Page 9 of Betrayed Knocked-Up Mate (Rosecreek Special Ops Wolves #8)

Three AM casts strange shadows across my workstation in the pack center's makeshift studio. The blue light of my editing screen turns everything ghostly, unreal—like I'm working in some liminal space between reality and memory. My eyes burn from hours of staring at photos, trying to build the perfect deceptions to keep the Marshall City pack safe.

"You're still here?"

Maia's voice startles me from my focus. She stands in the doorway with two steaming mugs, her expression a mixture of concern and understanding. Since coming to Rosecreek after escaping her own violent pack situation, she's become something of a night owl—too many memories that come alive in the dark.

I like Maia a lot, I think. She has the same strange, shadowed, half-present glaze to her eyes sometimes that Thalia does, a look that belies a long and terrible history, but she’s quietly, brilliantly sharp, boasting the kind of fierceness I lost long ago and can now only perform on good days. God knows how some people go through Hell on Earth and come out still resembling themselves. I know I couldn’t survive half of what she has.

"Couldn't sleep," I say, accepting the coffee she offers. "These timelines for Elena's Seattle photos need to be perfect. Kane's people will be looking for inconsistencies. I want to drag them back out west, make them think we doubled back.”

"Mm." She settles into a chair beside me, studying the screen. "You know, watching you work with them—the Marshall City pack—it reminds me of when I first came here. How hard it was to trust anyone after... everything."

I glance at her, catching the shadows that cross her face. Maia rarely talks about her past, about the pack that nearly destroyed her before Thalia helped her escape. "How did you learn? To… to believe in people again?"

"I haven’t yet." She sips her coffee, choosing her words with deliberation. "It’s going to take a long time. Maisie says I have to be patient with myself, but then again, it sounds false somehow.”

The parallel to my situation with Marcus hangs unspoken between us. Because Maia knows—of course, she knows. In a pack this size, secrets don't stay secret long. Everyone and their mother is aware there’s something old and corroded between us.

"It's not the same," I say, turning back to my screen. "Marcus didn't help me escape anything. He just... left."

"It sounds like he hurt you,” Maia says without judgment, just laying the words out there for me as if it could possibly be that simple. “Do you think you’d ever forgive him for that?”

Before I can respond, footsteps in the hallway draw our attention. Elena appears, looking exhausted but alert, with Sara close behind her.

"Sorry to interrupt," Elena says, though her expression suggests this isn't a coincidental late-night visit. "We need to adjust some of the timeline markers. Kane's people are getting better at spotting digital manipulation. Their scouts in Chicago have moved out.”

"Show me," I say, grateful for the distraction from more personal matters.

Sara moves to my other side, pulling up surveillance data on her tablet. In the weeks I've known her, I've come to appreciate her technical expertise almost as much as her dry humor.

"The metadata needs to be perfect," she explains. "Not just timestamps, but device information, GPS coordinates, everything. They've got someone good on their team—someone who knows how to spot even tiny inconsistencies."

"Byron’s better for half of that than I am. Plus, they've got someone better than you?" I tease, trying to lighten the tension I can smell rolling off both Marshall City pack members.

"No one's better than me," Sara returns with a faint smile. "But they're good enough to make me work for it. See here?" She points to a line of code. "They almost caught this discrepancy in the Chicago photos. If James hadn't warned us about their new pattern recognition software..."

"Speaking of James," Maia cuts in gently, "how's he doing? I noticed he was favoring his side again in training yesterday."

Elena's scent darkens with worry. "The wound's still not healing properly. Veronica thinks it's somehow connected to Kane's weapon—even those of us who weren't directly hit seem to be affected. Pack bonds are... strange. Unstable."

"I remember someone from back in the Smoke talking about something similar once," Maia says quietly. "Breaking down pack bonds to take down groups."

The room goes still. Because this is the first time anyone has directly compared Kane's tactics to the Smoke—the violent supernatural crime syndicate that nearly killed my brother, that Maia and Thalia barely escaped.

"Tell me," I say, setting down my coffee. "Tell me what you mean."

Maia looks at me hard, something silent passing between us. It’s as if she’s measuring me, trying to understand how I’ll take her words. Whether I’ll believe her. I get the feeling, looking at her, that she’s a person who has been disbelieved a lot in her life.

Finally, she sighs. "The Smoke... they hadn’t developed it fully by the time they collapsed, and I’m sure the tech is long gone now, with how Rosecreek blew up that compound, but… I remember them talking about researching ways of poisoning pack bonds. Making them unstable and making it harder for packs to work together. It wasn't just physical violence—it was psychological. Breaking down the connections that make us strong. It makes sense, doesn’t it? We’re nothing without each other.”

"That's what Kane's weapon does," Sara adds, her usual humor absent. "It doesn't just suppress shifter abilities. It... it taints everything it touches. Makes it harder to heal, harder to trust, harder to maintain the bonds that keep us whole. They only got two of our pack, and we’re a large group, so the damage was minimal. But imagine if half your pack got hit? It would… it would destroy the lot. Make rogues of them all."

