Chapter 6 - PAWN AMONG WOLVES CH. 06

The coffee shop and internet cafe looked somewhat tatty and uncared for, the windows slightly smeared and the paintwork peeling lightly off the old boards. Tatty suited Gemma just fine. She'd blend in perfectly. She'd never wanted a bath and clean clothes so much in her life, her skin felt as if it was keening, pleading with her to get this cake of sweat and dust OFF. Plus certain other evidence of her perpetually aroused state. Weirdly, despite the Marsh wolves referring to this as her blood heat, there was at least none of that around - her body seemed to have gone off at a tangent from the normal course, and was trying to drag her with it into this uncharted whirlpool of pure, ferocious lust.

However, dirt was preferable to being caught, and while she didn't think her unwelcome suitors were going to be put off by a little sweat, she'd take any help she could get. It felt like she was tiptoeing through the eye of a hurricane, waiting for the second half to catch up with her. Any second. Shit.

She shivered lightly.

She was walking stiffly, footsore and aching, down the unpaved dusty slope of the hill towards the shop in the soft morning sunshine. Her legs were spaced slightly further apart than usual - it was just that they were stiff from all the running and didn't work properly. It had nothing to do with avoiding further unwanted stimulation. Not a bit. Nope. No.

When Gemma had finally spotted an Internet sign, she'd blazed straight past to the top of the hill on the bike, making a dazed, relieved beeline for the first likely-looking fence she could see. A fence that she'd be able to get back onto the monster bike from. There were disadvantages to borrowing (ahem) bikes off guys who were at least a foot taller than she was. Like not being able to stop without somewhere to prop the bike, as she couldn't reach the ground with even the tips of her toes, and knew the machine would probably refuse to stop keeling over when she finally could put her foot down, and would then use her leg as a nice pillow if she didn't jump fast enough.

She really didn't think lying trapped under a motorbike waiting to see who found her first would make her day any better.

Not that she didn't like the bike. She appreciated it, was exceedingly grateful for its existence and eagerness to sprint at the drop of a hat.

God, she was weary, her mind felt like it was dribbling little patches of disconnected idiocy, fudging coyly sideways whenever she tried to get it to focus on the problem at hand. Like how to escape the ravening wolf pack on her tail. Running all night after three nights of too little sleep was no joke - too little sleep due to somebody's idea of a good wet dream waking her up every few hours... Mac should really be ashamed of himself, some of the stuff he got up to in her dreams... no, don't go there. No. I said NO. Why are you not listening? No, I did NOT want answers on a pornographic postcard.

Ooh, she was so damn aroused. All the time. It was exhausting. Her skin felt like there were little feathers brushing over every single inch, softly, tantalising, unbearable. And her nipples were little hard bullets, rubbing against her t-shirt, while her clit and cunt throbbed, demanding touch, demanding attention. Incessantly. Increasingly insistently. This was why she couldn't think. Every thought led down to her cunt. What it wanted. Needed. Not even getting off the bike had provided any respite, she was going to have to buy herself a gag soon to stop herself from groaning. Screaming.

Mac. Mac. Mac. Get here. Now.

He didn't even know she needed him. Unless he'd contacted the cubs.

Internet, the faint spark of rational thought remaining in her brain squeaked at her, and she stumbled back into movement down the hill. She hadn't realised that she'd stopped. Or that her hands had been softly stroking southward toward the zip of her jeans. Doh.

She stuffed her fingers into the front pockets to prevent them wandering off on their own anywhere embarrassing. Which was easier to do than usual, the jeans were looser. This had something to do with her having knotted the elastic from her shredded panties through the belt loops to stop the rear of the trousers dangling below her knees. Then she'd tied her fleece around her waist, over the top, to avoid flashing the neighbourhood with her bare buttocks through the huge rips in the denim.

The light breeze that sneaked through the tears and caressed the heated, wet, tingling skin between her thighs was just so not helping. Her blood felt as though it was panting. She was kind of glad she was dazed from physical exhaustion and hunger. She had a feeling that if she'd been alert, she'd have been slavering and whimpering aloud.

Life was a little strange at the moment.

As she wavered wearily on down the road, Gemma passed a side street, and suddenly felt an electric shock shiver down from the top of her spine. Her skin tightened and the small hairs across her arms raised to alert as a feather of intense feeling caressed over her torso. Anticipation radiated through her veins. Her lips parted to pant gently, and her eyes clouded with lust as she angled herself to the right, body following instinct with no thought. Absolutely glorious, the scent melted into her like warm chocolate, enticing, luscious.

Too far right. Not there.

She turned herself back slightly, mind blank of all but the need to find him, to trace back along that delicious scent trail, and she swayed as the waves of eagerness washed higher, higher, pussy throbbing with pure want.

There.

That way.

Her nipples were erect, taut, drawing her forward as she paced softly, thoughts fogged with lustful images, in the wake of this musk. Her skin was screaming with joyous anticipation and her tongue traced along her upper lip.

Then suddenly, from nowhere, a blast of anger slammed into her and she staggered to a halt, still burning under the lust, but with fury searing through her veins, fighting the want, clearing her eyes as her body swayed under the internal onslaught.

Wrong scent.

WRONG.

Breath rasping harshly in the air, she swayed on the spot, and then managed to drag herself around, her skin, her bones, her blood all desperately screaming no! as she forced them to turn away. She could taste the tang of the salt iron in her mouth where she had bitten through her lower lip to prevent the screaming howl from escaping. Her feet scraped along the ground as she compelled herself inch by slow, fighting inch back to the main street, body yowling, struggling in fierce protest while her mind battered her with the white-hot needle-point burns of wrong piercing into her with every breath.

