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

The training room echoes with the sound of combat—flesh meeting flesh, the sharp exhalation of breath, the controlled chaos of two teams learning to work as one. Morning light streams through high windows, turning the polished floor into a mirror that reflects every movement, every strike, every carefully orchestrated dance of predators learning each other's rhythms.

I should be focused on the integration. On how Elena's speed complements Bigby's power, how James's tactical mind meshes with Ado's instincts. On all the ways our teams need to learn to fight together before Kane finds us.

Instead, my attention keeps dragging back to Camila.

Camila moves like smoke through the sparring matches, all that strange, fluid, untrained sharpness. She moves in a fight like someone traversing a busy street, all reaction and interplay. Nothing like the girl I knew in California, who used her camera like a shield and startled at sudden movements. This Camila is something else entirely—scrappy and rough, she sees angles and opportunities where others might miss them.

"Your left side's open," Devon calls to her all the same, ducking under her guard to tap her ribs. "You telegraph that swing."

My wolf snarls at the sight of her in combat, even if it's just training. Every instinct screams to protect her, to put myself between her and any potential threat. But she doesn't need my protection—apparently, she hasn't needed it for years.

"She's good," Asher says quietly, materializing at my shoulder. "Natural talent?”

“Life experience, she says,” I grumble.

Asher laughs. “Must have had a lot of it.”

"Yeah." The word comes out rougher than intended. "I noticed."

Across the room, Sara demonstrates a complex takedown sequence to Camila, her movements precise and controlled. Camila mimics it impressively. When did she learn to fight like that? While I was busy trying to keep her safe, was she out there making herself dangerous?

"Marcus." Elena's voice cuts through my thoughts. "We should run the paired drills. Kane's people never attack alone—we need to be ready for coordinated assaults."

She's right. Of course, she's right. Elena's tactical mind is one of our greatest assets, especially now. But before I can respond, Camila's scent spikes with interest.

"Mind if I join?" she asks, moving toward us with predator grace. "I've picked up some techniques that might be useful against multiple opponents."

No, I want to say. Absolutely not. Stay away from anything to do with Kane, with combat, with the violence that's consumed my life.

But Asher's already nodding. "Actually, that might work well. Your style's different from what Kane's people would expect. Could give us an advantage in real combat."

"Fine," I grit out, ignoring the knowing looks Elena and Asher exchange. "Run it."

The next hour is both beautiful and torturous. Camila moves through the drills with the reactivity and unconventionality I’ve learned are her calling card, adapting instantly to different partners and scenarios. Her smaller size becomes an asset rather than a liability, letting her slip through defenses that would stop larger opponents.

When she ends up paired with me, it takes everything I have to maintain professional distance.

"Ready?" she asks, settling into a fighting stance I don't recognize.

No , I think. I'll never be ready for this—for seeing you become someone so different from the girl I left behind. For knowing that my choices pushed you toward this life.

But I just nod, and then we're moving.

The fight is like poetry, like memory, like everything I've tried to forget. She reads my movements like she never forgot them, anticipating strikes before they land. When I sweep her legs, she's already rolling with the momentum, coming up inside my guard. When she aims for my weak points, I counter with moves I perfected fighting Kane's people.

I’m holding back—we’re evenly matched so long as she’s the only one allowed to play dirty. More than evenly matched, we're complementary, her speed balancing my power, my precision matching her chaos.

"Enough," Elena calls finally, her voice tight with something I refuse to analyze. "That's enough for today."

Camila steps back immediately, professional masks sliding into place. But her scent betrays her—adrenaline, exertion, and something deeper that makes my wolf howl with recognition.

"Good session," she says coolly, already turning away. "Thanks for the practice."

I watch her leave, ignoring the weighted looks from my team. They know me too well—can read the tension in my shoulders, the way my hands want to reach for her.

"Marcus," Asher starts, but I cut him off.

"Not now." Not ever, if I can help it. "Let's break down the drills. See what we can incorporate into our defensive plans."

But even as we examine movements and strategies, I can only think about how Camila moved. The warrior she's become. The life she's built without me.

The life I forced her to build, thinking it would keep her safe.

***

The following afternoon, I find myself in Rosecreek's surveillance center, reviewing security footage with Byron, half to help and half to learn their systems. The screens cast blue shadows across his focused face as he shows me the latest upgrades to their monitoring system.

"We've expanded the perimeter sensors," he explains, pulling up a map dotted with red markers. "Added thermal imaging, motion detection, the works. If Kane's people try to approach, we'll know."

I study the layout, noting the careful positioning of each sensor. "Coverage looks good. But Kane's people are professionals. They'll be looking for blind spots."

"That's why we're adding random patrol patterns. Mixing up routes, changing schedules." Byron's fingers fly over his keyboard. "Between the tech and the physical presence, we've got multiple layers of—"

"Marcus."

Rafael's voice cuts through the room like a knife, slicing right into me. When I turn, he's standing in the doorway, his expression carefully neutral but his eyes heavy with complex emotions.

