Page 18 of Betrayed Knocked-Up Mate

"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."

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