Bloody hell.

Anger shot another jolt of rage through her, anger that it was so damn hard to force herself into retreat, and it spurred her on to stagger across the street drunkenly. She weaved on her unsteady feet as lust and anger fought for supremacy, then collapsed to lean both palms against the cool glass of a shop front, gasping. No. It was getting harder the further she hauled herself from the source of that scent. Tearing herself in two.

Bloody HELL. NO.

Desperately, her body was fighting to turn back. To follow. Her mind was raging, empty of any thought beyond fury as the two sides struggled. Her senses were calling, desperately pleading, yearning towards that wolf-musk. Yearning to taste, to smell, to nuzzle, to touch the male wolf; to present her aching, wet pussy to him and have him mount her, mate her, fulfil and subdue this fierce, aggressive need. Her blood was tumbling in a melee of anticipated, ecstatic release, wrenching her, sucking her down the side-street after that scent.

Her mind was slamming waves of incandescent anger against the deluge of want, each wave crashing in and slamming her back into sense, into herself, halting her sway to follow. The sense of wrongness swamped her, briefly subsuming the burning lust before each spike of fury sank and her small frame teetered and swung back again under the inexorable pull. Which made her furious.

Exhausting.

Her small, curvaceous frame was bent almost double as she leaned her palms against the glass, her long, dark, wind-blown waves of hair hanging in a dusty curtain about her face, shielding the contorted agony of her expression as she desperately fought the desire pounding at her, through her, her glazed eyes fixed, unseeing, on a small shiny emblem in the window display.

The blood was a sharp, welcome contrast in her mouth as she prevented herself from screaming at the feeling of being ripped apart, pulled in two by the raging forces inside her. Hands tensed into claws, shoulders hunched, she leaned closer against the glass, panting as she pressed her heated forehead against the smooth surface, even as she felt herself sway back towards that street. A cold finger of fear traced down her spine as she struggled under the lash of the rage. She couldn't maintain this level of fury, it would have to burn out. Whereas the lust - the lust was slowly swamping the fury. Fear cleared Gemma's her mind slightly, and her eyes settled on the small item on display in front of her.

Cross.

Then she shuddered, clenching them shut again in agony as she teetered under the renewed onslaught between the warring fires inside her.

A silver cross.

Her eyes opened again, this time intent.

Silver.

Abruptly, her brain cleared, settled, and a cold clarity spread out through her frame from the coolness in her mind, smothering the trembling shivers creasing her as she stared hard at the necklace in the window, forehead furrowed in worry.

Mac. Poisoned.

His name in her mind solidified the steady chill advancing through her body, cooling the raging lust, anchoring it, and she wondered why the hell thoughts of Mac hadn't surfaced earlier when that male musk had sideblasted her. All the objection that her instincts had come up with was the unthinking sense that that scent was wrong - but she hadn't been able to focus on why, there had been no clarity in the feeling. Until now. The thought of the poison still eating into Mac's belly cleared her head further, fear echoing in her mind.

He hadn't said much last night. In fact, he'd been too busy ordering her off the phone and out of Marsh's rooms to be counted as chatty, but the way he had reacted to the news - and more, the reaction of the other two on the line, the roughness in their voices, had told her that there was something serious to worry about here. That they were seriously worried about him. Gemma straightened, gingerly stretching out her aching limbs as the shattering chill spreading through her smothering the lingering tug of the burning lust, and she swayed as she faced the fear - how ill was he?

She swallowed the blood in her mouth as she felt a hollow emptiness echo through her mind, and swayed under the feeling.

How the hell was she going to find a cure for him?

Mac was right - not that she was going to tell His Smugness this - she was a little spooked - scared - ok, terrified, about going back to her own lab. It was not somewhere she felt safe with the Grey on the prowl, not after he'd pulled that stunt with security last time. The memory of the vicious fury in Nick's black eyes the last time she had seen him seemed bleached into her mind. Who knew who else the Grey leader had corrupted, coerced or bribed?

Gemma shivered again in the warm sun.

There was an alien, aching coldness to the scabbed-over wound on Mac's abdomen. Help. She must help. But if the Grey caught her before she found something, then she couldn't help Mac, so what to do? She wavered in uncertainty, mind echoing with worry as she lamented the lack of her usual facilities to work with. Lack of opportunity. She couldn't go there. Too risky. Shit, shit, shit, but she had to do something.

Her mind was echoing blankly, circling in empty, useless thoughts and her memory idly traced up from the wound in Mac's toned abdomen to the sleek, sculpted planes of his muscular chest. A tingle of heat simmered across her skin, then suddenly her pussy clenched in need and the fire roared into life in her veins. The flames in her blood surged back to engulf her, clouding her brain but the terror rose also; she quickly hurled her focus back to the memory of the chill, parasitic feel of that taut scab frozen into his skin, fighting fire with ice-cold fear of what might happen to him.

Concentrate.

She had to find a way to heal Mac. For both of them. But - no lab?

Since when did you get stuck on thinking there's only one way of tackling a problem? the you-are-so-dim voice in her head echoed sarcastically.

Her breathing was light, tense, and her mind cold, the fire subsiding again to a dim smoulder sunk beneath the cool reason commanding her attention. How to find Mac an antidote without access to her lab? Gemma turned and walked carefully into the shop, thinking hard while she fished her own scribbled copy of the poison formula out from her fleece pocket, together with her bank card.

