Page 4 of Betrayed Knocked-Up Mate (Rosecreek Special Ops Wolves #8)

The guest quarters Aris has given us on the top floor of the pack center are more luxurious than we've seen in weeks. Clean lines, comfortable furniture, windows positioned for both light and tactical advantage—everything carefully chosen to make supernatural refugees feel at home while maintaining security. It’s a huge suite, enough space for all of us.

I should be grateful. Should be focusing on getting my team settled, on planning our next moves, on finding a way to counter Kane's weapon.

Instead, all I can think about is the way Camila's scent lingers on my skin from our collision in the hallway.

"Marcus?" Elena's voice cuts through my distraction. "The security feeds are ready for review."

Right. Security. Focus.

We've transformed the common area of our suite into a command center, laptops, and tablets, creating a nest of technology around Elena's laptop. She’s worked sleeplessly all this time to keep us safe, and now, for a moment at least, we really are. I’m not sure how to even begin thanking her for that.

"Show me," I say, moving to look over her shoulder. The screens display various angles of Rosecreek's perimeter—woods, roads, the lake shore. All potential approaches Kane might use. All the places we need to watch.

"Aris's systems are good," Elena notes, fingers flying over her keyboard. "Better than good, actually. Whoever designed this setup knew what they were doing."

"Byron Cox," Asher supplies from where he's checking sight lines through the windows. "He's their tech specialist. Qualified after the military with some crazy credentials. He’s good.”

I file that information away automatically, the same way I catalog every detail about our temporary sanctuary. Every scrap of knowledge could mean survival if—when—Kane finds us. Byron was always a tech wiz, even back in the army. It’s good to know he’s still doing it.

Back in Marshall City, we had rooms full of computers, monitors, screens, detectors, radios. It’s all gone now.

The memory of another destruction rises unbidden, sharp as broken glass. It hits me out of nowhere.

My mother’s study, meticulously organized, as always. Maps and documents spread across her desk, each one marking another successful negotiation between human governments and shifter packs. Father's voice in the hallway, talking about their latest breakthrough in cooperation talks.

The pride in their voices when they told me about their work. The way they believed so completely in building bridges, in proving that humans and shifters could work together, could make each other stronger.

The way the study looked afterward, papers scattered and bloody, their bodies arranged like warnings...

"Marcus." James's voice, gentle but firm. He's always been the best at reading my moods, at knowing when the memories threaten to overwhelm. "The medical supplies arrived from the clinic."

I force myself back to the present, to the reality of our situation. "Everything we need?"

"More than." He begins unpacking boxes with practiced efficiency. "Their doctor—Veronica?—she included extra antibiotics, specialized shifter painkillers, even some hybrid-specific medications I've never seen before. Could be useful for James’ condition."

Hope flickers in Elena's eyes before she can hide it. She's been putting on a brave face, but her sister losing her shift hit her hard. "Any notes on what we passed on about the antigen? Treatment protocols?"

"They’ve given us all they have, though it isn’t much." James holds up a thick file. "She wants to consult when you're feeling up to it. Apparently, she has experience with supernatural genetic modification, given her own hybrid status. And she wants to re-do James’ stitches; she heard they’ve been giving him trouble.”

It's good news. The kind of breakthrough we've been hoping for. But before I can respond, a knock at the door sends us all into defensive positions—Elena's hands moving to hidden weapons, James shifting to cover her, Asher materializing at my shoulder.

"It's open," I call, scenting the air. Pack, but not threatening.

Aris enters, followed by Bigby and Byron. They take in our battle-ready stances with understanding rather than offense. They know what it's like to live on high alert.

I missed them, I realize, even after all this time. We mostly lost touch after we all left the military. Aris and I exchanged the occasional letter, but that was the extent of it. After he and the rest settled in Rosecreek, their lives got busy, just like mine did after I started running Marshall City.

It’s with no small amount of shame that I regard where we are now. They’re successful, surviving, thriving, protected. And half my settlement is gone, demolished.

"Getting settled?" Aris asks, though his eyes track the tactical setup we've created. Analyzing, assessing, just as I would in his position.

"Your hospitality is appreciated." The formal words come automatically. Pack politics demand certain courtesies, even—especially—between allies.

"I've been thinking about your situation," he says, settling into one of the chairs we've positioned for optimal defensive coverage. "About how to keep Kane's forces off your trail while you're here."

Something in his tone sets my wolf on edge. "What did you have in mind?"

"We have someone here who's skilled at editing and forging documents. Apparently, she did it for a while as a side hustle before she made it in photography. Documentation, background stories, the works. She's helped other refugees before, and her photography and editing skills could be useful for creating false trails, making it look like you're somewhere else entirely."

No.