"Byron," he says, not taking his eyes off me. "Mind if I borrow him for a minute?"

Byron glances between us, obviously sensing the tension. "Sure. I need to check some algorithms anyway." He gathers his laptop, nodding to us both before slipping out.

The silence that follows his departure is heavy with unspoken words.

"Walk with me," Rafael says finally. It's not a request.

Outside, spring sunshine does nothing to warm the chill between us. We move through Rosecreek's streets in silence, past pack members who give us curious looks but keep their distance. Everyone can sense the tension rolling off us in waves.

"She finally told me," Rafael says when we reach the edge of town. "About California. About what happened between you."

Of course, she did. They're siblings, close in a way that transcends blood. Still, something in my chest tightens at the thought of Camila sharing that pain.

"Rafael—"

"No." He stops walking, turning to face me fully. "You're going to listen. Because that's my sister, and I deserve to know what kind of man is living in my pack's territory. What kind of man broke her heart so completely that she spent five years running from everything that reminded her of home."

The words hit like physical blows. "I never meant to—"

"To what? To make her think she wasn't good enough? To leave her with a half-formed mate bond and no explanation? To turn her into someone who throws herself into dangerous situations just to prove she can survive them?"

Each accusation lands with brutal precision. Because he's right—about all of it. About what I did to her. About what she became because of my choices.

"You don't understand," I say quietly but not softly. I won’t back down from this.

I’m not Rafael’s Alpha, but I’m still an Alpha.

"I understand more than you think." Rafael's voice softens slightly, yielding only a little to my anger, though his eyes remain hard. "Your history with Kane. Thalia and I have been trying to figure it out. None of your pack will talk—clearly, they know about as much as you do about secrets. But we’re putting it together.”

I go still. "How?"

"I have my sources." He starts walking again, slower now. "I want to understand why you pushed her away. Why you thought distance would keep her safe.” He stops again, meeting my eyes with an intensity that reminds me of Camila. "I hold no ill will toward you, Marcus, I don’t. But if you didn’t have a damn good excuse, I’ll never forgive you. You’re the reason my sister vanished and never came back, not for five years. I can’t let that slide.”

The truth of it cuts deep. Because I've seen it now—seen the warrior she's become, the battles she's learned to fight. It was a long five years, clearly, for the both of us.

"I know," I say finally. "Believe me, I know."

"Do you?" Rafael's scent shifts with something like pity. "She hates that you’re here. She wishes she could never have to see you again.”

“If I had other options, I’d take them," I insist with no small amount of anger. "What he does to mates, to families... you haven't seen it. Haven't seen what he's capable of."

"No, I haven't." Rafael glares. "But I've seen what losing you did to my sister. And I'm telling you now—if you hurt her like that again, if you make her feel worthless again..." He lets the threat hang unfinished.

I won’t be intimidated. But I know he needs to hear me agree. "I understand."

"Do you? Because Kane's not the only threat in this world, Marcus. Sometimes, the people who love us can hurt us worse than any enemy."

Before I can respond, my phone buzzes with an urgent alert.

The message from Elena makes my blood run cold:

Possible Kane sighting 50 miles north. Three of his lieutenants spotted at a gas station. They're getting closer.

Rafael reads the shift in my body language, the sudden tension in my shoulders. "What is it?"

"Kane," I say shortly. "He's moving south. Toward Rosecreek. Fifty miles out."

Something fierce crosses Rafael's face—the protective instinct of a brother who's already seen his sister hurt too many times, a packmate who’s seen his team wounded. Already, he’s coiled like a spring, preparing to jump into action.

"This isn’t over,” he promises, and I believe him. I know better than anyone that it isn’t over. I’ve had to live with it far longer than Rafael has.

He walks away, leaving me with the weight of his words and the knowledge that Kane is coming. Coming for my pack, for this sanctuary, for everyone I've tried so hard to protect.

Coming for Camila, if he discovers what she once meant to me. What she still means, though I can barely admit it to myself.

The spring sunshine suddenly feels cold, inadequate against the growing shadows. In my pocket, Elena's message burns like an accusation:

They're getting closer.

And I still don't know if I'm strong enough to keep everyone safe this time.

***

Evening finds me in the pack center's strategy room, surrounded by maps and intelligence reports. Elena's data paints a clear picture: Kane's forces are moving in a deliberate pattern, sweeping south through Minnesota. Testing defenses. Gathering information. Getting closer.

Even if they don’t know we’re here, which we suspect they don’t, they must have some hint of our trail here. Likely, they’re hitting multiple locations across the country. All to find me. All to find my people.

Camila’s forgeries, spoofs, and misdirections have helped, but we still have to be incredibly cautious.

"They hit another sanctuary pack," James reports, spreading photos across the table. "Two days ago, near the Canadian border. Same pattern as our compound—quick strike, targeted application of the serum, minimal casualties but maximum impact."

