Page 7 of Betrayed Knocked-Up Mate (Rosecreek Special Ops Wolves #8)

My hands won't stop shaking.

Three days after the feral attack, I still can't hold my camera steady when I think about it.

Not because of the violence—I've seen worse in my travels, photographed the aftermath of supernatural battles that would turn most humans' hair white. No, what haunts me is how Marcus and I moved together, like two parts of a whole, like we'd never spent a day apart. Like our bodies remembered what our minds are trying so hard to forget.

"I’m not enjoying being in the general vicinity of your thousand-yard stare," Elena says, gentle but firm. She's sorting through a stack of ID photos, building our latest deception. Dark circles shadow her eyes—she barely sleeps most days, working constantly to keep her team safe. "Want to talk about it?"

I focus on my camera settings, and I am grateful for the mechanical precision required. "Nothing to talk about. Just thinking about the ferals."

"Mmm." She doesn't push, but something knowing crosses her face. "They can be unpredictable. Good thing you and Marcus work well together."

My hands still on the lens. "We don't—that wasn't—"

"Camila." She sets down the photos, turning to face me fully. In the morning, light streaming through the pack center's windows, she looks both younger and older than her years. "You don't have to explain. We all have history. You owe me nothing.”

The gentle understanding in her voice nearly breaks me. These past few days working with the Marshall City pack have shown me so much about them—their loyalty, their resilience, the bonds that run deeper than blood. Elena has especially become something like a friend, sharing coffee and stories during photo sessions.

"Speaking of history," I say, desperate to change the subject, "tell me about James's latest breakthrough? Byron mentioned something about a new treatment approach?"

Elena's expression brightens slightly. "He thinks he's identified a pattern in how Kane's serum affects shifter DNA. Something about the way it bonds to specific genetic markers. He's been working with Veronica on potential counter-agents."

"For your sister?"

"And Michael." She swallows hard. "And anyone else Kane might target. We can't... we can't let this happen to another pack. Permanent or not, it’s the kind of trauma that never fully goes away."

The raw pain in her voice makes my own troubles seem small.

"James seems hopeful," I offer, remembering the quiet determination in the medic's voice during yesterday's update meeting.

"James is always hopeful." Elena's smile is fond but worried. "Even when Kane first attacked our compound, even when we were running with barely any supplies, even when his own injuries were barely healing... he never stopped believing we'd find a way to fix this."

My wolf stirs restlessly at the mention of the attack. I've gathered that it was brutal, devastating, but no one talks about it directly. Like a wound too fresh to touch.

"How long?" I ask, the question slipping out before I can stop it. "How long has Kane been after your pack?"

Elena's scent shifts, tension threading through it. "Actively? A few months. But he's been watching us for longer. Building his network, gathering intelligence. Marcus thinks—" She stops abruptly, something like fear flickering across her face.

"Marcus thinks what?"

But she's already turning back to the photos, masks sliding into place. "We should focus on these. The next batch needs to go live tonight."

I let it drop, but the moment stays with me, adding to the growing pile of questions I can't seem to shake. There's something here, something about Marcus and Kane, about why the Marshall City pack was targeted. Something no one wants to talk about.

Some kind of long, ugly history.

The morning slides into the afternoon as we work, broken only by James bringing us lunch—sandwiches—and detailed updates about his latest research. He moves carefully, still favoring his healing wound, but there's an intensity to him that wasn't there last week. Rosecreek will do that to you, I’m learning.

"The genetic markers are fascinating," he explains between bites, spreading papers across our workspace. "The weapon doesn't just suppress shifter abilities—it rewrites specific DNA sequences. But the bonds are unstable, which might give us an opening..."

"James," Elena warns softly. "Maybe not here."

He catches himself, glancing at me apologetically. "Right. Sorry. Need-to-know basis."

"It's fine," I say, though something in my chest aches at being kept at arm's length. "I understand."

It’s a strange place to have landed. I’m not in either pack’s core team; I'm just a secondary helper, lingering idly on the sidelines, watching as plans are made and paths forged. Half the time, I try to hide behind my camera—it brings back memories of all the places I’ve been with it. I’m not a stranger here, but I am still, I think, an outsider.

The afternoon brings Asher, his quiet presence a balm to my churning thoughts. He settles into what's become his usual chair, reviewing security feeds while I process photos.

"Tell me about him," I say suddenly. "As an Alpha."

Asher looks up, his expression unreadable. "Marcus?"

