Page 47 of Heart of the Rebel Mate

"Think about what I said," he murmurs, before turning and disappearing down the hall.

Leaving me there.

Alone.

And more unsettled than I've ever been.

The underground corridors stretch ahead of me, dimly lit by flickering torches. The shadows ripple along the stone walls as I move, my steps heavy, my body thrumming with restless energy. The confrontation with Cassian still lingers in my head, a storm I can't outrun. I can still hear his voice, smug and certain, picking at every insecurity I refuse to name.

She doesn't need you as much as you need her.

I grit my teeth, pushing forward, willing myself to let it go.

But I can't.

Because part of me knows there was truth in what he said.

I know Elara isn't mine to protect. She's made that clear time and time again—standing her ground, making her own choices, proving she doesn't need anyone deciding her path for her. And yet, no matter how many times I tell myself to step back, to let her fight her own battles, the instinct remains.

It's not about control.

It's not about jealousy.

It's something else. Something deeper, something I can't put a name to.

I exhale sharply, rolling my shoulders as I reach the training facility—a repurposed section of the underground stronghold that reeks of sweat, old leather, and damp stone. The scent of blood lingers faintly in the air, a testament to the countless battles fought here.

The werewolves built this gym to push their limits, to train in the raw, brutal way our kind thrives on. Heavy sandbags hang from thick chains, weight benches are shoved against the walls, and the sparring ring in the center of the room is surrounded by a circle of scuffed mats. It's not elegant. Not refined. But it's effective.

And right now, it's exactly what I need.

"You look like hell."

I glance up just in time to see Karina smirking at me from inside the ring. Her long black hair is pulled back in a tight braid, dark eyes gleaming with anticipation. She's taller than most, lean muscle carved into every inch of her frame. If anyone in this place could keep me from sinking too deep into my own head, it's her.

I shake off my jacket, tossing it to the side. "You offering to make it worse?"

Karina cracks her knuckles, stepping forward. "Wouldn't be the first time."

I climb into the ring, rolling my shoulders. My body is tight, every muscle wound too hard, too stiff. I need to work this out of me before it eats me alive.

The moment I take my stance, Karina moves.

Fast.

Her first strike comes at my ribs, sharp and clean. I barely block in time, my forearm catching the brunt of it before she pivots and sweeps low, aiming for my legs.

I leap back, dodging just in time.

She grins. "Slow today."

I don't answer.

Instead, I lunge forward, throwing a right hook. She ducks, slipping beneath my swing with ease. Before I can react, she drives a fist into my stomach. Not hard enough to do real damage, but enough to knock the breath from my lungs.

Damn it.

I recover quickly, twisting to block her next attack, but my reaction time is off. Every move feels half a second too late, like my body is moving through fog.

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