I study the images, my wolf snarling at the clinical precision of the attacks. "Any survivors?"

"Most of the pack escaped. But three more lost their shifts." James's voice catches slightly. "The reports say... they say Kane's people are getting better at deploying the serum. More efficient."

"They're practicing," Elena says quietly, an uncomplicated sort of dread under the words.

The knowledge settles like lead in my gut. Because this is what Kane does—methodical, patient, inexorable. He doesn't just destroy his targets; he uses each attack to improve, refine his methods, and become more lethal.

Just like he did with my parents.

The memory rises unbidden: coming home to find the study destroyed. Kane's voice on the phone afterward, explaining exactly why he'd chosen them, why their work with humans had made them targets.

The scent of blood was so thick in the air that it made me sick. I kneeled in the wreckage and heaved until there was nothing left.

"Marcus?" Asher's voice pulls me back to the present. "We need to make some decisions."

Right. Decisions. Leadership. Focus on the mission, not the memories.

"How many sanctuaries are left between here and the border?"

"Three," Elena reports, highlighting points on the map. "But two of them are small, probably not equipped to handle Kane's forces. The third..." She hesitates. "The third is where we sent some of our own.”

The implications hit hard. If Kane finds that sanctuary, finds our injured pack members...

"We need to warn them," I say. "All of them. Get them to evacuate before—"

Movement in the doorway catches my attention. Camila stands there, dark hair loose around her shoulders, a stack of photos in her arms, her expression unreadable as she takes in our tense postures.

"Sorry," she says quickly. "I didn't mean to interrupt. These need Elena's approval before—”

"It's fine," I cut in, even though nothing about this is fine. "We were just finishing."

But Camila doesn't leave. Instead, she moves further into the room, her eyes scanning the maps, the photos, the evidence of Kane's approaching threat. I see understanding dawn in her expression, followed by something that looks terrifyingly like determination.

"How bad is it?" she asks quietly.

"Camila," I start, but she cuts me off.

"Don't. Don't try to exclude me from this. I'm already involved. I'm already helping your pack. I deserve to know what we're up against; you know I do.”

We . The word feels like it might crush me with all its monumental weight and scope.

This is exactly what I never wanted—Camila standing in a war room, looking at evidence of Kane's violence, inserting herself into dangers she doesn't fully understand.

But Rafael's words echo in my mind even now, the certainty of them.

"At least two sanctuaries have fallen in the past two weeks," Elena says before I can object. "Kane's forces are moving systematically south, testing defenses, perfecting their weapon. And their pattern..." She traces a line on the map. "Their pattern brings them straight toward Rosecreek. Even if they’re not targeting Rosecreek specifically, they’re tailing us, and Rosecreek is in the line of fire.”

Camila absorbs this with disturbing calm. "How long?"

"At their current pace? A week. Maybe two."

"Then we have time to prepare. To strengthen our defenses, to—"

"No," I say sharply. "You need to stay out of this. The further you are from our tactical planning, the safer you'll be when—"

"When what?" Camila rounds on me, eyes flashing gold. "When Kane arrives? When he attacks this pack like he attacked yours? When more people lose their shifts, lose parts of themselves, because you're too busy trying to protect everyone to let them help protect themselves? I might not have been here long, but Rosecreek is my home, my family’s home. I’d do anything to keep it safe."

I stare into her eyes, flashing with fury, flashing with complication and fear and a thousand things I can no longer identify. The space between us feels so wide that I could fall into it.

"Marcus." Asher's voice is gentle but firm. "We need every advantage we can get. Every fighter, every skill, every pair of eyes watching our backs. We can't afford to turn away help, even if..." He glances between me and Camila. "Even if accepting it goes against our instincts."

Through the windows, I can see Half Moon Lake reflecting the setting sun, its surface turned to fire. Somewhere out there, Kane is moving closer, bringing his weapon, his ideology, his precise and terrible violence.

And here in this room stands Camila, fierce, capable, and so different from the girl I left behind. Ready to fight battles I never wanted her to know existed.

"Fine," I say finally, the word tasting like surrender. "But we do this carefully. Professionally. No unnecessary risks."

"Agreed," she says, but a glint in her eye makes my wolf uneasy. "When the Rosecreek team gets here, I want to stay, too. I want you tell me what’s going on, same as them. Every detail, every pattern, every scrap of intelligence. If Kane's coming for this pack, I want to know exactly what we're facing."

It doesn’t take long for Aris, Bigby, and the rest to arrive, looking harried and dark-eyed, greyer than ever. If anyone in the world can empathize, it’s me. But God knows I don’t have the energy.

As Elena begins laying out the data, I catch Asher watching me with knowing eyes. Because he understands what this means and what letting Camila into our tactical planning could cost. What it already costs. How it’s making me feel as if I’m losing my grip, losing my mind, coming apart.

History repeats itself, whispers a voice in the back of my mind that sounds like Kane. History always repeats itself, just you watch.