Page 59 of Betrayed Knocked-Up Mate

My mother's voice echoes in my head:"Violence should always be the last resort, Marcus."

But as I launch myself at the first guard, bullets sparking off the concrete where I was standing moments before, I know we're far past last resorts.

I shift mid-leap, bones cracking and reforming in the space between heartbeats. My jaws close around the guard's throat before he can scream. The next one manages to get a shot off—the bullet grazes my shoulder, but pain is meaningless now. I'm operating on something deeper than conscious thought, something carved into blood and bone by years of military training layered over primal instinct.

Two more guards emerge from a side door. In one fluid motion, I drop back to human form, muscle memory taking over as I draw and fire in a single breath. They fall before they can raise their weapons. The shift ripples through me again as three more charge around the corner, and I meet them with fangs and claws.

The concrete grows slick with blood as I tear through Kane's forces. Some distant part of me registers the brutality of it, the way my father might have disapproved of such violence. But then I catch Camila's scent, the tang of her fear, and any remaining restraint burns away like morning fog.

A memory flashes: my mother's face the last time I saw her alive. Her laugh, her beautiful laugh—

I won't let history repeat itself.

The main entrance gives way beneath my shoulder, reinforced steel crumpling like paper. Inside, the fight becomes closer, more desperate.

I shift back to human form for precise shots in the narrow hallways, then wolf again when they try to overwhelm me with numbers. Kane's people are well-trained and professional, but I'm running on fury and love and five years of denied instinct.

Blood sprays across imported marble as I tear through another defensive line. One of them gets lucky with a knife, opening a line of fire across my ribs, but I barely feel it. My world has narrowed to the trace of Camila's scent, growing stronger with each remaining heartbeat of her captors.

Then—there. Down the east corridor. The sound of breaking crystal, followed by the particular cadence of her breathing.

I round the corner just as she emerges from what must have been her cell, a makeshift weapon glinting in her hand.

Our eyes meet across the blood-slick floor, and something electric passes between us.

"Took you long enough," she says, but her voice catches on something that might be relief, might be love.

Pride and fierce joy surge through my chest at the sight of her—bruised but unbroken, defiant even in captivity. Without conscious thought, I close the distance between us in three long strides, gathering her into my arms.

She collides with my chest hard enough to knock the breath from my lungs, her fingers digging into my back like she's afraid I might disappear.

"I thought—" her voice breaks against my throat. "When the truck went over—"

"I know." I bury my face in her hair, breathing in her scent, letting it calm the feral thing that's been clawing at my insides since they took her. One hand slides to her stomach, protective and reverent. "I'm so sorry. For everything. For not telling you the truth years ago, for pushing you away, for—"

She cuts me off with a kiss that tastes of blood and tears and something like forgiveness. My wolf howls with completion as I pull her closer, careful of her injuries but desperate to erase any space between us. For a moment, the violence around us fades away—there's only this, only her, only the fierce joy of holding everything I love in my arms again.

"Later," she breathes against my mouth. "We'll talk about everything later. Right now, we need to get our child out of here."

Our child. The words make my hands tremble where they cup her face.

Before I can respond, movement flickers at the end of the hall. I shift in time to slam into an attacker trying to flank her, my claws finding his throat with practiced efficiency.

We fall into sync without needing to speak. When I drop to human form to take out a sniper in the rafters, she's already covering my blind spot. When she ducks under a wild swing, I'm there to stop her attacker with a bullet. The halls echo with gunfire and snarls and the particular sound of bodies hitting marble.

"The baby?" I manage between breaths, between shifts, between moments of violence.

"Safe, I promise.” She shuffles close to me, presses against my side. "We're both safe."

Something tight in my chest loosens at her words, even as my wolf surges with renewed protective fury. I draw her closer, inhaling her scent—checking for injury, for distress, for anything Kane might have done to her.

"I'm okay," she says softly, understanding without needing words. "We need to move."

She's right. Already, I can hear more of Kane's people converging on our position, drawn by the sounds of combat. I take point as we push toward the exit, shifting between forms as needed—wolf for close combat, human for precision shots. Camila hovers at my back, that crystal shard in her hand finding vulnerable points with deadly accuracy. At some point, she steals a pistol off a dead body, and I don’t stop her.

Anything to keep her safe. Anything at all.

Chapter 27 - Camila

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