Page 94 of Heart of the Rebel Mate

When the sun rises, we'll have to be ready for whatever comes next.

CHAPTER 25

ADRIAN

The Council thinks they're untouchable.

It's time to prove them wrong.

Ethan and I crouch in the shadows, the cool night air thick with the scent of damp earth and gasoline. The distant hum of the approaching convoy vibrates through my bones, growing louder, closer. A line of armored vehicles emerges from the treeline, headlights cutting harsh beams through the darkness, kicking up dust in their wake.

My fingers tighten around my rifle. Intel suggests they're transporting something critical—classified documents, weapons, maybe even prisoners. Whatever it is, it's important enough to warrant an armed escort.

I glance at Ethan. He gives a tight nod, fingers flexing over the grip of his rifle. He's focused, but I can sense the undercurrent of something else—anticipation, adrenaline. Maybe even anger.

The rest of our team is spread out along the ridge, silent, waiting. One word from me, and we move.

I raise my scope, tracking the convoy. The lead vehicle—a black military-grade truck reinforced with steel plates—moves with calculated precision. A standard patrol car follows, then another truck, then a van.

The van.

That's our target.

"They won't stop unless they have to," Ethan murmurs beside me. His voice is low, steady. Cold. "We need to force them into a bottleneck."

I smirk. "I had the same idea."

I lift two fingers in the air, signaling Isla and the others down below. A heartbeat later?—

Boom.

A massive explosion detonates near the front of the convoy, shaking the ground beneath us. A fireball erupts into the night, illuminating the surrounding forest in flickering orange light. The lead truck veers violently, tires screeching against asphalt before it slams into a tree with a sickening crunch.

For a split second, everything goes still.

Then chaos erupts.

Shouts echo through the night. Loyalist guards spill from the vehicles, rifles raised, scanning the treeline. They don't know where we are yet. That gives us the advantage.

"Take out the tires," I order.

Gunfire explodes from our position, precise and brutal. Ethan moves like a phantom beside me, his shots landing true. Rubber shreds, metal groans, and the remaining trucks swerve wildly. One crashes into a ditch, the driver's body slamming into the windshield.

The van—the one we need—keeps moving.

Not for long.

I don't think. I move.

Leaping from the ridge, I shift mid-air. Bones snap, muscle stretches, fur bristles over my skin. It's pain and power colliding in a breathless instant. My claws tear into the earth as I land hard on all fours, growling low in my throat.

Ethan follows, a dark shadow moving with lethal precision. He doesn't shift—he never does in combat—but he's just as dangerous this way.

A guard stumbles out of the van, fumbling with his rifle. Too slow.

I lunge, fangs sinking into his arm. He screams, the sound wet and gurgling as I toss him aside. Blood splatters the dirt.

"Man, move!" Ethan shouts.

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