Page 10 of Betrayed Knocked-Up Mate (Rosecreek Special Ops Wolves #8)

The strategy room smells like coffee and fear. Maps cover every surface, their edges curling from constant handling. Elena's computer screens cast a ghostly blue glow over faces I've known for years, turning familiar features strange and shadowed. The pre-dawn darkness pressing against the windows feels alive somehow, watching, waiting. Even the air tastes different—sharp with adrenaline, thick with possibilities we don't want to consider.

"They're moving faster than we anticipated," Elena says, fingers flying over her keyboard. The shadows under her eyes have deepened in the past few days, but her voice remains steady. Professional. "Latest intel puts them twenty miles out, moving in a standard search pattern. But something's off about their formation."

"Show me," I say, leaning over her shoulder to study the surveillance feeds. The movement brings me closer to Camila, who's been silently observing from her position near the wall. Her scent hits me like a physical thing—gunmetal and sandalwood and something wild that makes my wolf pace restlessly. I force myself to focus on the screens.

"See here?" Elena highlights points on the map where Kane's forces have been spotted. "They're moving in parallel lines, systematic. But these gaps in their pattern... it's like they're leaving deliberate blind spots."

"Or they want us to think they are," Asher suggests from his position by the door. His colossal frame looks somehow larger in the pre-dawn gloom, a solid presence between us and whatever's coming. "Could be trying to funnel us into specific escape routes."

"Or herd us toward something worse," James adds quietly. He's been reviewing medical supplies all night, preparing for possibilities none of us want to voice aloud. The wound in his side still hasn't fully healed—a constant reminder of what Kane's capable of.

The room falls silent as we absorb this. Through the pack bonds, I can feel the tension radiating from my team—the memories of our last encounter with Kane are still fresh, still bleeding. The way our compound burned. There was terrible silence when Fiona tried to shift and couldn't.

"You're all thinking about it wrong."

Camila's voice cuts through the heavy atmosphere. When I look at her, she's studying the map with the same intensity she brings to her photography—seeing patterns others might miss, finding stories in the spaces between obvious truths.

"What do you mean?" Elena asks, genuine curiosity threading through her exhaustion.

Camila moves forward, crossing to the map with fluid grace. "A few years ago, I photographed supernatural guerrilla operations—groups fighting over territory. They used similar tactics, but there was always a tell." Her fingers trace the pattern of Kane's movements. "See how they're moving in straight lines? No one actually searches like that, not in terrain this complex. They want us to see this pattern, to focus on it. But look here—" She points to a seemingly random spot. "And here. Their actual movements are creating a spiral. They're tightening a noose."

The room stirs with renewed tension as we process this. Because she's right—the pattern becomes clear once she points it out. Kane's forces aren't just searching; they're circling, drawing closer with each pass while we focus on their more obvious movements.

"How did you—" James starts, but Camila cuts him off with a bitter smile.

"You learn to spot patterns when you're alone in dangerous places. It was my job. You have to do what you have to do."

Her eyes meet mine across the map, and for a moment, I see the weight of those years reflected in them—all the battles she shouldn't have had to fight, all the skills she shouldn't have had to learn.

"Sometimes the best way to survive is to see what others are trying to hide,” she says, and I am the first to look away.

"If you're right," Elena says, already adjusting her models, "we need to shift our defensive positions. They'll be expecting us to focus on the obvious approaches."

"We can use that," Asher suggests, moving to study the new pattern. "Set up our own deceptions, make them think their plan is working while we—"

The pack's warning system cuts through the pre-dawn silence like a knife.

Three long tones, then two short. The signal we've dreaded: hostile forces at the borders, requesting a formal audience.

It’s too soon.

But our time's up. Kane is here for us.

Here for me.

The room erupts into controlled chaos. Elena's already shutting down her systems, wiping traces of our presence from the network. James moves with practiced efficiency, gathering critical medical supplies. Asher's on his radio, coordinating with the rest of our team scattered throughout the pack center.

"Three minutes," Elena reports, her voice clipped. "Then the systems will be clean."

