Page 84 of Heart of the Rebel Mate

She moves.

Not away. Not to argue.

But toward me.

Her hands, small but steady, press against my chest. My heart slams against my ribs as she tilts her face up, her breath warm against my skin.

I don't think.

I react.

My fingers find her waist, drawing her closer, and the moment I do, something ignites between us. The mate bond flares to life, searing and undeniable.

Elara moans softly, and I feel it more than hear it. Her breath is warm, and the way her body presses against mine, the way her fingers curl slightly against my shirt—it unravels something in me.

I lower my head, barely brushing my nose against hers.

Her breath catches.

For a moment, neither of us move.

Then—

She shifts, just enough for her lips to graze mine, a whisper of contact that sends fire racing down my spine.

It's not a kiss. Not yet.

But it's everything.

She's close enough that I can see the way her lashes tremble, the way her pulse flutters at her throat. My hands tighten at her waist, not pulling her closer but keeping her there, holding her in the space between hesitation and inevitability.

Elara exhales, a soft, shuddering breath. "Adrian."

My name on her lips is my undoing.

I close the distance.

The kiss is slow, deliberate. A quiet unraveling. Like a ball of yarn coming undone.

Elara's fingers slide up, tangling in my hair, and I groan against her mouth, my hands moving instinctively—one pressing against the small of her back, the other cradling her jaw.

She tilts her head, deepening the kiss, and it's fire and gravity all at once.

I don't know how long we stay like that, lost in each other.

But eventually, she pulls back just enough to rest her forehead against mine, her breath uneven.

Neither of us speak.

We don't need to.

The mate bond hums between us, unbroken. Unshaken.

When she finally looks at me, her expression is different. Softer. Certain.

"We fight together," she murmurs.

A statement. A promise.

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