Page 49 of Betrayed Knocked-Up Mate

"You remember that coffee shop on Third?" Marcus says suddenly, still facing the window. "The one with the terrible espresso but amazing scones?"

"The Garden Gate." The name comes automatically, along with a flood of memories. "You used to bring me coffee there between classes. Always remembered my order—"

"Vanilla latte with an extra shot, no foam," we say together, and something in the air shifts. Softens.

"You were always studying." His voice carries a warmth I haven't heard in years. "Photography books spread everywhere, the camera never more than arm's reach away. Planning to document the world."

"And you were always talking about the future." The words spill out before I can stop them. "About Marshall City, about the pack you wanted to build. About how we'd do it together. Sometimes, it’s hard to believe I…"forgot it.

He turns to face me then, and the look in his eyes makes my heart stutter. "Camila..."

"No." I stand abruptly, ignoring the way the movement makes the room spin. Because I can't do this—can't let myself remember how it felt to believe in forever, can't risk my heart again when I still don't understand why he walked away. I just don’t have it in me. I don’t have the energy, the will, the spirit. "I should... I need some air."

I flee to the back porch before he can respond, before he can see the tears threatening to fall.

The valley spreads out below like a photograph, painted in shades of gold and shadow by the setting sun. Everything looks exactly like it used to.

My hands press compulsively against my stomach, feeling for changes that are still more emotional than physical. Somewhere in the cabin behind me, Marcus moves with careful quietness, giving me space I'm not sure I want. The distance between us feels like miles and inches all at once, like five years and no time at all.

California light is unlike any other light, yes. Or maybe I'm the one who's different now—shaped by five years of running, by secrets I can't tell, by the tiny spark of life that changes everything and nothing all at once.

The sun sets behind the mountains, painting the sky in shades of endings and beginnings. And I wonder, not for the first time, if some things are better left in the past. If some wounds can't heal until you understand why they were inflicted in the first place.

If some truths are better left unspoken, even when they grow inside you like hope, like heartbreak, like everything you've ever wanted and everything you're terrified to lose.

Chapter 20 - Marcus

The California mountains hold fast onto memories—I’ve known this for a long time. They rise sharp against the evening sky as I circle the cabin's perimeter, checking sight lines and escape routes with mechanical precision. Every shadow seems to hold echoes of the past—training runs at the barracks with other young Alphas, learning to track through these same forests. Planning futures that felt inevitable before Kane, before everything changed.

I grew up not far from here, before it all went up in smoke. Now, it’s not worth thinking about.

The security cameras are exactly where I remember, cleverly concealed in trees and under eaves. My pack has maintained this safe house network for years, though I never thought I'd bring Camila to one. I never thought I'd be back in California, much less with her. The irony tastes bitter as mountain sage on my tongue.

Through the cabin's windows, I catch glimpses of her moving restlessly through the rooms. Her scent has shifted again—that strange new note that makes my wolf pace with undefined anxiety. She's been quiet since our almost-conversation about the past, since I nearly told her everything. Since she fled to the porch like my words might burn her.

The secure phone buzzes in my pocket, Asher's signal. Modern technology layered over old instincts, just like everything else about our lives now.

"Asher," I say quietly, positioning myself where I can watch both Camila through the windows and the approaches to the cabin.

“I’m alive.” Asher's voice carries that particular mix of professional calm and personal dryness that I've come to rely on. “If you care to know.

Hope flares sharp and bright in my chest. "I called a few times.”

"Hard to answer while unconscious." He pauses, and I hear papers shuffling. It’s typical for him to work even from bed. “You’re in California."

It isn’t a question.

My hands tighten on the phone. "Yes. You’re in Rosecreek, still.”

“Yeah. Not going to be moving anywhere for a while, Marcus.”

“And you definitely still have your…?”

Marcus laughs in the back of his throat. “Of course. And I’m going to be fine, for the record. Everyone here is fine. Progress is being made on a cure for their serum, with the help of Veronica and Rosa, but it’s slow-going. But… it’s progress, I guess. We’re all worried about you both.”

“Camila’s fine,” I say automatically, though it isn’t true, and Asher probably knows me well enough to know that. “We both are.”

Movement inside catches my eye—Camila stood in the kitchen, pressing a hand to her mouth like she's fighting back grief or tears or nausea. She's been doing that more lately, though she tries to hide it. Add it to the growing list of changes I can't quite understand: her altered scent, her sudden aversion to certain foods, her quiet, her sadness that seems to grow each day.

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