Brief shop stop. Then Internet.

The Marsh Alpha blinked incredulously, watching from the second storey window of the inadequate bedroom he'd hastily hired in the hotel, while the little were-girl turned and walked into the jewellers. He had been impressed that she'd managed to turn at all, once she'd started after his scent trail, and had been anticipating having that fire beneath him as he watched how hard she had fought the pull of his musk. But to then turn her back entirely? To refocus?

What the hell have you found, here, Mac?

His loins tightened further and his aching cock pulsed demandingly - he hadn't even scented her, all he had caught was the trail in his chambers, but god, he wanted her even more now. His body was shuddering with contained lust. It had been long years since he had last scented a wereem on heat, but he didn't remember being this intoxicated by just their footprints in his carpet. All were-girls smelt Alfamme when on heat, because they all had Alpha shiele in them, the shiele of their Alpha, their mordeur. But he'd never heard of one with Alfamme control.

More like the opposite.

A small smile lifted his lips and a predatory gleam lighted his eyes as he watched the girl re-emerge from the shop and head on down the main street, out of sight, brow furrowed in a scowl at the sheet of paper in her small hand. Her focus held her oblivious to his musk trail. A thrill of excitement shuddered along his burning skin, lifting the tiny hairs. He could barely remember the last time he had had to work to entice a mate; even the on rare, sweet chances which arose to chase down an unmatched Alfamme, the female would belly to him, quivering with delight as soon as he cornered her enough for his scent to roll over her.

The pulse of blood throbbing in his veins was growing more insistent as a bead of his seed moistened the end of his cock. Oh, he wanted this one. He would delight in hunting her down and matching her fierceness until her struggles melted and she lifted tail - or actually that delectable ass, in the human form. He had no objection to humans. His erection swelled at the image in his mind and Marsh had to concentrate on cooling his raging blood for a moment, before refocusing on the problem at hand.

How to tempt the little wereem out of human sight without getting so close that his control wavered? An Alpha - and a Warlord - had a certain reputation to maintain. He couldn't go subduing the curvaceous little dark beauty and rutting her in public, it might reignite some of the legends among the humans that his people had spent decades carefully dampening.

His cock surged in ecstasy and his teeth lengthened at the thought of her small form pinned under him as he mounted her. Blood raging, Marsh briefly considered just killing any witnesses.

No.

Sometimes it was such a pain, having to maintain this legendary control.

A few hours later, Gemma's head felt light, her brain clear as she carefully re-read the advertisement that she had drafted on the university website. The desk and floor around her were strewn with scribbled workings, the flowery kitten-patterned notepaper which was all she'd been able to buy off the begrudging proprietor was decorated with her untidy scrawl, circular brown coffee-cup stains and the odd smudge from a greasy pastry.

She smiled as she reached the bottom of the page, satisfied, stretching her tense, aching shoulders and fingers, and rubbing her blurry eyes. The dormant smoulder between her thighs rippled into a humming purr as her fierce concentration lifted slightly.

She had needed to set the paper for applicant for the research internship anyway, and it usually attracted the elite students. This would be a good challenge for them.

And it had not taken as long as she had feared to work out the possible avenues for them to test - she never usually worked completely theoretically, but her mind had a clear-cut focus that she'd never before attained. It was also interesting - it had taken her a while to recognise the formula for blood in the workings copied from Anne's textbook detailing the reaction of the poison in the wolf body, because there was a lot more iron at the heart of the organic polymer than usual. Evidently wolf blood wasn't exactly the same as human.

So hopefully none of the applicants would realise what they were working on.

Gemma scoffed at herself at the very idea. Werewolves don't exist, remember?

Her engorged cunt-lips throbbed between her thighs. Hopefully her wolf would be around for a lot longer. Around here. Right here. Any second. Now. She tore her mind away from images of Mac pressing her down onto the computer desk and pulling her thighs apart, and struggled to refocus dazed eyes on the screen, scrambling the mouse across the page to the Post button. He's poisoned. Weak. Remember? A flash of the chill of reason cooled through her, and she pulled herself together, glaring at the page.

This had to work. Or at least one of them did. After the intense hours of poring over the online literature and urgently scribbling on her notepad, Gemma felt fiercely hopeful that one of her three antidotes would work as a cure for him.

She prayed.

She also needed at least one of the students to be able to follow her methods and mix them right. It was an unusual way of auditioning. To say the least. But if even one of them managed to combine the precision and the delicate techniques required to produce the formulas she'd just invented in their own school labs, then Gemma had a feeling she'd be sending that star student the coveted welcome-to-the-department pack in a few months.

She also prayed that Nick wouldn't go so far in staking her out as to check the intern posting. A little smile lit her face - she doubted even the Grey would have managed to corrupt the holier-than-thou head of faculty, who was the only other person connected with her that she knew would definitely read the ad.

The smile broadened into a not very pleasant grin as she imagined the reaction of her boss once he found out that she'd only allowed applicants a week to return their solutions - with carriage pre-paid by the university. So he'd scream at her a bit for the extra cost, and because he'd have to deal with the irate parents complaining that their Einstein offspring hadn't stood a chance with the timescale and the practicality of the set task. She had greater problems right now. Like creating a cure for a poisoned werewolf - sorry, wolf.

Not that that was how she'd described the silver pollution in the task she'd just set.

