Page 2 of Betrayed Knocked-Up Mate (Rosecreek Special Ops Wolves #8)

Old instincts die hard.

Even here, in what's supposed to be friendly territory, my eyes map every entrance and exit as we approach the looming red brick of the Rosecreek pack center. Two main doors, three emergency exits, huge windows that could serve as escape routes in a pinch. The roof access isn't immediately visible, but there must be one—the building's too well-designed not to have it. Enormous glass panels all across the top floor. I file it all away, piece by piece.

My team falls into defensive formation at my heels without being told, years of working together, making it as natural as breathing.

"You’ve got that look on your face,” Elena murmurs from my left, her voice pitched low enough that only shifter hearing could catch it. Despite the tension in her shoulders, amusement colors her tone. "You’re looking at every building like you're planning a heist."

"I prefer to think of it as his unfailing professional thoroughness." To my right, James adjusts the strap of his medical kit, wincing slightly. The wound in his side hasn't fully healed—shifter or not, some injuries take time. "And you're one to talk. I saw you counting cameras on the way in."

"That's different. That's my job."

"Children," Asher says from behind us, his deep voice carrying that particular mix of affection and exasperation I've come to expect from my second-in-command. "Maybe we save the bickering for after we secure sanctuary?"

They fall silent, but I catch the ghosts of smiles on their faces. Even now, after everything we've been through—or maybe because of it—they can't help but needling each other. It's how we cope, how we've always coped. Turn fear into jokes, terror into teasing. We're all that's left of the original Marshall City team, the only ones who made it through Kane's first attack. The bonds between us run deeper than pack, deeper than family.

The pack center's architecture is impressive—all clean lines and natural materials, somehow both modern and timeless. It looks both welcoming and defensible, which I suppose is the point. I can tell it’s been recently renovated, perhaps even partially reconstructed. We’ve all heard rumors of Rosecreek’s difficulties with other packs in the past six months.

As we approach, the morning light plays across the wooden beams overhead, creating patterns that remind me of military installations I've known, but softer somehow. More like a home than a fortress.

Asher whistles low under his breath. "Look, all the windows have lockdown panels. Look at that installation! Think they'd let me take notes?"

"After we handle a potentially life-or-death situation, maybe," Elena says, but she's studying the building's lines with equal appreciation. "Though I have to admit, their security setup is elegant. Almost invisible unless you know what to look for."

She's right. The cameras are craftily concealed, the defensive positions natural-looking. Someone put serious thought into making this place both beautiful and secure. Someone built it with care.

No one in my team has to mention why we’re so preoccupied. Our own pack center is rubble now.

The front doors open before we reach them.

Aris Cadell steps out, and for a moment, I'm thrown back in time to training grounds in California, to endless drills and shared meals and the forging of bonds that apparently— hopefully —survived half a decade of silence.

He looks exactly the same, except for a few new scars and something settled in his bearing that speaks of hard-won peace. He’s hardly aged, except for a few greys in his beard, which I decide gracefully I won’t be mentioning.

"Marcus fucking Hillmarton," he says, grinning that familiar grin. "I'd say it's good to see you, but given the circumstances..."

"Yeah." The word comes out rougher than intended. "Sorry to drop in like this. We wouldn't have come if—"

"If you had any other choice. I know." His expression softens slightly as he takes in my team's ragged state. We must look rough even cleaned up and rested from our last stop. "Come inside. We've got coffee, food, and secure rooms for briefing."

I feel my team relax fractionally at his welcome. We've been running so long, looking over our shoulders at every turn. The promise of safety, even temporary, is almost overwhelming.

The pack center's interior is as thoughtfully designed as its exterior. The main hall opens into a series of interconnected spaces, each serving multiple purposes. What looks like a casual gathering area could become a defensive position in seconds. The seemingly random placement of support columns would provide perfect cover in a firefight. I approve of the design even as something in my chest aches at the necessity of such preparations.

"Your Linnea’s work?" I ask as we follow Aris through the space.

"It was a bit of all of us, but yes, especially her," Aris confirms, pride and love evident in his voice. "We designed it after the trouble with… well, with the last Alpha. We wanted something that could be both sanctuary and stronghold." He glances back at us, eyes sharp but not unkind. "Seems appropriate, given your situation."

Elena makes a small sound that might be appreciation or might be pain. James shifts closer to her instinctively—we’ve been doing that more since the attack, gravitating toward each other like magnets. I catch Asher watching them with the same mixture of concern and resignation I feel.

