Page 30 of Betrayed Knocked-Up Mate (Rosecreek Special Ops Wolves #8)
From my position on the shore, I watch Camila move through the crowd of yet another gathering with her camera raised, capturing moments that tell our story better than words ever could. Her baby bump is prominent now at five months, drawing proud glances and protective instincts from both teams in equal measure.
The mate bond between us hums with contentment as she photographs Elena teaching advanced surveillance techniques to a group of younger pack members. The former spec ops team has taken to teaching with surprising enthusiasm—sharing skills that blur the lines between human and shifter abilities, proving that strength comes in many forms.
James moves with his old fluid grace as he demonstrates combat techniques, no trace remaining of Kane's serum in his system. Veronica's cure has worked miracles, restoring shifts to packs across three states. The recovery efforts have given everyone purpose, turning old enemies into allies as supernatural communities rebuild together.
My wolf stirs with pride as I survey what we've built here: the seamless integration of both teams, the way boundaries have dissolved between our communities. Former spec ops members chat easily with pack healers about medical techniques. Tactical specialists trade stories with shifter scouts about patrol routes. Even the human members of my team have adapted to pack life with remarkable ease.
"No one's ever managed this level of integration before," Aris observes, materializing beside me with characteristic stealth. "Not even your father got this far."
"He laid the groundwork." I accept the drink he offers, some local craft beer that Thalia's been experimenting with. "We're just building on his foundation."
"Speaking of building..." Aris's tone shifts subtly. "Elena's latest intelligence report crossed my desk this morning. Thought you should see it."
The papers he hands me are still warm from the printer, marked with Elena's precise annotations. My jaw tightens as I scan the contents: surveillance photos, intercepted communications, patterns of movement that paint an unsettling picture.
"They're organizing," I note, studying a map dotted with incident markers. "Not just isolated radical groups anymore. Actual networks."
"With improved weapons." Aris indicates a grainy photo showing what looks like Kane's serum delivery system, but sleeker. More refined. "Our sources say they've modified the formula. Made it harder to cure."
The implications settle cold in my gut, but before the worry can take root, Camila's laugh carries across the gathering. I look up to find her photographing a few of the Rosecreek pack members, all of them laughing hard.
The sight grounds me, reminds me what we're fighting for.
"We knew there would be others," I say, returning the papers. "Kane wasn't the disease—he was just a symptom. But we're stronger now. More united."
"True." Aris watches as Byron and Elena's tactical team run combat drills with some of our younger wolves. "Though I have to ask: are you ready for another fight? With the baby coming..."
The question draws my gaze back to Camila. She's turned her lens toward the lake now, capturing the way evening light gilds the water. One hand rests unconsciously on her stomach, protective and proud. Through our bond, I feel her contentment, her fierce joy, her unwavering strength.
"We're ready," I say with quiet certainty. "All of us. Kane tried to destroy my parents' legacy by targeting the people I love. These new groups will learn the same lesson he did—love doesn't make us weak. It makes us stronger."
Movement ripples through both teams as Elena signals for attention. She's already organizing response strategies, coordinating with other sanctuaries to track the emerging threat. James and Veronica huddle over medical texts, researching countermeasures for the new serum variants. Even Asher tears himself away from Maia to study tactical reports with his usual intensity.
Camila makes her way to my side as the discussions begin, fitting against me like she was made to be there. Her camera hangs forgotten around her neck as she studies the intelligence spread across improvised planning tables.
"So much for peace and quiet," she murmurs, but there's no fear in her voice. Only determination.
"Having second thoughts?" I slide an arm around her waist, palm splaying possessively over our child.
Her smile could outshine the setting sun. "Never. Though you might when this little one starts running tactical operations of their own."
The mental image—our child learning strategy from Keira, combat from Asher, healing from Veronica and James—fills me with fierce joy. This is what Kane never understood, what these new enemies will learn: true strength comes from building something worth protecting. Worth fighting for. Worth living for.
"Whatever comes," I promise against her temple, "we face it together."
The lake reflects the gathering dusk as plans take shape around us. Both teams move with practiced coordination, shifting seamlessly between strategic discussions and casual conversation. The boundaries between us have dissolved like mist in the morning sun, leaving something stronger in their wake.
Camila lifts her camera one final time, capturing the moment: James sketching medical diagrams while Veronica adds notes. Elena and Byron coordinating surveillance routes. Asher and Maia moving through combat forms with lethal grace. And at the center of it all, two communities merged into one, ready to face whatever threats emerge from the gathering dark.
The child beneath my hand kicks, strong and sure, as if already eager to join the fight. Camila's fingers interlace with mine as we watch our people prepare for the battles ahead. Through our bond flows absolute certainty: whatever comes next, we'll meet it the way we should have faced everything—together, stronger for the joining, ready to build something even Kane's successors can't tear down.
The sun sets behind the mountains as the first stars appear, but I barely notice. My world has narrowed to this: Camila's warmth against my side, our child dancing beneath my palm, and the fierce joy of knowing that everything worth fighting for stands right here on this shore.
Let them come with their weapons and hatred. Let them try to break what we've built. They'll learn what Kane learned in his final moments—that love isn't a weakness after all.
It's the strongest weapon we have.
*****
THE END