It was so surreal, this mix of reality and wolf world.

Her pussy surged again with awakening demand, body throbbing into life, dammit. Going over the problem in her head was not working to keep the lust at bay any longer, not now that she had done all she could here. Now she felt hopeful. She could feel the urgent desire rising like sap through her system, demanding attention, demanding - dammit, Mac. Now. She jammed her finger down angrily on the button to post the advert. Why the hell wasn't he responding?

Gemma jumped as she heard the wheezing breath of the fat woman who ran the cafe at her elbow. Even if the round woman didn't spend a lot on upkeep of her establishment, she was a damn good pastry cook, evidenced by the hordes of sugar junkies who had been flocking to the place all morning. Gemma had practically breathed in the first three or four items she had bought, but had managed to savour her way more slowly and appreciatively through the rest.

"Have you finished, dear?" The woman asked, her voice echoing funnily through the blood drumming in Gemma's ears. Then the owner's voice changed and she gasped when she spotted a flake of pastry on the desk by the computer keyboard.

"Crumbs on my keyboard!" She clasped her hands theatrically to her ample bosom, pointing a finger in classic, overdone accusation at the offending morsel.

Simultaneously, Gemma's instant messenger pinged and her heart leaped, pussy squirming with delight as her eyes zoomed in on the 'Mac is online' popup which appeared in the corner of the screen.

Finally!!

"I'm sorry," Gemma gasped, barely aware of the woman still hovering at her elbow as she turned to hammer the keys in a frustrated message, "But I don't think I got any on the keyboard, I was careful."

> I thought I told you to answer your messages faster!?!

"You may think that you were being careful, young lady, but I bet you've dropped crumbs between the keys - I told you not to eat at the computer desks, but I saw you..."

> Thank god, Gem. You OK?

What was bothering this woman? "I'm sorry, but look, I'm sure the computer's OK, I was sitting over my papers while I ate," Gemma responded distractedly. How the hell was she supposed to respond appropriately to Mac with the owner looming beside her?

> NO. Wolf NEEDED. Sidville, MK. NOW!

Dammit, the woman could read into that what she liked, if she'd just go AWAY. But the cafe owner had worked up a full head of steam while Gemma typed, unsurprisingly annoyed at the lack of attention she was getting, "... don't serve food or drinks to customers using the computers, they're liable to spill all over the keyboard and then it's nearly impossible to get the crumbs out from between the keys..."

Gemma barely heard the long, loud complaint, watching the screen intently while her blood writhed insistently and her pussy felt as though a gentle finger was stroking inside. This was taking him way too long to respond - what was he doing? She jammed in an angry extra line.

> Make that 5 minutes ago.

The voice of the irritating woman beside her rose indignantly. Gemma could hardly blame her, but - get a life. "...never work right after that and then you get other customers complaining that some of the keys are stuck. I ask you - it's only because some people don't look after anything that's not their own. You wouldn't believe the number of times I've had to stop customers from..."

This was so surreal. Her boyfriend - wolfmate - whatever - had been poisoned, a pack of salivating wolves was after her - what was the phrase? - oh yeah, on the rut - and she was being subjected to a deluge of complaint about the major problem of Crumbs In Keyboards. Relativity eat your heart out.

> Eta 2 hours. On my way. HAS someone hurt you?

Two whole hours! No! She was going to explode! A pulse of liquid oozed down her thighs. Stop it, stop it - she was better off not thinking about Mac. Or why the wolves were after her. What one would do if he caught her - why her body was so damn prepared - no, she was blocking any thoughts of that. And especially of him. No. Stop it. Cool it. Do not think about licking his damn throat again.

Two fucking hours! "I'll pay for the damn keyboard," Gemma gasped irately, cutting off the whine beside her as the fire raged higher in her blood, making her struggle not squirm on her seat and reach between her thighs. It was worse when she was actually talking to him. Oh. Oh. Oh.

> Not hurt, no - I ACHE - needed you five HOURS ago - you're late. BAD WOLF.

Gemma was beyond caring what the coffee shop owner read into this any longer. Then she became dimly aware, slightly guiltily, that the large woman had sniffed loudly and waddled off back to the till, just before Mac's reply appeared and her brain sizzled back to the screen.

> I'm coming as fast as I can.

> DON'T USE THE FU*KING 'C' WORD!!!

Gemma was grinning to herself despite the rage in her blood as she pounded her full frustration into her latest, free response and pressed send.

The 'Mac is typing a reply' message lingered on the screen, and she glared at it, frustrated. Get here now. Or at least talk to me. She could feel her insides melting in the scorching lust.

> Damn. Grey's chauffeur just sprinted down to his garage, screeched the car

> around and picked up Nick. Guess Grey has hacked in and is reading this message

> same time you are. Get going, Gem. Head the same direction as Kate & Bethan

> would after Christmas in Kat and use transport so no scent trail. I'll find you.

What?

> GO.

Tears sprang to Gemma's eyes - tears of anger and exhaustion. Damn Grey - hacking into Mac's IM. She'd thought she was safe now - or would be in two long hours. But no. Oh shit. And what the hell did Mac mean, sending her cryptic messages when she was so fucking tired? All that rubbish about Bethan and Kate and Christmas in Kat? She stared at the screen, tears leaking down her face, and then realised with a shock of fear that she maybe couldn't afford these seconds of stunned delay as a third message appeared on the screen.

> Please, Gem. GO.

At least he'd learned to say please.

> I hear and obey, bwana.

