Page 57 of Betrayed Knocked-Up Mate

The fog thickens as I move deeper into the forest, turning familiar terrain strange and threatening. Every shadow could hide an ambush. Every rustle of wind through ancient branches could mask the sound of a weapon being drawn. But I keep moving, following traces of Camila's scent, that gunmetal and sandalwood now threaded through with fear and something else, something new that must be the pregnancy my wolf somehow missed.

A child.

Ourchild.

The thought still hits with a force that could bowl me over, making my hands shake as I check another shell casing left carelessly in the leaf litter. All those small changes in her I attributed to stress or illness—her altered scent, her careful movements, the way she protected her midsection during combat. How did I miss it? How did I not recognize the signs of my own blood growing inside her?

But I know how. Because I've spent five years running from the possibility of this exact scenario. Running from Kane's promise to destroy anyone I dared to love, anyone who might carry on my father's legacy of cooperation between species. Running from the memory of my mother's last moments, of Kane's voice explaining exactly how he'd make me watch anyone I took as mate die just as slowly.

Movement flickers at the edge of my vision—a shadow passing between ancient trunks, there and gone too quickly to track. They're playing with me now, letting me see just enough to keep following. Leading me deeper into the labyrinth of redwoods, fog, and old growth shadows.

Setting the stage for whatever Kane's planned.

Let them,my wolf, snarls as I check another landmark, memorizing the route for when backup arrives.Let them think they're in control.

The fog swallows me whole as I move deeper into the forest, following tracks laid out like breadcrumbs, like bait, like everything I've spent five years running from. Somewhere ahead, Camila carries my child in territory older than memory. Somewhere behind, my pack races to provide backup, which I know will come too late.

And here, in the shadows between ancient trees, I stalk forward on silent feet, letting the hunter become the hunted. Letting Kane think he's won, right up until the moment I tear his throat out.

She's worth waiting for, worth dying for, worth killing for.

They both are.

Chapter 25 - Camila

The room they're holding me in reeks of old blood and older violence, layers of story written in scent that make my enhanced senses recoil. Not fresh pain—no active torture chamber this—but something almost worse: the kind of ingrained suffering that speaks of history, of countless acts of cruelty soaked into the imported marble floors and mahogany walls.

Beneath the sharp bite of industrial cleaners, my wolf picks up the chapters of this place's story: copper and fear, gunpowder and death, the particular acrid smell of shifter blood spilled in violence. Notes of something deeper, too—the lingering traces of desperate bargains and broken spirits that make my stomach turn.

Or maybe that's just the morning sickness, hitting even now, even here. My body doesn't care that I'm tied to a chair in a monster's lair. It has its own agenda, its own priorities. The child growing inside me demands attention regardless of circumstance, making itself known through waves of nausea that I fight to control.

I can't show weakness. Not here. Not to him.

My head throbs where I struck it against the window as the car rolled, the wound still seeping blood down my neck. Stars dance at the edges of my vision whenever I move too quickly, but I force myself to stay alert, to keep working the zip ties against the rough edge I found on the metal chair frame. They weren't careful checking the furniture—probably because they'd never had a prisoner who spent five years learning survival skills in war zones.

The zip ties bite deep enough to draw blood as I work them against the metal, but I've had worse. The key is patience, steady pressure, using the restraint's own tension against it. Like sawing rope, wearing down resistance, and everything I've learned about surviving impossible situations.

Kane paces before me with precise steps, every movement calculated for maximum effect. His suit remains immaculate despite the violence, like he's attending a business meeting rather than holding a pregnant woman captive.

"Protective already," he notes, voice dripping false concern. "I can tell by your scent. Just like Marcus's mother was. Did he ever tell you about her? About how she tried to shield her stomach when I killed her, thinking I might spare her unborn child?"

Ice floods my veins. "What?"

"Oh yes." His smile holds no warmth. "She was carrying Marcus's sister when I finally caught up with them, though to this day, I’m not sure he knows. All those dreams of continuing their tainted bloodline, of spreading their poison about cooperation with humans." He adjusts his cuffs with deliberate precision. "She begged, you know. Not for herself, but for the child. For Marcus. Suchmaternalinstincts."

Bile rises in my throat, but I force it back. Keep working the zip tie against the metal edge, letting his voice wash over me as I search for weaknesses, for opportunities, for anything I can use.

"Marcus was there to find their bodies," Kane continues, clearly relishing the story. "I made sure of that—made sure he understood exactly what happens to traitors who think we should bow to humans instead of ruling them."

The zip tie frays another fraction.

"His father was the worst kind of traitor," Kane's voice drips contempt. "An Alpha from an ancient bloodline, choosing to contaminate his legacy with human collaboration. Building bridges instead of maintaining boundaries. Teaching his son that we shouldintegraterather than dominate."

He spits the word like a curse, but I barely hear him. My mind races with implications, with understanding, with five years of questions finally finding answers.

Marcus pushing me away after his parents' deaths, the way he became hollow and closed off. His denial—hisrejection,how I never saw him again. His desperate need to protect everyone he loves. The weight he's carried alone all this time.

"The suppression weapon was designed for creatures like them," Kane continues, warming to his subject. "Shifters who forget their true nature, who choose weakness over strength. The serum doesn't just strip their abilities—it reminds them what they are. What they've lost through their own choices."

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