Page 6 of Betrayed Knocked-Up Mate

I think of my brother and how this pack took him in, too, though I still don’t know the whole story there. Of how they've welcomed me, despite my complicated history, despite my packlessness, my running, my hiding. How they’ve promised protection and belonging and asked for nothing in return.

"Yeah," I say softly. “I’m sure he will.”

We work in companionable silence for a while, the quiet broken only by the scratch of pen on paper and the soft clink of medical supplies being moved from box to box. Maisie’s due soon, and won’t be back working the clinic for a long time, so I’m picking up the slack while Veronica works as the primary physician. Through the small window, I can hear the usual sounds of pack life—children playing, people talking, the constant flow of energy that makes Rosecreek feel alive in a way no other place has.

"You know what's weird though?" Veronica says suddenly, frowning at her inventory list. "I could have sworn I heard Bigby say their leader trained with Aris and the rest of the guys in California. It’s a crazy coincidence. You’re from California, right?”

I nod. “Raf and I aren’t from far out of Sacramento…”

The storage room door swings open, cutting off her words. A shifter I don’t know sticks her head in. "V? Byron’s looking for you. Something about the baby—I don’t think it’s serious, though."

"Again?" Veronica's whole face lights up, baby concerns temporarily overriding pack drama. "I swear, he’s so overprotective, calls me in for nothing every other day." She turns to me, apologetic. "Mind finishing up here? It's mostly just organizing what's left. Duty calls.”

"Go," I wave her off, smiling at her obvious fondness. "I've got this."

Left alone in the storage room, I finish categorizing the remaining supplies, but my mind keeps circling back to our interrupted conversation. Something about an Alpha who trained with Aris and his team... The thought niggles at me, like a photograph that's slightly out of focus. They must have all been in the military once upon a time. I remember the military base that sat right outside our hometown, once upon a time.

Then again, those weren’t fun memories.

The sound of voices out in the hallway draws my attention—unfamiliar ones, tense with exhaustion and wariness. The new team, probably. I catch fragments of conversation through the door: something about security protocols, patrol schedules, integration with Rosecreek's defense systems.

My wolf's curiosity gets the better of me. I edge closer to the door, telling myself I'm just being thorough with the inventory. Through the narrow window, I catch glimpses of the newcomers—a narrowly built man with dark skin who moves like he's favoring an injury, a petite woman whose fingers never stop moving over what looks like a tablet, a tall, broad blonde man with a friendly sort of face, laughing weakly, hands in his pockets, speaking to someone I can’t see.

They look haunted. Not just tired or stressed, but deeply, fundamentally shaken.

What kind of attack leaves warriors looking like that?

I shake off the thought and turn back to gather my supplies to return to the main clinic. The hallway is quieter now, the voices having moved further into the building. Spring sunlight streams through the high windows, creating patterns on the polished floors that beg to be photographed. I make a mental note to come back with my camera—

The door opens behind me. The impact is sudden, jarring. I stumble back, medical supplies tumbling from my arms as I collide with someone stepping in.

Strong hands steady me automatically, and a scent hits me like a physical blow.

No.

No, no, no.

I look up, and Marcus Hillmarton is staring down at me like he's seen a ghost.

Five years dissolve like smoke. He looks exactly the same—those storm-gray eyes, that sharp jaw, his gently curling brown hair, the way he holds himself like he's bracing for impact. But there are new lines around his eyes, a scar I don't recognize cutting through his left eyebrow. His large hands on my arms feel like brands.

We stare at one another hard. I want to say a million things, but mostly, I want to melt into the ground and disappear out of this town, out of this continent, far, far away.

"I didn't know," Marcus says quietly, the first to break the silence.

His eyes rake over me like he's checking for injuries, and something about that casual assessment makes my anger flare hot and bright.

"Funny how that happens," I snap. "You not knowing things.”

I cut myself off before I can say more, forcing my breathing to steady.

I will not break. Not here. Not in front of him.

"Does Rafael know you're here?"

"Yes." His voice is still so careful, so controlled. Like I'm some wild thing that might bolt. Like he has any right to care if I do. "He was in the briefing. I don’t think he recognized me. We weren’t—we weren’t close.”

I wish desperately I’d been given some kind of warning for this moment. Though even if he’d known, what could he have said?'Hey, remember that guy who shattered your heart into pieces? He's here with his team; try not to wolf out when you see him.'

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