Page 98 of Heart of the Rebel Mate

ELARA

The war room smells like old paper, dust, and something bitter—ink, maybe, or whatever secrets the Council tried to bury inside these stolen files. I push a stack of documents aside, rubbing my temples as Adrian flips through another folder. The dim lighting casts shadows across his face, making the sharp angles of his jawline more pronounced. His brows knit together in concentration.

We should be exhausted. The last raid drained all of us, but sleep feels like a luxury we can't afford.

"Found something," Adrian says. His voice is quiet, but the weight behind it makes my stomach tighten.

I straighten, leaning over the table as he slides the file toward me. At first glance, it looks like the others—lists of names, dates, sterile reports detailing the Council's experiments with mate bonds. But as my eyes scan the pages, a sick feeling crawls up my spine.

It's worse than we thought.

The Council didn't just manipulate bonds. They severed them. Deliberately. Repeatedly. Testing different methods to see what would break a werewolf fastest.

There are firsthand accounts. Wolves who were paired with mates they never wanted, forced to endure an unnatural pull until their spirits shattered. Others had their bonds torn away by force, leaving them hollow, half-alive, drowning in a grief that never faded.

And some...some never survived the severing at all.

My throat tightens. I flip to another page, then another. Every story is worse than the last.

A mate bond isn't just an emotional connection. It's biological, spiritual, woven into the very essence of what we are. Ripping it apart is worse than death. It's obliteration.

Adrian exhales sharply beside me. "They treated it like an experiment," he says. His hands clench into fists. "Like we're nothing more than test subjects."

I force myself to keep reading, but my vision blurs. So many names. So much suffering.

Then I see one I recognize.

Isla Delacroix.

I freeze.

Adrian notices immediately. "What is it?"

Wordlessly, I turn the page so he can see for himself.

Isla's file is brief, but the implications are clear. Her mate bond was severed by direct Council intervention. No cause listed, no explanation—just a date, a name, and a cold, detached conclusion.

Mate terminated.

My stomach lurches. Isla had never talked about her past, not really. She defected from the Council months ago, but now I understand why.

"She never told us," Adrian murmurs.

The fire crackles, sending small embers into the night air. Isla keeps her gaze fixed on the blade in her hands, running the whetstone over it in slow, measured strokes. The rhythmic scrape is the only sound between us for a long time.

I don't miss the way her shoulders tighten, how her grip on the knife white-knuckles. She knows why we're here.

I hold up the file. "Isla."

She doesn't look up. "I know what you found."

Adrian takes a step forward, his voice measured but firm. "Why didn't you tell us?"

This time, she does look up. Her eyes are dark, unreadable, but beneath the surface, there's something raw. Haunted.

"Because it wouldn't have changed anything," she says flatly. "My mate is gone. The Council made sure of that."

Adrian and I exchange a glance.

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