"I knew him... before. In California. But not as a leader."

Something softens in Asher's face. "He's the best I've served under. Puts everyone else first, sometimes to his own detriment. The kind of Alpha who would die for his pack without hesitation."

"Sounds like him," I murmur, remembering the boy who used to give away his lunch every day to stray cats, who would take off his jacket if someone else looked cold.

"But?"

"But he's also the kind of Alpha who makes decisions for other people. Who decides what's best for them without asking."

Asher is quiet for a long moment.

"Sometimes," he says carefully, "leaders have to make hard choices. Choices that hurt people they care about, to protect them from worse pain."

"Is that what happened with Kane?" The words slip out before I can stop them. "Was Marcus protecting someone when he pissed him off?"

But Asher's expression has already closed off, that same careful mask I've seen on all of them when Kane's name comes up. And so I slide back into my spiral of confusion and disappointment once again, deciding now, it must simply be where I live.

***

Days blur together in a rhythm of shutter clicks and careful lies. The Marshall City pack becomes a constant presence in my life—Elena's quiet strength, James's passionate research discussions, Asher's steady calm.

After a few more days, a tentative few more members of their time arrive in the middle of the night, hurried covertly over the border into the pack center: Sara, their communications specialist with a dry sense of humor that catches me off guard; Devon, the weapons expert who can talk for hours about the history of supernatural armaments; Michael, one of the ones who lost his shift, whose grief runs so deep I can barely look at him sometimes.

They're good people. Warriors, scholars, and survivors carry wounds that go deeper than flesh.

"The thing about Kane," Sara tells me one evening as we review surveillance footage, her voice pitched low like she's sharing secrets, "is that he truly believes he's right. That's what makes him so dangerous. He's not just some power-hungry radical. He thinks he's saving our kind."

"From what?"

"From ourselves, mainly." She taps her screen, bringing up news reports of growing tensions between humans and supernaturals. "There have always been extremists who think we should separate completely from human society. But Kane... he takes it further. Anyone who works with humans and tries to build bridges is a traitor in his eyes. Deserving of punishment."

"Like losing their shift," I say softly, thinking of Michael and Fiona.

"That's his latest method." Sara's scent darkens with something like fear. "Before the suppression weapon, he had... other ways."

Before I can ask what she means, movement at the door catches my attention. Marcus stands there, watching me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. How long has he been there? How much has he heard?

"Sara," he says quietly. "Elena needs you for the Seattle feed."

She goes without question, leaving me alone with Marcus and all our unspoken words.

"You need to stop," I say before he can speak.

"Stop what?"

"This." I gesture vaguely. "Hovering. Watching. Acting like I'm going to break if someone tells me too much about your precious mission."

His expression hardens. "It's not about breaking. It's about keeping you safe. The less you know, the safer you are?

"Safe?" I laugh, and it sounds bitter even to my own ears. “God, Marcus, sometimes you astound me, you know that? It isn’t a compliment.”

"You don't understand—"

"Then help me understand!" The words burst out of me with five years of built-up fury. “All you’ve ever done is assume you know what I wanted—”

He moves closer, his scent hitting me like a wall, the sight of him almost unbearable. "What you wanted was a life! A future! Not... not this." He gestures at the surveillance equipment, the fake IDs, the evidence of a war I've somehow stumbled into. "Not running, not fighting, not—"

"Not what, Marcus? Not helping people? Not being strong enough to handle whatever truth you're still hiding?"

Something flickers in his eyes—pain or fear or something deeper. "You were always strong enough. That was never…”

"Never what?"

But he's already pulling back, masks sliding into place. "We need those Seattle photos by tonight. Elena will brief you on the details."

"Don't do that." I grab his arm before he can leave, ignoring the way my wolf surges at the contact. "Don't shut down every time we get close to the truth. I remember California, Marcus. I remember how we were together. What changed? What made you—"

"California," he cuts in, his voice rough, "was a lifetime ago. Before... everything." He pulls away from my grip like it burns. "Some things are better left in the past."

"And some things," I say to his retreating back, "refuse to stay buried."

He pauses in the doorway, tension visible in every line of his body. For a moment, I think he might turn around, and he might finally tell me the truth that's been haunting us both.

But he just says, "Be careful with Sara. She talks more than she should," and then he's gone, leaving me with more questions than answers and the lingering scent of pine needles and regret.

