension with Cassian. The way the humans and werewolves spoke, the rawness of their words. But mostly—Elara.

I pull up to my house, cutting the engine. The place is quiet, untouched by the chaos of the world outside. A simple structure, built for solitude. It's nothing extravagant, but it's mine. A refuge. I'd suspected that the Council would have people watching it but there's no one in sight. I don't smell anything suspicious either.

Inside, I move on instinct, shedding my jacket, toeing off my boots. The house smells the same as always—faint traces of cedar and worn leather, the lingering scent of coffee from this morning. But there's a heaviness in the air that has nothing to do with the room itself. It's inside me.

I find myself at my desk, fingers tracing the edge of a photo album I haven't opened in a long time. It's worn at the corners, the spine creased from years of handling.

I flip it open.

The first image is of my parents. My mother's smile, warm and steady, her dark eyes full of quiet strength. My father beside her, taller, his expression more reserved but no less proud. A life built on discipline, on honor. A legacy of calculated decisions, of knowing when to fight and when to walk away.

I was raised with that understanding.

And yet, here I am.

I turn the page. An old photo of me and Ethan, years younger, arms slung over each other's shoulders after a sparring match. Blood on our lips, grins on our faces. We were taught to be survivors, to be careful. Not reckless.

So why am I being reckless now?

Elara's face slips into my mind, unbidden. The way she stood at the meeting, her presence commanding even when she didn't say a word. The way my own voice had changed when I spoke to her, softer, steadier. It hadn't gone unnoticed.

Cassian saw it.

And if he saw it, others would too.

I shut the album, my jaw tightening.

This is a weakness.

I can't afford weakness.

The Council would use it if they ever found out. They'd use her to control me, to push me into a deal, to force my hand. And if not them, then someone else. The government. The enemies we don't even see yet.

The moment my emotions became involved, I stopped being untouchable.

If I keep this up, if I keep fighting at her side, what happens when the day comes that they put a knife to her throat and tell me to stand down? What would I do then?

I know the answer.

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