Page 3 of Betrayed Knocked-Up Mate (Rosecreek Special Ops Wolves #8)

"Pass me that box of gauze?" Veronica's voice echoes slightly in the clinic's storage room, bouncing off metal shelving and sealed containers. "The one that hasn’t been opened yet."

I scan the shelves, grateful for the task's simple focus. It's been hours since Rafael rushed off to that emergency meeting, and Rosecreek has been humming with barely contained energy ever since. My wolf paces restlessly beneath my skin, picking up on the collective tension. "The one marked with the red stripe?"

"That's the one." Veronica accepts the box, marking it on her meticulous inventory list. Her fingers move with surgical precision even in this mundane task, a reminder that she's as much a doctor as a vampire-shifter hybrid. "They're going to need a lot of medical supplies, from what I hear."

"They?" I sort through a basket of antibiotics, checking expiration dates. The familiar motions remind me of organizing camera equipment—everything in its place, ready for whatever comes next. "The new team?"

"Mm." Veronica's tone is carefully neutral, but something in her scent speaks of concern. "Bigby says they had to abandon their territory after some kind of attack. Lost most of their supplies in the process. Apparently, some are still dealing with injuries.”

My hands are still on a bottle of antiseptic. Territory abandonment is serious in the supernatural world—like leaving part of your soul behind. "What kind of attack makes an entire team abandon their territory?"

"The kind that leaves two of them unable to shift, apparently."

The antiseptic bottle slips from my suddenly numb fingers.

Veronica catches it with preternatural speed, her expression softening. "Sorry. I forget sometimes that you're still learning about our world. It’s… you’ve been traveling for a long time. Things in the shifter world are… worse than you might imagine. People are always hurting each other these days. Half our pack comes from less-than-kind backgrounds.”

"Like the ones who attacked Rafael?" The memory of that phone call still haunts me—Maia's voice cracking as she told me my brother was hurt, maybe dying.

"Similarly violent ideology, different group." She shelves the antiseptic with precise movements. "Though from what Percy's picked up, these ones are more organized than the Smoke were. More dangerous. The Smoke were… they were a group of dealers, criminals, mercenaries. But they were decentralized. This group is apparently more like a militia. They’re… yeah. Dangerous."

A chill runs down my spine despite the storage room's warmth. In three months of living among supernatural beings, I've learned that "dangerous" is a relative term. For Veronica—who survived unimaginable violence and married a lethal fighter—to use that word...

"How many of them are there?" I ask, trying to keep my voice casual as I hand her another box of supplies. "The team seeking sanctuary?"

"Four, I think. Their medic was injured in the attack—that's why they need so many supplies. And they’re still on the run from…" She hesitates, something flickering across her face too quickly to read. "Well, from whoever can apparently take away people’s ability to shift, somehow. God, it’s terrifying."

My wolf whines softly, responding to the horror in Veronica's voice. To lose your shift, to have that part of yourself stripped away... I can't imagine living without that other half of my soul.

"But hey," Veronica says brightly, clearly trying to lighten the mood, "at least they made it somewhere safe. Rosecreek's good at protecting its own. Aris will make sure they have everything they need."

I think of my brother and how this pack took him in, too, though I still don’t know the whole story there. Of how they've welcomed me, despite my complicated history, despite my packlessness, my running, my hiding. How they’ve promised protection and belonging and asked for nothing in return.

"Yeah," I say softly. “I’m sure he will.”

We work in companionable silence for a while, the quiet broken only by the scratch of pen on paper and the soft clink of medical supplies being moved from box to box. Maisie’s due soon, and won’t be back working the clinic for a long time, so I’m picking up the slack while Veronica works as the primary physician. Through the small window, I can hear the usual sounds of pack life—children playing, people talking, the constant flow of energy that makes Rosecreek feel alive in a way no other place has.

"You know what's weird though?" Veronica says suddenly, frowning at her inventory list. "I could have sworn I heard Bigby say their leader trained with Aris and the rest of the guys in California. It’s a crazy coincidence. You’re from California, right?”

I nod. “Raf and I aren’t from far out of Sacramento…”

The storage room door swings open, cutting off her words. A shifter I don’t know sticks her head in. "V? Byron’s looking for you. Something about the baby—I don’t think it’s serious, though."

"Again?" Veronica's whole face lights up, baby concerns temporarily overriding pack drama. "I swear, he’s so overprotective, calls me in for nothing every other day." She turns to me, apologetic. "Mind finishing up here? It's mostly just organizing what's left. Duty calls.”

"Go," I wave her off, smiling at her obvious fondness. "I've got this."

Left alone in the storage room, I finish categorizing the remaining supplies, but my mind keeps circling back to our interrupted conversation. Something about an Alpha who trained with Aris and his team... The thought niggles at me, like a photograph that's slightly out of focus. They must have all been in the military once upon a time. I remember the military base that sat right outside our hometown, once upon a time.

Then again, those weren’t fun memories.

The sound of voices out in the hallway draws my attention—unfamiliar ones, tense with exhaustion and wariness. The new team, probably. I catch fragments of conversation through the door: something about security protocols, patrol schedules, integration with Rosecreek's defense systems.

My wolf's curiosity gets the better of me. I edge closer to the door, telling myself I'm just being thorough with the inventory. Through the narrow window, I catch glimpses of the newcomers—a narrowly built man with dark skin who moves like he's favoring an injury, a petite woman whose fingers never stop moving over what looks like a tablet, a tall, broad blonde man with a friendly sort of face, laughing weakly, hands in his pockets, speaking to someone I can’t see.