We've all changed since Kane's assault on our compound. Some wounds run deeper than flesh.

"From what I know, the pack's grown," I observe, noting the evidence of a thriving community: children's drawings pinned to bulletin boards, training schedules that speak of organized defense forces, the constant movement of people through the halls. All of it speaks of strength, of resilience. Of everything Kane wants to destroy.

"We've had our share of strays finding their way home." Aris leads us into a conference room that manages to feel both professional and welcoming. The long table is solid wood, scarred with age and use. Maps cover one wall, digital displays another. The windows overlook the town square, giving clear sightlines in all directions. "Some by choice, some by necessity. Like old times, I guess.”

The reference to our training days carries weight. We'd all been strays of a sort then—young alphas and betas learning to work together, to overcome the natural tensions between dominant wolves. Those lessons probably saved my life when I had to build my own team. When I had to learn to trust others with not just my life, but my pack's survival.

"Coffee first," Aris announces, "then we talk about what brought you to my door looking like you've been through Hell."

"Feels like maybe we brought Hell with us," James mutters, but he accepts the mug Aris hands him with genuine gratitude.

"Nothing we haven't handled before," Aris returns easily, but his eyes are serious as he studies us. "Though I admit, I'm curious what could drive Marcus Hillmarton's team from their territory. Last I heard, Marshall City was thriving under your leadership."

The words hit like physical blows. Territory. Leadership. Everything I failed to protect.

"Kane," I say simply, and watch recognition flash across his face. "Victor Kane."

Aris goes still in that particular way of predator wolves.

"Shit." He sets his coffee down carefully. "Start from the beginning."

I draw breath to explain, to lay out the nightmare of the past few months in careful, tactical terms. I have to steel myself. It’s still so fresh, and I don’t want to talk about the devastation in detail, the injuries, the blood, the rubble, not in front of my pack.

But I have to. And I know they can handle it.

Time to rip the band-aid off, I guess.

But before I can speak, a scent drifts through the open window—gunmetal and sandalwood and something wild, something that hasn't changed in five years of silence. My wolf surges forward with such force that I nearly shift right there, every instinct screaming.

Asher's hand lands on my shoulder, steadying. Through my haze of shock, I register my team's immediate response to my tension—Elena shifting to cover the door, James palming something that's probably a weapon. Five years of working together means they can read my every micro-expression, sense every shift in my mood.

And right now, I’m inches from being in pieces.

Because Camila Diaz is walking past the conference room window, down on the street outside, and she's even more beautiful than I remember.

She's carrying camera equipment, talking animatedly with someone I can't see. The morning light catches her wild, dark curls, turning them almost iridescent. Her movements are different—more predator grace than human fluidity. She’s older, looks wearier, a kind of heaviness in her shoulders. But her smile, the way she talks with her hands, the slight tilt of her head when she's listening—it's all achingly familiar. All exactly the same as the memories I've tried so hard to bury.

"Marcus." Aris's voice seems to come from very far away. "You still with us?"

I force my attention back to the room, the mission, and the real threats facing my team. But my wolf is clawing at my control, desperate to follow that scent, to cross the distance I put between us five years ago.

To explain, to apologize, to—

No.

The thought comes with the same brutal finality as it did the night I walked away.

"Kane," I say, and my voice comes out steady despite the chaos in my head, "has developed a weapon that can permanently suppress shifter abilities. Weeks ago, he used it on two of our pack members during an attack on our compound. They’re back in the city still, laying low, receiving treatment, though nothing’s worked. As far as we can tell, there’s no cure. We've been on the run ever since, trying to stay ahead of his forces while we figure out how to counter it. Most of our shifters have been evacuated to various haven packs out of state.”

Aris swears softly, all traces of welcome replaced by tactical focus. "Permanently suppress? You're sure?"

"James?"

My team's medic straightens, switching seamlessly into professional mode despite the pain I know he's still in. "The effects appear to be permanent based on our current data. The weapon delivers a serum that targets specific genetic markers in shifter DNA. We've been working on developing a counter-agent, but..." He glances at me, hesitating.

"But we lost most of our research when we had to abandon the compound," Elena finishes. Her voice is tight with anxiety, but steel, too. Unrelenting steel. "Along with half our supplies and nearly all our tactical gear."

Through the window, I hear the faint, muffled sound of Camila laughing at something her companion said. The sound hit me like a physical blow. Focus, I tell myself firmly. Focus on the mission. On protecting your team. On everything that depends on doing this right.