Half Moon Lake shimmers through the window in the afternoon sun, its surface deceptively peaceful. Somewhere out there, Kane is hunting this pack—hunting Marcus. And whatever happened five years ago, whatever truth Marcus is protecting... somehow, it all connects.

I just have to figure out how.

***

Evening finds me in the clinic with James, watching him process blood samples from Michael's latest tests. The medical lab has become a second home to him—equipment borrowed from Veronica's supplies, research notes covering every surface, the air thick with the sharp scent of antiseptic and determination.

"The protein markers are similar," he explains, not looking up from his microscope. "Between Michael's samples and the trace elements we found in Kane's original serum. But there's something else... something we're missing."

I hand him another slide, studying the tight lines around his eyes. "How long can you keep going like this? When was the last time you slept?"

"Sleep is for people whose pack members can still shift." His voice is light, but his scent betrays his exhaustion. "Besides, I'm fine. The wound is healing."

"Slowly," I point out.

He's quiet for a long moment, adjusting the microscope's focus. "Kane's weapon... it doesn't just affect the people it targets directly. The serum has some kind of residual impact. Even for those of us who weren't hit, our healing is slower, and our shifts are less stable. It's like..." He struggles for words. "Like it poisons the pack bonds themselves."

A chill runs down my spine. "Is that what happened to your compound? The attack?"

"Part of it." James sets down his instruments, finally meeting my eyes. "But it wasn't random. Kane chose us specifically. He'd been watching, planning. Marcus thinks—"

He stops abruptly, just like Elena did.

"James." I keep my voice gentle, even as my heart races. "What does Marcus think?"

He studies me for a long moment, something like recognition dawning in his eyes. "You were there, weren't you? In California? When Marcus was training to join the army? Before Marshall City—before all of it."

"Yes." The word comes out barely above a whisper.

"Then you knew him... before.”

"Before?" Something cold settles in my gut. "Before what?"

But James is already turning back to his work, that same careful mask sliding into place. "You should ask Marcus about that. It's not my place to—"

"To tell the story. I know." Frustration bubbles up in my chest. "Everyone keeps saying that, but Marcus won't tell me anything. And clearly, something happened—something with Kane, something about his parents, something that made him..."

Leave me. Push me away. Break both our hearts.

James sighs, setting down his equipment with deliberate care. "Look, Camila... Marcus is a good Alpha. The best I've known. But he carries things—guilt, responsibility, pain—that he shouldn't have to carry alone. Kane didn't just target our pack randomly. He chose us because of Marcus. Because of something that happened years ago, something that..." He shakes his head. "Something that changed everything."

"When?" I ask, even though I'm starting to suspect the answer. "When did it happen?"

"Five years ago." James's voice is gentle, but the words hit like physical blows. "Just after Marcus left the military, and just before he took over as Alpha of Marshall City."

It would have been around the time he walked away from me.

“I know something happened,” I mutter, no small amount of resentment evident in my voice. “I happened. Must have been a great inconvenience for him to have to deal with me asking—with me trying—”

I can’t finish the sentence. I want to scream into a pillow, scream into the night, run into the woods in my wolf form, and howl until my throat gives in.

I can see the pack center's lights reflecting off Half Moon Lake through the clinic's windows. Marcus is probably working late somewhere in that building, carrying burdens I never knew about. Fighting battles, I never understood.

"Thank you," I tell James sincerely, already moving toward the door. "For telling me what you could."

“I’m sorry,” he says to my back, though I don’t know what for.

I think of Michael, of Fiona, of the way losing their shifts has changed them. Of the shadows in Marcus's eyes when he looks at me, like he's seeing ghosts.

I can’t reply. I leave wordless, feeling profoundly alone somehow.

As I walk back through Rosecreek's darkening streets, my wolf restless under my skin, I wonder if that's true what I’ve heard in this town. Whether it’s true that something broken can be mended. Enough people have said it to be. Heaven knows I’ve never believed it.

It might break me all over again if I do.

Still, the notion follows me home like a shadow, as persistent as the memory of Marcus's scent, as haunting as the secrets everyone keeps almost telling me. Tomorrow I'll go back to creating false trails, to helping his pack stay hidden. To pretending my heart doesn't race every time he enters a room.

But tonight, I let myself remember California. Let myself remember the way things were before—before Kane, before secrets, before everything fell apart.

And I wonder what Marcus's parents would think of what their son has become. Of the weight he carries. They were good people. I hardly remember them now, but I know they were good.