She smiled a little sarcastic smile at her reply as she lurched to her feet, despite the shiver from the memory of the fury in Nick's eyes, which seemed burned into her retinas. Mac - if he didn't get to her first, she was going to bloody well bite him herself. Hard. Somewhere nasty. And she'd probably be a werewolf by then anyway, from the sound of it, so it'd be effective.

Her smile widened as she surged to her feet. They screeched in blistered pain and her legs folded as the abused muscles cramped in a searing burn and she collapsed back into the seat. Damn.

Gemma slowly eased her abused limbs back into motion, tempting them to hobble over to the till with the promise of a big fat meat pasty to take up the hill to the bike. Begrudgingly, they began to follow her instructions, wincing with every tender step. Make that a whopping big meat pasty. One with the fluffy pastry and yummy curry undertones.

The bill was extortionate, but Gemma was beyond caring about irrelevancies like how she was going to meet her outgoing payments this month.

Clue, clue, clue, the words pounded in her head as she limped painfully back up the hill. Dammit, Mac, why did you have to get cryptic right now? As if she didn't know. But she didn't want to have to think any more - her brain was aching from the last couple of hours. And this was a wolf problem, right? She wanted him here, dealing with it. Well, there were more elegant ways of describing what she wanted from him. Mac. Dammit, Mac. What she really wanted was him to fuck her, hard and fast, and then let her curl up safe in that warm embrace and sleep.

Ooo. Better not think of that just now. Stop it. Think of something else. No, I meant something completely different, not just a different bit of his anatomy. And quit with the innocently surprised face.

A contented memory flashed across her mind, of cuddling inside the warmth of Mac's arm on the sofa at their Christmas house party, feeling the rumble in his chest as he had howled in derisive appreciation at Kate and Bethan's appalling-to-the-point-of-hilarious double-act. The corners of Gemma's mouth twitched :

"There's a little yellow idol to the north of Kathmandu."

Kat. Kathmandu. Not exactly subtle, Mac. North it is.

She sighed, and wearily, painfully clambered onto the fence to swing a leg across and ease herself back astride the bike, settling gently onto her aching cunt. Oooh. Like.

Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.

Turn the engine on. Go on. It's better with the engine on.

Shut it. Shut it. Shut UP.

Gemma was too busy berating herself, struggling to subdue her lust, to notice the two men unfolding from the car down the street and pacing meaningfully towards her. She pulled the bike key out of her pocket and then yanked herself backwards, shuddering, heart racing, as a hand came down lightly on her shoulder while a voice drawled, "Ma'am?"

She twisted out of reach, terrified, scrambling with ungainly movements off the rear of the seat, but the second one was already there, and she suddenly stilled as she recognised the uniforms. The cops looked at her suspiciously.

"May I ask if you have a safety helmet, Ma'am?" The older one drawled as he stood challengingly in front of her, his gaze ironic as he looked at her manically wind-whipped and dusty, frazzled hair. She froze, staring at him wide-eyed.

No way.

There was a long pause while they stared at each other, his gaze growing more derisive while Gemma maintained her rabbit-in-the-headlights look, until she finally shook her head, faintly. She didn't think she could speak. The second cop, behind her, was already talking into his radio, slowly reading out the licence plate of the monster bike, eyes wandering bemusedly over the ripped, shredded padding of the pillion seat, and the deep scratches on the underlying metal.

Oh my god, I don't believe this, thought Gemma, heart thudding painfully.

"Is this your motorbike, Ma'am?" The first one asked a second question, his eyes sarcastic as he waited for her to lie and say yes. An eyebrow lifted in faint surprise when, after a second dumb pause, she shook her head again. Numbly. There wasn't a lot of point in lying here, they had the licence plate number, she was way too small to ride it, wrongly dressed and just tired of all this shit. Gobsmacked.

I just - no way. No way. This can't be happening.

"Well then, would you mind accompanying us to the station to answer a few questions?"

Yes, she thought faintly.

Where on the 'my-life-is-surreal' range of weird problems did getting arrested for stealing the bike fit into all this? Was this the point where she was supposed to tell the cops to let her go because she was being chased by a lust-maddened pack of wolves from one direction, and an extra homicidal one who wanted to turn her into a werewolf slave from another? Did she ask the police for help? What help?

She shook her head for a third time, dazedly, feeling as though she was floating in a detached bubble, two inches off the ground, even as the fire shimmered relentlessly in her veins.

"I take it you already know that you have the right to remain silent, Ma'am," the sarcastic cop drawled further, then waved her past him, imperatively. She limped forward towards the marked car parked a little way along the top of the hill, still on dazed autopilot. The policeman fell into step beside her and continued to drone out her rights.

Her rights.

Rights, thought Gemma, brain clearing slightly as her heart clenched suddenly in hope while she halted by the cop car. Phone call. Mac. Her cunt throbbed with that merciless ache, and she swayed, closing her eyes against the surge of longing. Please, please. No-one else, please. She felt cold as she remembered just how damn far away he was. But he knew how much she needed him.

Oh, did she need him. Liquid surged again between her thighs, legs feeling weak as she trembled all over. Dammit.

"Do you require assistance entering the vehicle, Ma'am?" she faded back in, hearing a sarcastic voice biting terse words above her head, and quickly reopened her eyes and folded herself into the back seat through the door he was holding open.

At least you human males still smell just as attractive as ever, she thought grouchily at the sarcastic cop.