The thought makes me feel cold inside. I have to excuse myself to get some air, Maia’s stare burning into my back as I leave.

Dawn still finds me at my desk, though the others have gone to catch what sleep they can. My mind whirs with everything I learned in those quiet night hours—about Kane's weapons, about the patterns of violence that seem to echo across different supernatural threats, about the ways pack bonds can be poisoned and broken.

Despite myself, I still replay in my mind the way Marcus's body goes rigid every time Kane's name is mentioned over and over, like a film with a break in its reel.

"You need sleep."

His voice startles me—I didn't even hear him approach, too lost in my thoughts and fatigue. Marcus stands in the doorway like a shadow given form, his own exhaustion evident in the shadows under his eyes.

He makes for an imposing silhouette, broad and unyielding. I try not to look at his body for too long.

"So do you," I return, noting the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands clench and unclench at his sides. "Rough night?"

"Intel reports. Kane's people have been moving in patterns we can't quite predict." He steps into the room, and it makes my stomach flip. "Bigby wants to run a security sweep of the borders. Check for any signs they might have scouts in the area."

"I'll come with you."

The words slip out before I can stop them.

Marcus goes still, that familiar mask of Alpha authority sliding into place. "That's not necessary. We have it covered."

"I know these woods," I say, facing him. "Better than you do. And after what Maia told me about pack bonds being targeted, you shouldn't be out there alone."

Something flickers across his face—surprise? Recognition? "You've been talking to Maia? The girl from the Smoke?"

"She understands a lot about running from violence." I meet his eyes steadily.

The words hit home—I can see it in the way he shifts as if preparing to fall back into a defensive position, in the momentary crack in his composed expression. But before he can respond, Thalia appears in the doorway behind him.

"Sorry to interrupt," she says, though her knowing look suggests the timing isn't entirely coincidental. "But if we're doing a sweep this morning, we should go now, and everyone else is off-duty. Light's best at dawn for spotting signs of surveillance."

Marcus's jaw tightens, but he doesn't argue further. "Fine. Gear up. We leave in ten."

The pre-dawn air is crisp with spring frost as we set out—Marcus, Thalia, and me, moving through Rosecreek's awakening streets toward the forest border. Thalia takes point, her movements are precise and professional. I know little of her past, but for what Raf has told me. It’s enough.

"Stay close," Marcus murmurs as we enter the tree line. "Kane's scouts are professionals. If they're out here..."

"I can handle myself," I remind him, perhaps more sharply than necessary. "You've seen me fight."

"That's not—" He cuts himself off, frustration rolling off him in waves. "Just... be careful."

We move through the forest in tense silence, checking the markers Byron's team has placed at regular intervals. The rising sun casts long shadows through the trees, turning the woods into a maze of light and dark. Every movement, every sound draws our immediate attention.

"Their patterns are similar, I’ve noticed," Thalia says suddenly, crouching to examine a broken branch. "To what the Smoke used to do. Professional surveillance, careful territory mapping. Building up intelligence before striking."

I see Marcus tense at the comparison. "Kane's different. More methodical. More..."

"Personal?" I suggest, unable to help myself.

His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, the masks slip. I catch a glimpse of something raw, something wounded, before he looks away.

"We should split up," Thalia says, tactfully pretending not to notice the tension between us. "Cover more ground. I'll take the north section, you two take the west. Radio if you find anything."

Before either of us can object, she melts into the shadows, leaving me alone with Marcus and five years of unspoken words.

We walk in silence for a while, checking security markers, looking for signs of intrusion. But with each step, the weight of everything unsaid grows heavier.

"Why did you really come?" Marcus asks finally, his voice rough. "On this sweep?"

"Because I'm tired," I say, surprising myself with the honesty. "Tired of not understanding what's really happening. I’m tired of being confused by you, Marcus; I’m tired of wanting to know. I want to stop wanting.”

It’s all I’ve wanted for a long, long time.

He stops walking, something complicated crossing his face. "Camila..."

"No." I hold up a hand, my heart pounding. "Don't. I’ve heard enough. It hurts, Marcus, to know you don’t trust me and never did. I hate ultimatums. You know that. But… either tell me what really happened five years ago—what Kane has to do with all of this—or don't talk to me at all.”

For a moment, just a moment, I think he might actually tell me. I see something impossible to discern flash across his face and he opens his mouth as if to speak.

But then his radio crackles to life at his hip.

"Marcus." Elena's voice is tight with urgency as it crunches out into the cool air. "We've got confirmed sightings. Kane's forces in Chester Falls."

