Page 29 of Betrayed Knocked-Up Mate

I manage a slight nod, focusing on the familiar patterns of light and shadow. If this were a photo shoot, I'd want to capture the way tension writes itself in subtle ways—how Bigby's hands look deceptively relaxed at his sides, the particular angle of Thalia's chin, the controlled rhythm of Aris's breathing. The story told in small details.

The elevator doors into the meeting room open with deliberate slowness, and the quality of light changes again.

Kane enters our space like he's stepping onto a stage he's already claimed, and something in my chest goes cold at the sight of him. The intelligence photos in Marcus's files didn't capture this—the fluid grace of contained violence, the absolute certainty in every movement. He carries himself like someone who's never needed to hide what he is, who's never doubted his right to take up space.

He has short hair, slicked back tightly against his head, so black it almost looks blue in the cool overhead lights. His pale blue eyes are narrow, bearing a kind of impossible precision, seeing all.

Yes, I think—his eyes are the worst part. I've photographed predators across four continents, but I've never seen eyes quite like his, sharp with a kind of focused madness that makes my wolf want to bare throat and teeth simultaneously.

His people file in behind him with military precision that makes my skin crawl. Six of them, spreading out in a mirror of our own formation. Through my photographer's eye, I catalog details automatically—the way they move in perfect sync, how their apparent casualness masks combat readiness, the subtle bulges of concealed weapons under expensive clothes.

"Alpha Cadell." Kane's voice catches me off guard—gentle, almost pleasant, like he's arrived for afternoon tea rather than an armed confrontation. "Thank you for meeting with us on such short notice."

Aris doesn't move from his position, doesn't yield an inch of space. The sunlight catches the silver in his beard, the new lines around his eyes that speak of battles fought and won. "What brings you to my territory, Kane?"

The deliberate absence of title hangs in the air like smoke.

Kane's smile doesn't waver, but something in his scent sharpens. The smell reminds me of predators I've photographed—the particular musk of something that kills for pleasure rather than necessity. "We've been tracking a group of... persons of interest. Their trail led us here. We have business with them."

"Did it?" Aris's tone could freeze hell itself. The temperature in the room seems to drop several degrees. "Interesting, considering we haven't had any new arrivals in weeks."

My heart pounds so hard I wonder if they can hear it. Through the pack bonds, I feel the others' tension—Rafael's carefully contained fury, Bigby's tactical focus, Thalia's predator stillness. The air feels charged, like the moment before lightning strikes.

"Come now." Kane spreads his hands in a gesture of false openness that reminds me of corrupt officials I've photographed—people who smile while signing death warrants. "We both know that's not true. Marcus Hillmarton and his people passed through here. We have proof."

"Do you?" Aris takes one step forward, power rolling off him in waves that make my bones vibrate. "Then, by all means, present it. Along with your authorization to conduct investigations in my territory. Even if they were here, this wouldstillbe an act of impermissible aggression, Kane, and you know it.”

The temperature seems to drop another few degrees. Kane's people shift slightly, hands drifting toward concealed weapons. The morning light catches the movement, turning it into a deadly dance.

"The traditions of the shifter world," Kane says softly, each word precise as a blade, "are becoming increasingly irrelevant in these changing times. Just like those who cling to their outdated ideas about cooperation with humans." His eyes sweep the room, lingering on each of us like he's taking measurements for coffins. "Times are changing, Alpha Cadell, and I know you know that. Old alliances are crumbling. New powers are rising. The smart ones will adapt."

"Is that a threat?" Rafael's voice carries clearly, sharp with challenge. I feel his rage through our sibling bond—not hot like mine, but cold and focused. Deadly.

Kane's attention shifts to my brother, and my wolf surges with protective fury.

Something in his expression shifts, and becomes more intent. More hungry. "Merely an observation. Though I find it interesting that you'd interpret it that way. Guilty consciences often hear threats where none exist."

"The only guilty one here," Aris cuts in, his voice heavy with Alpha authority that makes the windows rattle slightly, "is your trespassing on my territory. Making baseless accusations. Threatening my people."

"I haven't threatened anyone." Kane's smile turns razor-sharp, all pretense of pleasantness falling away.

The unspoken word hangs in the air like smoke, like blood in water:yet.

"Let me be perfectly clear." Aris takes another step forward, and the power radiating from him makes my teeth ache. Morning light catches his eyes, turning them to burning gold. "You have no authority here. No right to demand anything. You will leave my territory now, taking your people and your threats with you. Or you will be removed. Your choice."

For a moment, the silence is absolute. Even the morning light seems to hold its breath.

Then Kane laughs, and the sound makes me think of photographs I took in war zones—the particular quality of light in places where violence has become routine. "You sound just like a man I once knew, you know. All that righteous certainty. That unshakeable faith in rules and order." His eyes gleam with something that might be madness or might be perfect clarity. "Right up until the end. You cannot survive in this world without principles, Cadell. You know it’s true.”

Something in Aris's scent shifts—recognition? Understanding? The light catches his face at an angle that makes him look older, weighted with knowledge I can't decipher.

But before he can respond, a gunshot shatters the morning quiet, like breaking glass.

The sound comes from across the street, from the clinic.

Where Marcus is hiding.

My breath catches in my throat, and Imove.

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