Page 14 of Heart of the Rebel Mate

Elara's presence is becoming impossible to ignore, no matter how much I tell myself otherwise.

The council's hall is packed, tension weaving through the air like a storm waiting to break. The towering stone pillars cast long shadows under the dim torchlight, the scent of burning sage and aged parchment thick in the space. The murmurs of gathered wolves ripple through the chamber, low and hushed, each voice threaded with anticipation.

This isn't just another council meeting.

This is a tribunal.

Decisions are being made tonight—judgments on rogue activity, territory disputes, and, most importantly, the growing unrest that has been simmering beneath the surface of our world. There have been whispers of rebellion, of alliances forming in the dark. The Council is here to reassert control, to remind every pack where their loyaltiesshouldlie.

And she'shere.

From my position in the shadowed corner, I watch as she moves through the crowd with Cassian close at her side. Her posture is straight and controlled, but I see the sharp attentiveness in her gaze, the way her head tilts slightly toward him as he speaks. Even from here, I can tell she's absorbing every word, calculating.

My wolf stirs beneath my skin, restless and irritated, muscles coiling with instinct. I force my jaw to stay locked, fists clenching at my sides. I tell myself it's the situation, that it'sthem—Cassian and his ever-present defiance, his habit of showing up in places where his presence is a challenge.

But my eyes keep dragging back toher.

To the way the flickering torchlight catches the angles of her face. To the way she moves—graceful but purposeful, every step measured.

To the fact that yet again, sheshouldn'tbe standing in the middle ofthis.

And yet, she is.

It's the third time this week I've seen them together. Cassian's sudden reappearance in her life is as deliberate as everything he does, and every fiber of my being is telling me this is a disaster waiting to happen.

I can't decide what frustrates me more: Cassian's obvious manipulation or the fact that Elara doesn't seem to see it.

She laughs at something he says, the sound cutting through the low hum of conversation around me. It's not the kind of laugh she gives freely—it's guarded and sarcastic, but it still twists something deep in my chest. My fingers curl around the glass I'm holding, the sharp edge of the rim pressing against my palm.

I should walk away.

There's no reason for me to linger here, no reason for me to keep watching as she interacts with him. My job is to monitor and report, not get involved. But even as I tell myself that, my feet refuse to move.

Instead, I stay rooted to the spot, my gaze tracking their every move.

Cassian leans closer, his silver eyes gleaming as he gestures toward the projection screen at the far end of the hall. Elara's gaze follows his, and I can see the way her shoulders tense, her body angling slightly away from him. It's subtle, but it's there—her instinctive response to his proximity.

Good.

But then Cassian lowers his voice, and she turns back to him, her brows furrowing as she listens. Whatever he's saying, it's enough to hold her attention, enough to keep her from walking away.

Damn it.

I push off the wall, my jaw tightening as I make my way toward them. My steps are measured, deliberate, though the heat simmering beneath my skin makes me want to move faster, to close the distance between us before Cassian can sink his claws any deeper.

"Elara," I say as I approach, my voice steady but sharp.

She turns to me, her green eyes flashing with something between surprise and irritation. Cassian, of course, doesn't even flinch. His smirk lessens and his posture is relaxed as he glances over his shoulder at me.

The tension snaps tight between us the moment Cassian disappears into the crowd.

Elara's arms are still crossed, her shoulders squared, her lips pressed into a firm line. The torchlight catches in her eyes, sharp and unyielding, daring me to explain myself.

My pulse pounds against my ribs, but I don't let it show.

"What the hell are you doing?" The words come out hard, rougher than I intended, but I don't take them back.

Her chin lifts, jaw tight, the muscle feathering beneath her skin. "Excuse me?"

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