The word rises in my throat before he can say her name. But Bigby's already continuing: "Camila's work is exceptional. She could help hold off Kane and his people for longer, buy you—and us—more time. Byron can handle distribution and giving them a false trail to follow.”

Camila. Of course, it's Camila.

Because the universe isn't content just having her in the same town—now they want her actively involved in the very danger I've spent five years trying to keep her from.

"No," I say aloud, and my voice comes out harder than intended. "We'll find another way."

Elena's head snaps up from her screens, surprise and confusion warring in her scent. In five years of leading this team, I've never dismissed a tactical suggestion so abruptly.

Asher moves beside me, a subtle shifting that speaks volumes—he knows there's more to my reaction than I'm saying.

"Marcus," he says carefully, using the tone that means he's about to disagree with me as both friend and second-in-command. "We need those cover identities. Kane's people nearly caught us in Idaho because our documentation wasn't good enough."

"We'll figure something else out,” I insist. “We don’t want to involve unnecessary outsiders.”

I can feel Aris watching me, his expression too knowing. He says nothing, but I can tell he’s trying to put the pieces together. Perhaps already doing it.

"With all due respect," Elena cuts in, her fingers stilling on her keyboard, "we might not have time to figure something else out." Something in her voice cracks, just slightly. "In case you haven't noticed, my sister’s probably never going to shift again because of what Kane did. Because we didn’t figure it out last time.”

The words hit like physical blows. I feel them rattle through me, a destabilizing force.

James drops his hand onto her shoulder. The gesture looks casual, but I catch the way his fingers tremble slightly. He still blames himself for not being able to prevent what happened to Fiona, even though we all know the serum's effects were beyond his medical expertise.

"Elena's right," James says quietly. "We need every advantage we can get. Please, Marcus. Let’s at least do this. For them if not for us.” He gestures to the doorway—to Aris, Bigby, Byron, representing their own families, their own pack.

My wolf snarls at the mere thought of speaking her name again and involving her in anything to do with Kane.

The memory of that phone call all that time ago rises like bile in my throat: Kane's voice, smooth as poison, describing exactly what he'd do to my mate. What he’d do to get his hands on her, to tear her apart, to hear her scream —

"I said no." Alpha authority creeps into my voice without conscious intent. "It's not up for discussion."

"Actually," Aris interjects mildly, "it is."

He leans against the wall, every line of his body deliberately casual. But his eyes are sharp as he studies me.

"This is my territory, Marcus. My pack. And while you're here, that includes you and your team. If I think Camila's skills could help keep everyone safe, including my people, that's my call to make."

"You don't understand what you're risking," I start, but he cuts me off.

"Don't I?" His voice hardens slightly. "You think you're the only one who's lost people to fanatics? The only one who's had to make impossible choices to protect the ones you love?" He glances at Bigby, something passing between them that speaks of shared history. "This isn't just about your team anymore. Kane's ideology is spreading. If he's really developed a way to permanently suppress shifter abilities, every pack is at risk. Including mine. And that risk is doubled because you’re all here, and you know it. The least you owe us is a good shot at holding them off from Rosecreek, from coming here and hurting our people. My people, Marcus."

The logic is irrefutable. I know this. Just like I know that, Camila's skills are exactly what we need right now.

But all I can think about is the way my parents looked when Kane finished "making his point" about shifter-human cooperation. All I can see is Camila's face twisted in that same kind of agony, her light extinguished because I was selfish enough to let her near my darkness.

I can’t let that happen to her.

But with us being here, it might just happen anyway.

The silence in the room is heavy with understanding. They all know what Kane did to my parents. What he's capable of.

"Marcus." Asher's voice is gentle but firm. "We've been running for weeks. Elena's sister and Michael may never shift again. James is still healing. We're running out of options, and you know it."

I close my eyes, seeing again the devastation in our compound. The terror in Fiona's face when she couldn't shift. The way James's hands shook as he tried to treat the wounded, even as he himself bled, one hand clutching his side as red dribbled between his fingers. All of it my fault, because I wasn't careful enough, wasn't fast enough, wasn't—

"She has to know exactly what she's getting into," I say finally, each word feeling like it's being torn from my throat. "The risks. What happens if he catches us, catches her.”

"Of course," Aris agrees immediately. "Full disclosure. Her choice to make. She’s not the core team. We’ll protect her like a civilian."

I turn back to face them, my decision settling like lead in my gut. "Alright. Fine. If you’re sure she’ll be… safe.”

"Done," Bigby says. "She'll be as safe as any of us."

The irony of that statement isn't lost on me. None of us are truly safe anymore. Not while Kane is out there, spreading his poison, turning shifter against shifter.

None of them ask what’s going on. I suspect a few—Aris and Asher especially—know me well enough to hazard a guess.

I say nothing, retreating to my room. I feel completely and utterly hollow.