"The clinic basement," Aris says from the doorway, appearing like smoke. His expression is stern, authority radiating from him in waves. "We've got a secure room prepped. Veronica will cover your scents. Move. "

My team moves without needing further information, years of drills making the evacuation almost choreographed. Camila stays rooted in place, her eyes fixed on the map, on the pattern she decoded. Something in her scent shifts—not fear, but a sharp, metallic determination that makes my wolf desperately afraid.

"Camila," I start, but she cuts me off.

"I should come with you," she says, her voice steady despite the tension thrumming through her. "I can help.”

"That's not your concern," I tell her, even as part of me recognizes the tactical truth in her words. "You need to stay clear of—"

"Of what, Marcus? The fight you brought to our door?" Her eyes flash gold in the dim light. “I’m not—”

The warning siren sounds again, and it is more urgent this time. I can almost see movement at the town's borders through the windows—vehicles approaching, shadows moving with military precision. It’s all in my head, but soon, it’ll be real. They’ll be here, right on top of us.

"We don't have time for this," Aris cuts in. "Marcus, get your people to the clinic. Camila, I need you with Thalia's team on the east perimeter. If you're right about their pattern—"

"She's being hidden," I say before I can stop myself. The words come out rough, almost desperate. “Hide her in the pack center—hide her anywhere.”

The look Camila gives me could strip paint. "Like hell I am."

"Marcus," Asher warns quietly. Through our pack bonds, I feel his understanding, his concern. He knows what seeing her in danger would do to me. What it's already doing.

But before I can argue further, Elena's tablet chirps—the final warning that Kane's forces are nearly at the gates.

"Thirty seconds," she announces, already moving toward the door. "We need to move. Now."

Camila sweeps away from me, out of sight. It almost cleaves me in half.

The next moments blur together in a rush of tactical precision. My team disappearing into the pre-dawn shadows, taking different routes to our temporary sanctuary. Aris's voice on the radio, coordinating his people. The growing scent of unfamiliar wolves approaching from the north.

Just before I follow James through the clinic's hidden entrance, I catch one last glimpse of Camila across the street. She's standing with Thalia and Rafael at the pack center’s entrance, phone pressed to her ear, likely in communication with someone else from the Rosecreek team.

When she meets my eyes across the distance, something passes between us—recognition, maybe. Understanding. A strange, heavy thing.

Then the door closes, and darkness swallows me whole.

The clinic basement smells like antiseptic and old stone. Veronica's already there, directing my people into positions that will be masked by medical supplies and equipment. The space is larger than I expected, obviously prepared for exactly this kind of emergency.

"They're good at this," James mutters as we settle into our hiding spots. "Protecting strays."

"Too good," I respond, guilt churning in my gut. Because Camila was right; this is what I've brought to their door—Kane's violence, his twisted ideology, his precise and terrible retribution. Everything I've spent five years trying to prevent has followed me here anyway.

Through the pack bonds, I feel the moment Kane's forces reach the gates. Feel the spike in tension, the collective intake of breath as Rosecreek prepares to face yet another threat. Above us, footsteps move with purpose—Veronica maintaining her cover, treating routine patients as if nothing's wrong.

And somewhere out there, Camila's preparing to face the very danger I left her to prevent.

The irony would be funny if it didn't feel like drowning.

"They're requesting entry," Elena reports through our secured comms. "Standard diplomatic approach. Claiming they're just following leads about suspicious activity."

Standard procedure for Kane's people—maintain the illusion of legitimacy until the last possible moment. Make everything seem official, proper. Just like they did with my parents.

Minutes stretch like razor wire as we wait in our borrowed sanctuary. Through the pack bonds, I track the movement above—Aris greeting Kane's people with diplomatic courtesy, Bigby and the others maintaining a careful perimeter. The faint echo of voices carries through the old stone, too muffled to make out words but clear enough to catch tone. Measured. Professional. Deadly.

A sudden spike of tension through the bonds makes my wolf surge forward. Something's changed. Through our comms, I hear Elena's sharp intake of breath.

"Multiple teams," she whispers. "They're surrounding the pack center."

Above us, the diplomatic dance continues. But we all know how this ends.

Kane never comes in peace.