Page 72 of Heart of the Rebel Mate

His concern is tangible, wrapping around me like an unshakable force, but it makes my spine stiffen. I'm used to fighting. I'm used to proving myself. And Adrian—Adrian is infuriating in the way he challenges me, pushes at my decisions, makes me second-guess things I know I can handle.

He steps closer, his voice dropping to something only I can hear. "You think this is just about the mission? It's you in there. I can't—I won't sit back and wait for you to come back in pieces."

Heat sparks under my skin.

It's not just the argument. It's not just him. It's us. The energy snapping between us, thick enough to taste.

I tilt my chin up, refusing to be the first to back away. "I don't need protection."

His gaze darkens. "That's not the point."

I don't even know when it happens. When the air between us turns from sharp to smoldering. When the frustration bleeds into something else. His scent wraps around me—earth and fire, something primal.

His eyes flick to my mouth. Just for a second.

I should step back. I should say something, cut this tension before it takes me under.

But I don't.

I can't.

A rush of heat coils in my stomach, low and needy, and I hate how easy it is for my body to betray me. To want him like this, even when he's being impossible.

The ache of it, the raw pull of wanting him now, is nearly unbearable. I want him to slam me against the wall, to grab me by the waist, to crush the space between us until nothing else matters. Until I don't have to think about the mission, or the rebellion, or the knife's edge we're constantly walking.

Adrian exhales sharply, as if he can sense it—how close I am to losing control.

I force myself to step back. "We'll talk later."

A flicker of something unreadable crosses his face. He doesn't press, doesn't push.

But I feel his gaze on me long after I turn away. I can't help but smile. I feel the tension slowly leave my body after that.

Later that night, we gather around a makeshift table, poring over blueprints and exit strategies. Ethan marks weak points on the facility's security grid. Zara maps out our rendezvous locations.

The plan is tight. It has to be.

"If anyone gets captured," I say, my voice steady, "we follow the secondary protocol. No rescue attempts unless we have a clean shot. We don't compromise the mission."

I say it like it's a rule we'll follow. Like I won't rip apart the entire Council if they take Adrian, or Zara, or any of the others.

We settle on our final strategy. The room empties, one by one, people heading to rest before the mission.

I don't sleep.

I don't even try.

Instead, I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, my heart pounding with something I can't name.

Fear.

Anticipation.

Regret.

A question gnaws at the back of my mind: What if this is the last time I see Adrian?

What if I never get the chance to?—

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