Page 85 of Heart of the Rebel Mate

I hold her waist and pull her close, firmly, as my hands explore her back and set her nerves on fire. "Together."

And for the first time, I believe it.

CHAPTER 23

ADRIAN

The summit hall is packed with representatives from different factions—alpha leaders, high-ranking warriors, rogue delegates who have managed to stake a claim at the table. The air is thick with anticipation, but beneath it, there's something volatile, an electric charge waiting for the right spark to ignite it.

Elara stands at the center of it all.

I've seen her fight, seen her stand her ground against impossible odds. But this—this is something else entirely. She commands the room not with brute strength, but with her words.

Her voice is steady, unwavering, carrying through the vast chamber.

"For decades, the Council has manipulated our nature, turning what should be sacred—our mate bonds—into chains they can pull at will. They have controlled who we love, who we fight for, who we submit to. They have used our instincts against us. But we are not weapons. We are not pawns in their endless game of power. We have a choice."

Murmurs ripple through the crowd. Some look stunned, others furious. A few exchange glances that tell me everything I need to know—they already suspected, but hearing it aloud forces them to acknowledge the truth.

Cassian stands a few steps behind her, arms crossed, reading the room with the practiced eye of a strategist. Isla lingers at the far edge of the space, observing like she's picking apart every expression, every reaction, calculating who is a potential ally and who will become an enemy before the night is over.

Elara continues, voice sharper now.

"They fear what we could become if we broke free. They fear our unity. That is why they have kept us divided, why they have shackled us with laws designed to keep us obedient. But if we do nothing, if we continue to bow our heads, then we are complicit in our own enslavement."

The murmurs turn into growls of dissent. Some are directed at the Council. Others—at her.

A faction leader at the back slams his fist onto the table. "You expect us to believe that the Council would go this far? That they have been manipulating our instincts, our very bonds?" His voice is thick with skepticism, but beneath it, there's fear. He knows, deep down, that it's true.

"Believe it or don't," Elara says coldly. "The truth remains unchanged."

A second voice, sharper, filled with barely contained rage, cuts in. "If what you say is true, then what do you expect us to do? March into war? You'll have us all slaughtered!"

Elara doesn't flinch. "I expect you to decide whether you will live as cattle under the Council's rule or as wolves—free and untamed. The choice has always been yours."

The tension in the air tightens like a noose.

Then—

A scream.

The first shift happens so fast that for a split second, I don't register it. A chair topples over, and suddenly, a figure lunges toward Elara, body contorting, bones snapping as they shift mid-air. Their clothes shred as muscle expands, fur bursts forth, a snarl ripping from their throat. The attack is precise, targeted.

Loyalists.

The hall explodes into chaos.

I shift without thinking. My clothes shred, skin stretching, reforming into something larger, stronger. My wolf form takes over, instincts sharper than my thoughts. Around me, rebels and loyalists collide in a blur of claws and teeth. The scent of blood floods my senses, thick and metallic.

Snarls fill the air, the sound of bodies crashing against tables, against walls. Glass shatters as someone is thrown against a window. A rogue alpha grapples with a loyalist warrior, their claws locked in a deadly struggle. A second later, the warrior wrenches free, fangs sinking deep into the rogue's throat.

Elara moves like lightning, dodging an attack and slamming her elbow into a loyalist's throat. He chokes, staggers back. Another lunges at her—she ducks, spins, and her blade flashes as she slashes through tendons.

She's trained for this. She thrives in it.

But even she can't see everything.

I spot the attacker before she does—a brute of a wolf, twice her size, aiming straight for her exposed back. The beast's eyes are locked onto her, saliva dripping from its bared fangs.

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