Page 13 of Betrayed Knocked-Up Mate

"Kane's people will be monitoring transport hubs," Marcus says, his voice clipped. "Bus stations, airports—"

"Already handled," I cut in, unable to help myself. "The backgrounds include specific identifiers—ticket stubs, location-specific items. Elena's holding a newspaper from two days ago in the Seattle shots. James's Chicago photos show him at Union Station with the correct time displayed."

Marcus's eyes finally meet mine, and the impact is like touching a live wire. "You've been thorough."

"That's my job, isn't it?" The words come out sharper than intended. "Or did you expect less?"

Asher shifts slightly, a subtle movement that draws Marcus's attention away from me before the tension in the room can become any more awful.

"The authenticity is solid," he says smoothly. "Kane's people are good, but these will hold up to scrutiny."

"Show me the rest," Marcus says, but there's a new tension in his voice.

I take that as my cue to escape.

"I need some air," I announce to no one in particular, already moving toward the door. No one tries to stop me.

The hallway feels too small, too confined. I make my way through the pack center's winding corridors until I reach the back exit, pushing through into the cool Spring morning. The wall's rough brick catches at my shirt as I lean against it, breathing in the clean scent of rain-washed air.

Five years of carefully maintained distance, and still his presence affects me like this. Still my wolf strains toward him like a compass finding north. Still my heart, that stupid, treacherous organ, yearns and begs and wails. I can’t stop it. The thought of feeling like this forever makes the rest of my life feel like a miserable trek.

I push my face into my palms and try to remember how to breathe. My warm breath heats up my own face, and I curl my fists closed, digging them into my eyes.

Then, the door opens behind me. Marcus's scent wraps around me like a memory. A good one. That’s the worst part—it’s a good memory.

"I can go back inside," he says quietly, immediately.

The quiet stretches between us. I’d fill it if I had any idea how, if I had any idea where to even begin.

Despite myself, I laugh, though it comes out more like a sob, a dry, snappish thing. "Why start being considerate now?"

He makes a sound like I've struck him. When I finally turn to look at him, his expression is raw in a way I've never seen before—not even that last night in California.

"Camila," he starts, then stops, like my name is too heavy to carry.

"Don't." The word comes out weary rather than angry. "Just... don't."

But I don't tell him to leave, and he doesn't move away. We stand there in the morning light, close enough to touch, separated by five years of silence and secrets.

"Your work," he says finally. "It's exceptional. Better than we could have hoped for."

"Funny how that works," I say, staring out at the tree line. "People can surprise you. Be more than you expected. More than you believed them capable of."

The double meaning hangs between us like smoke. From the way Marcus's scent shifts, I know he catches it.

"I never doubted your capabilities," he says softly.

"No," I agree. "You just doubted everything else."

He moves closer, almost involuntarily, and something in my chest constricts. His scent surrounds me—pine needles and winter air and something darker now, something haunted.

"Camila," he says again, and this time my name sounds like a prayer. "There are things you don't understand—”

A high-pitched wail cuts through the morning air—the pack's warning system. Marcus goes rigid beside me, all traces of vulnerability vanishing beneath Alpha authority.

"Possible hostiles," he says, already moving, as I see him communicating with his pack through their bond. "Near the lake."

I push off from the wall, wolf surging forward with battle-ready intensity. Whatever lies between us, whatever wounds we carry, none of it matters now.

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