"Tell me everything," Aris says, and there's steel in his voice now. The warmth of old friendship is still there, but layered over it is the authority of an Alpha protecting his territory. "Start with how Kane found you in the first place. Once I’m clear on all of that, I’m bringing in the rest of my core team, and we’ll strategize. We’re going to help you.”

I draw a careful breath, forcing my wolf back under control. This is what matters now—securing sanctuary for my people, finding a way to stop Kane, keeping the poison of his ideology from spreading further. Not the way Camila's scent makes my head spin, not the memories threatening to drown me, not the desperate need to ensure she never, ever gets caught in Kane's crosshairs.

"It started," I say, "with a message about my parents' murders."

Behind me, through the window, Camila's voice fades into the distance. My wolf whines, but I keep my eyes on Aris. Keep my voice steady. Keep telling the story that might save my team's lives.

Images flash through my mind as I speak: the burning remains of our compound, the terror in Fiona’s eyes when the serum took her shift, the way James's hands shook as he tried to treat their wounds. Kane's voice on the phone, smug and certain as he detailed exactly how he'd destroy everything I'd built. Everything I'd tried to protect.

"The message came through old channels," I continue, each word carefully chosen. "Someone claiming to have new information about their deaths. It should have been obvious it was a trap, but..."

"But it's your parents," Aris finishes quietly. Understanding colors, his tone. It isn’t soft—he cannot afford softness, not in the face of this. But he understands.

"Kane used it to track our movements. He sent in spies to study our defenses. By the time we realized what was happening, he'd already positioned forces around the compound. The attack came at dawn—coordinated, professional. They knew exactly where to hit us."

I know the look on Asher’s face without having to glance at him. I see the pain there, the fury, the fear. The memory of that morning is etched into all of us: the explosion that breached our walls, the clinical precision with which Kane's forces deployed the serum, the terrible silence when Fiona tried to shift and couldn't.

"How many did you lose?" Aris asks, his voice gentle but firm. An Alpha who knows the weight of such questions.

"None." Pride creeps into my voice despite everything. "We got everyone out. But two of our core team members, Fiona and Michael, can't shift anymore, and Kane's forces have been on our trail ever since. We've stayed ahead of them, but barely. Each stop has been shorter than the last."

Asher steps forward, laying out a tablet with surveillance photos. "Kane's ideology has been spreading. What started as a fringe movement has grown into something more organized, more dangerous. The attack on us was a test run—he's planning something bigger."

"A purge," I say, the word bitter on my tongue. "He wants to 'protect' shifters by stripping shifters he considers ‘traitorous’ of their powers.” It’s why he killed my family.

It’s a cycle that will never end.

The irony would be funny if it wasn't so twisted. If I couldn't still smell Camila's scent on the breeze, a constant reminder of everything I've sacrificed trying to prevent Kane from hurting the people I love.

"You chose Rosecreek for a reason," Aris says. It's not a question.

"Your pack is strong. Well-defended. You've dealt with supernatural threats before and have connections throughout the shifter world." I meet his eyes steadily. "And I trust you. Trust is in short supply these days."

What I don't say: I never expected to find Camila here. Never thought I'd have to face the consequences of my choices so directly. Never imagined the past I've been running from would collide so spectacularly with the present I'm trying to protect.

"How long do you need?"

"A few weeks. Maybe a month. Just long enough to regroup, to figure out our next move. To give James time to reconstruct his research on the serum. We don’t want to stay long enough to lead him here."

Aris is quiet for a long moment, considering. I’m sure he’s reaching out through the pack bonds, probably consulting with his famed black ops team. His expression gives nothing away, but there's something in his scent that speaks of a decision already made.

"You'll have whatever time you need," he says finally. "Rosecreek protects its own. And you've been one of ours since California, you know that, Marcus.”

Relief sweeps through my team—I feel it in the subtle relaxation of their postures, smell it in the easing of their anxiety. We've been running so long, looking over our shoulders at every turn. The promise of safety, even temporary, is almost overwhelming.

But underneath that relief, my wolf paces restlessly. Because Camila is here, and everything I've done to keep her safe, every wall I've built between us, every lie I've told myself about moving on—it all feels paper-thin in the face of her proximity. I’ve brought trouble right back to her doorstep all over again.

Keep her safe, I remind myself. Keep them all safe. It’s all that matters.

The briefing continues, but part of me—the part that's been howling since I caught her scent—is already tracking her movements through the pack bonds. Making sure she stays far from the conference room. Far from me.

Far from the war I never wanted to drag her into.