Ten minutes later, Gemma was gazing out of the window fixedly, losing her fight against drooping eyelids as she watched the hypnotic light flicker through the trees lining the road. They were driving to the next, larger town - apparently, that was where the police station was. And weren't they heading north? She thought so, vaguely. Good.

Then abruptly a shiver rang up her neck, lifting the short hairs and she tensed as she caught a quiet edge of a sharply breathed word -Marsh? - from the two cops in the front seat. Tensing, Gemma listened intently. Their low murmurs were almost smothered under the surrounding noise, but despite the worried echo of her heartbeat pounding in her ears, Gemma felt as though she was tuning in, sifting effortlessly through the background blur to pinpoint their very quiet tones underneath the harsh growl of the engine. Concentrating, she could hear them as though she was suddenly sitting between them.

"..didn't realise there was a bulletin out on a stolen motorbike, must belong to some really rich fucker."

"Probably the son of a senator - if the comm was contacted by Chief March down in Belmont, it'll have to be a congressman or the cousin of a Kennedy at least, he doesn't usually mess about."

"Yeah, I've heard that Marsh usually sends people flying through the window if they try to lean on or bribe the BPD for favours."

"Like I said, nothing less than the president or a Kenne- what's that?"

Gemma felt the sharp prickle of worry in her stomach begin to curl into a knot as the vehicle slowed, and then rolled to a halt in the middle of a long, empty stretch of forested road. She looked about, and her light shiver increased, tension twisting through her limbs as she focussed on the huge tree fallen across the road ahead of them. It had fallen on a long, straight stretch, where the cops would have plenty of time to see it and stop. Providentially.

No.

The wind could, at best, be described as a very light breeze. Not enough to topple trees.

Oh-oh.

Her blood started to race at full gallop, eyes darting suspiciously, desperately, around, searching the surroundings, the sun filtering through the gentle slopes covered in pines. The younger cop was talking into his radio again, and the older had gotten out to survey the blockage, when suddenly Gemma's door was open, her seatbelt undone, and she was hauled out sideways and draped over a sinewy shoulder. In the blink of an eye, the muscular young male holding her had turned and sprinted back for the trees; Gemma was just drawing breath to scream when they reached the cover of the canopy, and she heard an irate yell from one of the cops as they plunged into the dappled light.

The harsh breath she took swamped Gemma's senses with the intense, impeccable scent of aroused male wolf, and her insides melted as her mind clouded over, heat pulsing through her. The crash of lust wasn't as mindblowing as it had been back in the town, though. The familiar, intense anger stabbed into her as a flash of green eyes glowered in her memory - Mac's eyes - and she twisted violently, trying to free herself from the warm arms holding her to her captor's shoulder.

The sinewy wolf pulled her down into a tighter embrace, cradled to his chest, and bent his head to snuffle hungrily at the pulse point on her neck while he ran swiftly on, whining. Then his warm tongue swiped over her shimmering skin in an excited lick, and he faltered to a halt in a small sun-dappled clearing in the trees, breathing harshly as he lowered her onto her back, resting her gently on the pine needles of the forest floor, following her down to lick feverishly at the scent coating her neck.

Gemma pushed desperately at his unmoving, shirt-clad chest, fighting, fighting the warm, melting pool of lust rising through her veins as she struggled to keep her own control. No. He grabbed her wrists and swept her hands above her head, one in each palm, before he wedged a leg between hers and began to grind his erection intensely against her hip, panting into her neck between swipes of that warm, invasive tongue. A wave of lust swamped her reason briefly.

No. Only Mac. Dammit.

Gemma resurfaced, as violent, shuddering rage shook her slight frame. A fog of teeming emotion lit red behind her eyes, burning her passion into fury. This was wrong too, just wrong. He was wrong. She twisted violently under the wolf and bit savagely at the skin of his throat, struggling to escape the suffocating embrace.

He laughed, a little hitched whimper of excitement breaking into the sound, and easily twisted his neck out of the grip of her blunt teeth. Then he dove back in to lick another long, slow savour of her taste, inhaling the scent of her neck, shuddering with arousal atop her.

A high-pitched yowl of rage escaped the girl pinned to the ground, and she jerked her chin to the side, slamming her head dizzyingly against his to block his access.

"Get OFF!" rage tightened her vocal chords so that she sounded infuriatingly like an enraged Barbie.

The wolf ignored her, resettling his heavy weight on her tight curves and grinding up against her with intense twists of his hips, his quick breaths deepening with excitement before he settled his wide open mouth over the pounding pulse on her neck and began to suckle, hard, teeth scraping lightly over the faint tracings of faded mottling. He began to shimmer and tan fur lengthened on his skin.

"Get off! Get OFF! GET OFF!!" Gemma was incandescent, screaming fury as she bucked and heaved ineffectually under the heavy weight and fought against the bruising grips around her wrists. She managed to twist her right hand free while he was preoccupied with his breathless excitement, and slammed her fingers to press hard against his exposed cheek.

The wolf howled as the small silver ring on her pinkie burned against his skin, and rolled dizzyingly fast away from her, rising to four feet in wolf form two feet away, a shiver running through his frame as he glared back at her. His teeth bared in a silent snarl.

A second, vicious snarl sounded across the clearing from somewhere above her head.

The tan wolf stilled, jerking his head up to glare at the intruder as he spun to face him, an answering snarl erupting automatically from his throat. Then Gemma saw a flicker of fear shadow her captor's eyes and felt her own heart thud with relief in the split second before the tan wolf hurled himself furiously to engage the intruder. She twisted onto her front to see, and glumly, irritatedly confirmed what her ears, her skin, had told her. It wasn't Mac.

