Page 51 of Betrayed Knocked-Up Mate

Even if forever only lasts until morning.

Chapter 21 - Camila

Time moves strangely in the cabin, flowing like honey, and I try to keep track of it as it passes but mostly fail to. Each hour bleeds into the next in a haze of what-ifs and almost-truths, creating an illusion of normalcy that makes my chest ache. The routine we've fallen into for these sparse, fleeting few days feels like a crueler punishment than any of Kane's weapons—a glimpse of the life we might have had, the future we could have built, if only things had been different.

Marcus carefully moves through our shared space, every gesture unconsciously protective. I find myself watching him when he thinks I'm not looking, cataloging the small details like photographs I'll never take: the way morning light catches his profile as he maintains his weapons at the kitchen table, methodically cleaning each piece with reverent attention. The quiet intensity in his eyes during his daily calls with his team, voice pitched low but carrying traces of authority that still make my wolf want to bare its throat. The unconscious grace in his movements as he cooks breakfast, anticipating my newfound aversions to certain smells before I have to voice them.

"The eggs are bland," he says on the third morning, sliding a plate toward me. "No peppers or onions. Should be easier on your stomach."

The consideration in his voice makes something twist beneath my ribs. He doesn't know why I'm sick, but he's adapting anyway, protective instincts working overtime. Part of me wants to tell him everything—about the baby, about my fears, about how watching him take care of me like this makes it harder to maintain the walls I've built between us.

Instead, I just murmurthank youand pretend not to notice how his fingers linger when they brush mine.

We fall into patterns that feel almost like peace. His morning runs through the surrounding forest, maintaining careful distance even as our wolves strain toward each other. My sleep-ins, indulgent and long. Quiet afternoons where I curl up with borrowed books while he cleans weapons or pores over intelligence reports. Evenings spent in companionable silence, the space between us charged with everything we can't seem to say.

Sometimes, I catch him watching me with an expression I can't quite read—something raw and aching that makes my heart race. Sometimes, I wake to find him alert, checking sight lines and escape routes with a single-minded focus. Always protecting, always vigilant, always keeping secrets that taste like ashes on my tongue.

The video call from Rosecreek comes on our third afternoon in the cabin, when our window of time here already feels as if it’s sliding closed. Marcus sets up the secure connection with practiced efficiency while I hover nearby, stomach churning with more than just morning sickness. The screen flickers to life, revealing familiar faces that make my chest tight with homesickness—Rafael's serious expression, Thalia's quiet smile at his side, Maia's knowing eyes.

"You look terrible," Rafael says by way of greeting, but I catch the worry beneath his teasing tone. He sees too much, my brother. Always has.

"Thanks," I return dryly. "You're not exactly calendar material yourself."

But the banter feels hollow, weighted with everything I can't tell him. About the baby. About the growing tenderness between Marcus and me. About how being back in California makes everything feel raw and uncertain.

The conversation flows around me as Marcus discusses security protocols and movement patterns with his team. I study the screen, noting the subtle changes in the people I left behind. The fresh scar on Asher's jaw from the latest fight. The shadows under Elena's eyes that speak of sleepless nights monitoring Kane's movements. The way Maia's gaze keeps drifting to Asher when she thinks no one's looking, carrying traces of some strange feeling I can’t identify but can definitely recognize. It’s a strange conundrum.

They know each other so well, my pack. The easy banter between Rafael and Thalia, the silent communication between Elena and James, the growing connection between Maia and Asher—it all speaks of bonds forged through shared battles and quiet moments alike.

Bonds I'm missing, piece by piece, while I run from threats I still don't fully understand.

"Stay safe," Rafael says when the call ends, his eyes heavy with meaning. "Both of you. See you soon—" And the video cuts out.

The silence after the screen goes dark feels oppressive, thick, with everything left unsaid. Marcus moves to clean his weapons again—a nervous habit I've noticed, something he does when he needs to keep his hands busy. I watch the afternoon light play across his shoulders, highlighting new scars I don't recognize, and wonder if he feels it too—this strange domesticity, this echo of what could have been.

It’s as if we’re briefly, for a tiny pocket of stolen time, living the life we could have lived if things had been different. It breaks my heart.

That evening, the golden sunset calls to me like a siren song, begging to be captured. My fingers itch for my real camera, for the familiar weight of professional equipment that sits abandoned in Rosecreek. My phone will have to do, though it feels inadequate for the magnificence spreading before me. I need air, need space, need something to focus on besides the growing weight in my chest and the constant, terrifying awareness of the life taking root inside me.

"I'm going to take some pictures," I tell Marcus, already moving toward the door. The words come out softer than intended, almost apologetic. "Just from the back porch. I won't go far."

He tenses slightly, that familiar coiled spring readiness that never quite leaves him these days. But he doesn't argue, though I feel his eyes on me as I step outside. I wonder if he can sense the changes in me, if his wolf recognizes what mine already knows. Sometimes, I catch him watching me with a strange intensity, like he's trying to solve a puzzle just out of reach.

The valley spreads below like a painting I once saw in a museum—all dramatic sweeps of color and shadow, the kind of vista that makes you believe in divine artists. California light works magic at this hour, turning everything it touches to gold and flame. Even the air seems to shimmer, heavy with pine sap and distant sage and the particular mineral scent of mountains warming in the sun.

For a moment, I lose myself in the familiar routine of framing shots. My phone feels clumsy compared to my usual equipment, but there's comfort in its mechanics—checking angles, adjusting exposure, trying to capture something ineffable in pixels and light. I used to dream of documenting moments like this, before everything changed. Before Marcus, before Kane, before my life became a series of running and hiding and carrying secrets that weigh heavier than camera equipment ever did.

There’s an awareness inside me that grows stronger each day, a weight. It’s an impossibly huge responsibility. I feel its presence all the time. What kind of world am I bringing this child into? What right do I have to create life while running from death?

Then, something moves at the edge of my frame.

At first, I think it's a trick of the light, a shadow cast by the setting sun. But as I adjust my focus, my blood runs cold.

Far below, barely visible through the gathering dusk, dark vehicles wind up the mountain road like hunting wolves. Their headlights cut through the shadows with predator precision, moving too fast for casual travelers, too coordinated for coincidence.

Time fractures around me like shattered glass. Each heartbeat stretches into infinity as I watch them approach through my makeshift lens, unable to look away. Their movement reminds me of documentaries I've filmed—the way wild, full-wolf packs coordinate when hunting large prey, the terrible beauty of predators who know their quarry is cornered.

I should call for Marcus. Should run inside. Should do something besides stand here frozen, watching danger race toward us with terrible purpose. But my body refuses to move, caught in that strange paralysis that sometimes grips prey animals in their final moments. All I can think about is the baby, about Marcus, about how cruel fate must be to bring us back to California just to end everything here.

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