Page 63 of Betrayed Knocked-Up Mate

Her skin glows in the afternoon light as I worship her with hands and mouth, marking every inch I can reach. When she sinks down onto me with a gasp of my name, the mate bond explodes between us like a supernova. Every sensation doubles, triples, reflects back and forth until I can't tell where I end, and she begins.

We move together like waves breaking on familiar shores, like thunder following lightning, like everything I've spent five years denying made manifest in flesh and blood and bone. Her nails dig into my shoulders as she rides me with increasing urgency, and I meet her pace for pace, thrust for thrust, claiming and being claimed in equal measure.

The bond grows stronger with each passing moment, weaving itself through muscle and marrow until separation becomes impossible. When she throws her head back with a cry of completion, I follow her over the edge, my release triggering another wave of pleasure that crashes through our shared connection like a tidal wave.

Afterward, we lie tangled together in the late afternoon light, her head tucked beneath my chin as our breathing slowly steadies. My hands can't seem to stop touching her—tracing patterns on her skin, sliding over the subtle curve of her stomach, reassuring myself that this is real.

That she's real. That she's mine. That we're finally, finally whole.

"I can feel you thinking," she murmurs against my throat.

I press a kiss to her temple, breathing in our mingled scents. "Just... grateful. For you. For our child. For everything I almost lost by being too afraid to fight for what matters."

She props herself up on one elbow to look at me properly, and the love in her eyes steals my breath. "No more fear?"

"No more fear," I agree, pulling her close again. "Just us. Just this. Just everything we'll build together."

The sun sets behind us as we drive north toward home, toward pack, toward future. Camila's hand finds mine across the console, our fingers interlacing like they were made to fit together. The mate bond hums between us like a perfect note held forever, like a promise kept, like everything Kane tried to destroy made stronger through love instead of hate.

And for the first time in five years, I let myself believe in forever.

Chapter 29 - Camila

The late summer light in Rosecreek has a quality all its own, I’ve learned—softer than California's harsh brilliance, gentler than the stark contrasts I chased across Asia. Through my camera's viewfinder, I watch it paint poetry across familiar faces as the pack gathers for the evening's celebration.

My growing belly makes finding the right angle challenging, arms aching more easily from holding a camera than they used to, but four months of adjusting to these changes has taught me to adapt. The child beneath my heart stirs as I crouch to capture Elena teaching some of the younger pack members about surveillance tech, her patience evident in every gesture. The moment feels significant somehow—the passing of knowledge, the building of trust, the subtle ways our two groups have woven themselves together into something new and stronger.

Marcus's team has transformed the old Carter property downriver into their base of operations, just far enough from the pack center to maintain autonomy but close enough that the boundaries between our communities grow more permeable each day.

They travel often to Marshall City, still helping with rebuilding efforts there, but providing lots of aid in Minnesota, too, where pack politics in the shifter world are still upside-down. The building project itself has given everyone purpose in the aftermath of Kane's death—shifters and humans working side by side, just like his parents dreamed.

We want to build something good out here. Something kind, and gentle.

Through the lens, I catch Asher watching Maia as she helps James demonstrate proper bandaging technique to some of the pack's younger members. There's something tender in his expression that makes my photographer's instincts sing. I snap the shot before he notices, capturing that unguarded moment. Maia glances up as if sensing his attention, and the smile they share could power the whole town.

"Those two are worse than we ever were," Rafael's voice comes from behind me, rich with amusement.

I straighten carefully, one hand pressed to my lower back as I turn to face my brother. “Something tells me it might be a long road for them yet.”

"Unlike some people I could name?" His eyebrow raises meaningfully, but there's no heat in the words. Three months have softened the edges of old hurts, turned them into something we can almost joke about.

"Marcus and I got there eventually." I lean into his side as he wraps an arm around my shoulders. Through the pack bonds, I feel his contentment, his pride, his lingering protectiveness that now extends to his future niece or nephew.

"Speaking of getting there..." Rafael nods toward where Marcus stands deep in conversation with Aris, likely discussing the latest intelligence about remaining radical groups. Even from here, I can see the easy confidence in his stance—no trace remaining of Kane's serum since James and Veronica perfected the cure. "He's good for you. Better this time around."

"He's good for all of us." I adjust my camera's focus to capture the way Marcus's hands move as he speaks, all controlled power and subtle grace. As if sensing my attention, he glances our way, his smile hitting me like summer lightning. "The teams work well together."

"They do." Rafael's tone turns thoughtful. "It's what their parents wanted, isn't it? Cooperation. Understanding. Building bridges instead of walls."

The reminder settles warm in my chest as I survey the gathering through my lens. Everywhere I look, I see evidence of those bridges: Byron teaching Asher's tactical team about pack protocols while Keira adds her expertise to the conversation. Thalia and James comparing notes on emergency field medicine.

A burst of laughter draws my attention to where Veronica has commandeered the grill, playfully swatting Marcus's hands away as he tries to help. The domesticity of the scene makes my heart clench—this is what we fought for, what Kane tried to destroy. Not just survival, but community. Family.

"You're getting sentimental in your old age," Rafael teases, catching my expression.

"Blame the hormones." I pat my belly as the baby kicks, strong enough now for others to feel. "Your niece or nephew is very opinionated about everything these days."

"Wonder where they get that from." His mock-serious tone dissolves into a yelp as I elbow him in the ribs. "Hey, be careful with the merchandise! Thalia’s very protective of me, you know.”

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