The newcomer was a tawny chocolate and cream brown, much larger than the tan wolf and more collected in his movements, centred and graceful. In the time it took her to right herself, the tan wolf was on his back at the feet of his challenger, the ruff of his throat pinned in the heavy jaws. The pair stilled, the triumphant wolf glaring down into the eyes of the prone one. After an echoing, silent pause, the defeated wolf whined, wriggled submissively, and was released. He gently licked the nose of the victor, who stepped back and allowed him to roll to his feet. In the blink of an eye, the tan wolf disappeared into the trees with his tail clipped unhappily between his legs.

It all took seconds. Damn. This new guy was powerful.

An unwanted shimmer of pleasure trembled across Gemma's skin, and she growled quietly at herself while she hauled herself back onto her knees. She sat back on her heels facing the newcomer, shuddering as she glowered, and met his jet-black, glittering hot gaze defiantly.

"I don't want you either," she bit out carefully.

The eyes seemed to brighten, fire burning higher and his ears twitched briefly to attention. Then his head lowered to rest sunk between his shoulders, nose reaching toward her as he sniffed delicately, his ears folded back along his head. Eyes gleaming, he began slowly, meaningfully, to trot toward her.

Heat coursed searingly through Gemma, making her shudder and her eyes lose focus at the deluge of lust evoked by that slow strut. Here finally was a wolf to be reckoned with. Her blood was singing. Her mind was raging no, but she had a hollow feeling in her stomach - she knew she couldn't fight both of them this time - both him and herself.

"No!" The despairing call in Gemma's mind echoed from the lithe, slight figure of a young woman who streaked into the clearing and fell to her knees beside the advancing wolf, heedless of her own danger as she slid urgent hands into his silky ruff and tugged his head around to face hers, staring into that black gaze, her own eyes pleading. The wolf growled ferociously, frustratedly, but she ignored the deadly, bared teeth inches from her face, staring into his eyes, and the tall wolf begrudgingly allowed her to tug him to a halt.

"Don't. Oh don't, please. No. You said no. Please," the dark-skinned girl begged him softly.

A shudder shook the tense figure of the mocha wolf and he closed his eyes, shaking his head violently, pushing his nose in to snuffle the girl's neck. The serenely beautiful Asian-Indian features of the newcomer lifted to Gemma and she glared at her across one powerful furred shoulder, furious accusation seething in her tear-bright eyes.

"What kind of idiot are you, challenging an Alpha, for God's sake? Or do you want him to take you up on it?" she accused.

Gemma sank further back on her heels and just stared at the Indian girl, nonplussed. The ramped-up fear and arousal from that prowling approach was still shuddering in her veins, making her sway slightly. Dimly, she felt surprised that she could still be surprised.

The wolf shimmered and abruptly, Marsh surged to his feet in front of the lithe, dusky-skinned woman, his hand caressing briefly over her sleek black hair in wordless thanks. He was clad in black suit trousers and an expensive white sweat-soaked shirt, and looked a lot more battered than last time Gemma had seen him. He ran a tired hand through his chocolate brown locks as he sighed and squeezed the bridge of his nose, trembling lightly.

"And if you don't want me to take you up on it, then I suggest you don't trail your enticing mating doft through my bedroom." His rebuke was hot, growling with terse emphasis.

Gemma was still gaping, disbelieving, and the clearing echoed with crashes of silent, growing feeling for a few moments as she absorbed the accusation, before fury brought her surging to her own feet.

"If anyone - like your wife , or your men, had told me what was going on, then I wouldn't have done so," she bit back, starting to stomp toward him in her anger. The Alpha flung up an urgent hand, palm out towards her to halt her advance, shaking his head swiftly as he shuddered and retreated a step.

"No. No closer," he bit out. "I can just about control it with the wind at this angle and you at that distance, but don't push it, girl." The words were growled with a heated edge. Gemma caught a hint of the dark, bewitching musk that had drawn her unthinkingly down the sidestreet in Sidville, and shuddered, her own eyes glazing over as she backed off three hurried steps before stumbling and landing on her arse. She clenched her fingers into the grass to hold herself as the want battered at her.

That had been him? Marsh?

A little twinge of regret ghosted through her mind. She stomped on it, fury spiking.

Marsh shuddered, murmuring, "Damn!" as the increased heat of her aroused doft reached him, and the dark, slight woman stepped forward and twined an arm around his waist, leaning into him as though offering support, while he dropped his head and scented deeply of her black hair.

Gemma gaped at him from her position on the floor. The pull ached through her, blood screeching to touch him, to get closer, much closer, but the feelings didn't govern her mindlessly as they had earlier, and she just sat shuddering on the forest floor, nails clawed into the earth beside her to hold herself from inching towards him. She kept diving into images of Mac to pull herself back from the brink - she had six months of them to hold the lust for this Alpha at bay - and Marsh had said that he could control it so she could, too. Wait a sec.

Was Marsh really intending to control it?

She squeaked. It was meant to be a coherent question, but her throat was too parched, mind too flabbergasted, with thoughts tumbling in disjointed sentences even in her head. Evidently the tall, lean man understood her though, and answered.