The news hits like a physical blow. Chester Falls. It’s not far out. I visited with Thalia and my brother once, months ago, shortly after my arrival back in the States, when they were both still recovering from their ordeal. It’s a tiny, quaint shifter town forty miles north of Rosecreek, sitting likewise along the river, its stilted houses strung with fairy lights that glowed like fireflies through the mist. It was a place where the magic of children’s storybooks and fables seemed true.

It’s a place Kane's people are now, getting closer to everything I've finally allowed myself to call home.

Marcus is already moving, authority settling over him like a suit of polished and impenetrable armor. But I catch the way his hands shake slightly, the fear that threads through his body, the immense, impossible history of each of these small moments.

Like taking a picture, I file it all away. I freeze the moments in my head and promise myself I’ll keep trying to make sense of them, even if it kills me.

At this rate, it might.

The pack center is alive with urgent activity when we return. Elena and Sara huddle over computers, tracking movements and analyzing data. James confers with Veronica about medical supplies, their voices tight with controlled panic. Even the newer pack members I've come to know—Devon with his weapons expertise, Michael still learning to live without his shift—move with focused purpose.

"Tell me everything," Marcus demands as we enter the strategy room.

"Three confirmed sightings," Elena reports, pulling up surveillance photos. "Two of Kane's lieutenants at a gas station in Chester Falls. Another team spotted near the highway. They're being careful, staying mobile, but the pattern is clear—they're establishing a perimeter."

"Like they did with us," Sara adds quietly. "Before they hit the compound."

I watch Marcus absorb this, noting the minute tensing of his shoulders, the way his hands curl into fists at his sides. The Marshall City pack's scents spike with remembered fear—they've been through this before. They know what's coming.

"We need to accelerate the timeline," Aris says, materializing from the shadows. "Get the next round of false trails active. Make them think we're scattered across different states."

"I can help with that," I offer, moving toward my workstation. But Marcus's voice stops me.

"No." The word comes out harsh, almost desperate. "You need to stay away from this. All of you—" he gestures to the Rosecreek pack members present "—need to distance yourselves from our operation. If Kane realizes you're helping us..."

"It's too late for that," their intel specialist, Keira, cuts in, her tone brooking no argument. "We're already involved. You’re here. And you know as well as I do that Kane doesn't leave witnesses. If he comes for Rosecreek, he comes for all of us. So, kindly, let us do our jobs.”

The truth of her words settles heavily in the room. Because this is what Kane does—he doesn't just target individuals; he destroys entire communities. Poisons pack bonds. Breaks the connections that make us strong.

“It’s true,” mutters Ado from nearby, appearing near Marcus’ shoulder. There’s no warmth in his voice, just a cool, non-judgemental honesty. “What’s done is done. Now, we just get through it.”

I catch the way Marcus flinches at his words. A horrible flash of guilt ghosts over his face, there and then gone, and I feel the force of it as if it’s my own guilt, my own sorrow and regret.

"He’s right," James adds, his years spent at Marcus’ side evident in his precise tone. He goes for the core of Marcus’ fear like he’s cutting out a growth. "We’ve established a few potential protocols—come see, we’ll chat to Aris and Bigby about what comes next…”

Looking faintly overwhelmed, though I suspect nobody here but me would see it in his eyes, Marcus looks around the room, at the faces of both packs united in determination. His gaze lingers on me for a moment, and I see that faint, single-frame crack in his facade again—that glimpse of the boy I knew in California, who believed in protecting others but hadn't yet learned the cost. There and then gone again.

"Fine," he says finally, to nobody in particular, to all of us somehow. "But we do this smart. Professional. No unnecessary risks."

The room is alive with activity—Elena coordinating with Byron on security protocols, Sara and I planning the next phase of our prolonged and desperate digital deception, James and Veronica inventorying medical supplies.

Through it all, I feel Marcus watching me, his presence a constant awareness at the edge of my consciousness.

Later, as the sun sets over Half Moon Lake, I find myself alone in my studio again. The photos on my screen blur together—faces, places, and carefully constructed lies designed to keep us all safe.

"You should rest," he says from the doorway, his voice softer than it's been in days. "We've got a lot of work ahead of us."

I turn to look at him, really look at him, seeing the weight he carries. The fear he's trying so hard to hide. "So should you."

For a moment, just a moment, his expression softens into something almost vulnerable. Like he wants to say more, to explain everything that's brought us to this point.

"Get some sleep, Camila," he says, already turning away. "Tomorrow's going to be a long day."

I watch him go, my wolf whining softly at the distance between us. Because something's coming—something that terrifies Marcus more than anything I've ever seen. Something that made him walk away five years ago, that keeps him pushing everyone away even now.

And as I turn back to my work, to the careful lies we're building to keep everyone safe, I can't shake the feeling that we're running out of time to bridge the distance between us.

Kane is coming. And whatever secrets Marcus is keeping, whatever truth he's trying to protect me from—it's all about to come crashing down around us.

I just hope we're strong enough to survive it. Together or apart.