Page 63 of Heart of the Rebel Mate

"Leading."

The word sits heavy in my chest. Not unwelcome. Just unexpected.

For so long, I've fought against the idea of being someone people look to. But maybe—just maybe—it's not about being ready.

Maybe it's about stepping up anyway.

A smile drags itself across my lips. I let it. Then flash it at Zara.

"Let's get back to work."

It's midnight. The storm has reduced to a drizzle. Zara stretches her arms over her head, letting out a quiet yawn. "I should go check in with Ethan, make sure he's not spiraling into some paranoid tech-induced breakdown."

I respond, not really looking at her; my thoughts are already pulling me elsewhere.

She hesitates, then says, "Don't stay up too late, okay?"

"I won't."

Zara gives me a knowing look but doesn't argue. Instead, she squeezes my arm briefly before heading out, leaving the safe house quieter than it has been all day.

I sink into the chair by the window, staring at the cluttered table in front of me. Notes, maps, plans scrawled in sharp, determined lines—proof of everything I'm building.

And yet, doubt lingers.

I try to ignore it, but it's insistent, curling into the edges of my resolve.

It's not the summit I'm questioning. I believe in this, in what we're trying to accomplish. I believe that uniting people—werewolves, humans, factions that have never stood on the same side before—is the only way to break the Council's hold for good.

But Adrian...

I rub my temples, exhaling slowly.

I've spent so much time trying to push him out of my thoughts. Trying to stay angry, to remind myself of the lines he's refused to cross, the loyalty that keeps him tethered to a system I despise.

And yet.

He sees things I can't always see. And I need that.

But it's not just strategy that keeps him lodged in my thoughts.

I drag my fingers through my hair, staring at the map in front of me but not really seeing it.

I'm angry at him, at his stubbornness.

So I push it aside.

For now.

CHAPTER 18

ADRIAN

The mountain air is crisp, sharp in my lungs as I push forward. My boots barely make a sound against the dirt trail, my body moving with a rhythm that feels almost instinctual. The world up here is quiet. There are no voices, no city noise, just the wind through the trees and the distant rush of water somewhere below.

I don't shift, but I don't need to. Even in this form, my senses stretch beyond human limits. The scent of damp earth, pine, and the faint musk of animals fill the air. A deer moved through here not long ago. Something smaller—maybe a fox—lingered by the rocks. I catch the acrid tang of distant smoke, maybe from a campsite miles away.

Up here, I can almost forget.

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