They look haunted. Not just tired or stressed, but deeply, fundamentally shaken.

What kind of attack leaves warriors looking like that?

I shake off the thought and turn back to gather my supplies to return to the main clinic. The hallway is quieter now, the voices having moved further into the building. Spring sunlight streams through the high windows, creating patterns on the polished floors that beg to be photographed. I make a mental note to come back with my camera—

The door opens behind me. The impact is sudden, jarring. I stumble back, medical supplies tumbling from my arms as I collide with someone stepping in.

Strong hands steady me automatically, and a scent hits me like a physical blow.

No.

No, no, no.

I look up, and Marcus Hillmarton is staring down at me like he's seen a ghost.

Five years dissolve like smoke. He looks exactly the same—those storm-gray eyes, that sharp jaw, his gently curling brown hair, the way he holds himself like he's bracing for impact. But there are new lines around his eyes, a scar I don't recognize cutting through his left eyebrow. His large hands on my arms feel like brands.

We stare at one another hard. I want to say a million things, but mostly, I want to melt into the ground and disappear out of this town, out of this continent, far, far away.

"I didn't know," Marcus says quietly, the first to break the silence.

His eyes rake over me like he's checking for injuries, and something about that casual assessment makes my anger flare hot and bright.

"Funny how that happens," I snap. "You not knowing things.”

I cut myself off before I can say more, forcing my breathing to steady.

I will not break. Not here. Not in front of him.

"Does Rafael know you're here?"

"Yes." His voice is still so careful, so controlled. Like I'm some wild thing that might bolt. Like he has any right to care if I do. "He was in the briefing. I don’t think he recognized me. We weren’t—we weren’t close.”

I wish desperately I’d been given some kind of warning for this moment. Though even if he’d known, what could he have said? 'Hey, remember that guy who shattered your heart into pieces? He's here with his team; try not to wolf out when you see him.'

Marcus takes another half-step forward, and my wolf surges in response—wanting to run, to fight, to... something. The air between us feels charged, heavy with unspoken words and untold truths. His scent is everywhere, overwhelming my senses, making it hard to think.

This, I think, is why it made me feel invincible to be a stranger. A traveler, a rogue, an unknown. Being unknowable is the best way to live. Because that way, this can’t happen to you.

"Camila," Marcus starts again, and there's something in his voice I can't read. Something that looks almost like fear in his eyes. "I need to—"

"No." The word comes out sharp as broken glass. I’m proud of myself for its viciousness. "No, you don't need to anything . You lost the right to need things from me five years ago."

He flinches again, but his expression hardens into something more familiar—that mask of Alpha authority I remember from our last night together. "This isn't about us. Things are happening that you don't understand—"

"There always are, aren't there?" I laugh, and it sounds bitter even to my own ears. "There were things I didn't understand then, too. Things you couldn't explain, couldn't tell me, couldn't—" My voice cracks traitorously. "You’ve never cared. I’ve known it for a long time. Just... stay away from me, Marcus. Keep me out of whatever brought you here, whatever you're running from. Don’t talk to me, don’t look at me, don’t— let me live. Leave me alone, I won’t say it twice."

I push past him, not caring that I'm leaving medical supplies scattered across the floor. Not caring that my hands are shaking, that my wolf is howling, that every instinct I have is screaming to turn around. To demand answers. I want to make him explain why he walked away that night and why he left me alone with a half-formed mate bond and a heart full of questions.

"Camila, wait—"

But I'm already gone, moving through the pack center's halls with blind determination. Past curious faces and concerned looks, past the sound of his voice calling my name, past five years of carefully constructed walls crumbling like sand.

***

I don't stop until I reach Rafael's house, until I'm safely behind the door of my borrowed room. Only then do I let myself slide down the wall, let the tremors wrack my body as memories flood back.

His hands, his mouth, the gentle twisting of his wrist as he curled a piece of my hair around in his fingers. Marcus’ desire, the push of it, the feeling of his body against mine.

The night I told him, I thought he was my mate. The night he wasn’t mine anymore.

And the next morning, before he could hope to explain himself, I was gone.

I pride myself to this day on being the first to run. In some way, I won.

My phone buzzes—Rafael, probably checking on me. I ignore it. Instead, I pull my knees to my chest and try to remember how to breathe through the kind of pain I thought I'd left behind in California. Try to remember all the reasons I've spent five years running, all the ways I've made myself stronger, harder, untouchable.

But I can still smell pine needles and winter air. Can still feel the phantom touch of his hands steadying me. Can still hear the way he said my name, like a prayer or a curse or something in between.

Marcus is here. In Rosecreek. My sanctuary, my brother's home, the first place I've felt safe in years—and he's here, bringing with him all the ghosts I've been running from.

My wolf paces restlessly, torn between fury and that old, aching need that never quite went away. Outside, the spring sun continues to shine, oblivious to the way my world has tilted on its axis. Somewhere in the pack center, Marcus is probably in meetings, planning whatever brought his team here, being the Alpha I always knew he'd become.

And I'm here, hiding in my room like the girl I used to be. The girl who believed in mate bonds and forever and promises that turned out to be as fragile as morning frost.

Never again, I tell myself firmly. Never again will I let Marcus Hillmarton make me feel small. Never again will I let him see how much power he still has to hurt me.

I reach for my camera bag, seeking the comfort of familiar equipment, of focus and frame, and the ability to capture beauty even in pain. But for the first time in five years, not even the promise of the perfect shot can dull this ache.

Because Marcus is here, and suddenly all my careful distance, all my practiced indifference, feels like nothing more than another photograph—beautiful on the surface, but missing all the important truths hidden just out of frame.