Page 32 of Betrayed Knocked-Up Mate

The world narrows to tooth and claw and fury. I’m so deep in my instincts that I no longer feel like a person—all I need is his blood. Kane moves like mercury around me, like smoke, dodging my first strike and countering with devastating precision. The point of a knife in his palm rakes across my ribs, but I barely feel it. All I can see is Camila's still form on the pavement. All I can smell is her blood mixing with Elena's.

"You never understood," Kane says, dancing away from my next attack. He hasn’t shifted yet, avoiding me with sheer, infuriating grace and foresight. "Your parents didn't either. All that potential and power, and you waste it playing nice with humans." He lashes out a fist, and his next strike catches me across the face, hot blood spilling into my eyes—I crash hard onto the concrete. "But now? Now you're showing your true nature. Just like your father did, at the end."

The words hit harder than his claws. Through the red haze of rage, memories surface like drowning things—my father's final moments, how he shifted and fought when they came for my mother. He died protecting her, and he died becoming exactly what Kane wanted him to be.

I drag myself from the ground, vision whiting out at the edges.

"She'll never look at you the same way now, if she lives," Kane continues, his voice almost gentle as we circle each other. Blood drips from both our claws, staining the pavement black in the shadow of the buildings. "Not now that you let her get hurt. Perhaps it’s a good thing, Marcus. Perhaps things don’t have to happen the way they did back then.”

Behind him, I catch glimpses of the others—Elena dragging herself and an unconscious Camila toward cover, Kane's people keeping their distance, letting their Alpha finish what he started five years ago. The alley feels smaller, darker, like the walls themselves are closing in.

Then Camila stirs, just slightly, and everything in me focuses to a single point of clarity.

I half-shift back and launch myself at Kane again, but this time it's different. This time, the rage goes cold and sharp and precise. I launch it with perfect aim. He meets my attack with the same fluid grace, but something in my scent must change because his smile falters for the first time, and when I surge forward and sink my fist into his gut, he looks, for a single moment, afraid.

"You were right back then," I growl, my voice distorted by fangs but clear enough. "Iama monster."

My claws find purchase in his shoulder, drawing a line of red that matches the ones he gave my parents, splattering blood across both of us.

His eyes widen as I drive him back, recognizing too late that the rage has become something he’s never known me to possess. So much for his immaculate predictions, his mind games, his habit of laughing in the face of my desperate fear over and over.

We crash together like storm fronts, like colliding planets. His claws tear into my side, but I barely feel it. My teeth find his throat, but he twists away, leaving flesh and blood and fury in my mouth.

Through it all, I imagine I can hear Camila's heartbeat—steady, strong, alive. Feel Elena's determination as she pulls them both to safety. It’s almost a prayer.

"It’ll bring me great pleasure to tear the bitch apart," he snarls, blood staining his perfect suit.

The world goes white with rage and, red with blood and black with purpose.

We tear into each other like forces of nature, like nightmares made flesh. His claws find my throat, but my teeth sink into his shoulder, tearing through muscle and tendon. The taste of his blood is bitter, toxic.

Through the haze of violence, I register movement at the mouth of the alley—Elena dragging Camila to safety, leaving trails of red on grey concrete. The sight makes something in me shift, makes the fury crystallize into something colder, more focused.

Kane's next strike goes wide. I see uncertainty flicker in his eyes.

My counter-attack catches him off-guard as I tear a chunk out of his side, right below his ribs. He tries to retreat, to regain the advantage, but I press forward. My claws find his chest, his side, his face. Blood sprays across brick walls, still wet with morning dew. Each blow carries the weight of five years of running, of secrets, of choices made in darkness.

"Your parents," he gasps, still trying to twist the knife even as he falters, "they begged at the end. Will she—"

The word cuts off hard as I bring him to the ground. Just like Camila’s, I hear his skull as it hits the concrete.

For a moment, the world holds its breath. Then, Kane's body goes limp. His blood looks almost black in the alley's shadows.

Distantly, I hear shouts approaching—Aris's voice, Bigby's, others I should recognize but can't quite place. The sound of running feet, of weapons being drawn.

Kane's remaining people melted away into the shadows, dragging their Alpha with them.

I should stop them. I should kill him.

My legs give out.

The concrete rises to meet me, cold and unforgiving. Through dimming vision, I see Camila stirring, see Elena reaching for her. The relief is stronger than the pain, stronger than the darkness creeping at the edges of my consciousness.

The last thing I register is the ringing of familiar voices surrounding me. Camila’s isn’t one of them. Then—

Nothing.

Chapter 13 - Camila

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