"Mac broke through my hunt-focus two hours ago by ceding from the Aster alliance," the Aster Warlord growled the words softly, a pained shadow fleeting across his face. "It is insane - but he is furious at my damn bitch for setting you up like this." Something dangerous flickered behind the brown-flecked black eyes, and his quiet tone was packed with intense, buried feeling as he continued, "I cannot afford - none of us here in the Central Ranges - including the MacKeld pack - can afford not to hold together at the moment while Tzo is advancing. We need him." A dark, frustrated pause, and Marsh sighed, "I need him. Enough that yes, I'll make sure nothing - untoward - happens to his inconvenient human, to the best of my ability."

Gemma could see Marsh shuddering lightly as he closed his eyes against the internal battle with his lust, dipping his head to again scent the hair of the woman leaning lightly against him.

Inconvenient human? She guessed that was accurate, from Marsh's point of view.

"Moreover," he glanced down at the girl who had her arm around his waist, a teasing light softening the proud glitter of his gaze, the shiver in his frame lessening slightly, "As Jasmine points out, rape carries the death penalty among us also, and you didn't appear to be about to melt and lift tail to that puppy, no matter how hard he was trying to subdue you. You evidently aren't fully a wereem no matter how strong your doft, and human girls must be different."

Damn right.

Their eyes met across the open space, and Gemma felt a shimmer of lust feather back up her spine at the power of that gaze, a teasing bud of moisture escaping between her thighs. Dammit.

A speculative gleam came into those soft brown-speckled black orbs, glowing with heat, and Marsh brightened, smiling slowly across at her with a wicked little tilt to the corner of his mouth. "Of course, if you decide that you prefer another - contender, then Mac'll just have to - um - gracefully bow out." He raised an expressive dark eyebrow and spread his hands to her, a silent invitation.

Gemma shuddered, and this time it was her turn to shake her head briskly, an attempt to shake him out of it. She took careful, shallow breaths but when she opened her mouth her tongue seemed to tingle with the taste of his musk. She knew why Marsh had spread his arms, teasing his hot scent to shimmer through the air. Damn musk. Damn, damn achingly enticing, rich, strong, increasingly siren-sweet scent. Her body swayed and she shook under the slam of anger rising in response to the cresting lust. She shook her head violently and snorted, trying to breathe him away. Hold it. Think of Mac.

Mac.

Mac had sent this powerful Alpha a challenge - an ultimatum. For her. To protect her, his inconvenient human. As Marsh said, she could say yes if she wanted. Or no. Mac had given her back her choice - as far as the damn call in her blood would let her choose. The physical superiority of the wolves was no longer an issue. She had the choice, whether to mate one of them or not. If she could only control herself.

The knowledge was purring through her veins and reminding her who she really, rationally, did want. Mac was so worth the fierce struggle to ignore that damned enticing musk teasing her nostrils. Damn damn damn. She pulled her control together, shakily strapping it back over the tattered gaps.

"Then I'm safe?" Her voice was gruff with compressed tears, ignoring the invitation. Mac. Again.

The powerful, attractive Alpha facing her quirked a little surprised smile, and rolled his hips suggestively, a disappointed mock pout curling one corner of his mouth even as his eyes brightened further at the challenge she presented, burning. Gemma held her breath as the musk rolled in her direction, scowling at him. She stuck her tongue out - he deserved it. He shuddered, his smile twisted, and he sighed, smile breaking into an appreciative grin as he hugged the girl he was embracing to him.

"Damn. You really are something, little manu."

The Indian girl's lips twitched, a teasing sparkle in the beautiful dark eyes as she turned them up to the Alpha, and she murmured something that made him slant a sarcastic eye back down at her before he turned to Gemma again.

"Are you safe?" he continued. "Well, I have found, subdued and sent home all the Marsh wolves who were too - excited - to listen to an order, yes," he spoke softly in a grave voice, although his gaze was teasing, heated, as it roamed acquisitively over Gemma's petite, curvaceous form while he spoke. Wolf relationships were weird - he was still hugging the other girl to him and she leaned her slight, graceful figure peacefully against his powerful frame, perfectly still.

"If you could let Mac know this, I would appreciate it. He is too angry to listen to me right now," Marsh added.

Gemma's belly pulsed with liquid fire, a sudden cresting surge of sweet delight - yup - still protecting her. Even at this distance. Her lips curled into a soft smile. Overprotective idiot. She was getting used to it. She knew who she wanted to - subdue her , and she shuddered at the thought, the heated images flickering through her mind, raising her pulse to an erratic dance as a pulse of liquid heat surged between her thighs.

Submission. Gemma's eyes flickered to where the tan wolf had disappeared, remembering the clarity of that act of wolf submission. She shuddered to a different shiver. Marsh only just caught them all - that was close.

The chocolate brown eyes had followed hers, and the wolf frowned slightly, his expression serious as he turned back to meet her gaze. He abruptly let go of the woman - Jasmine? - and began to gently back off toward the surrounding pines, "Yes - however, you may be safe from the Marsh pack but that was one of Vanilchov's. He scented you in the nearby town when you were being arrested and set up his little ambush."

How did Marsh know this? It was eerie, how much the wolves knew about her movements. Like, how had Mac known that Nick was reading her IM?

"As an Alpha, I'm perfectly entitled to challenge him for a mate, even on his own range as we now are, but I can't take you with me without - giving in to my urges," He halted briefly and closed his eyes, then reopened them on raging black fire, wordlessly calling to her, as he continued, "which are getting stronger as I've mentioned Mac to you again and you're obviously reacting to that, and you smell damn attractive."

She shuddered, and blushed, more heat pulsing between her thighs.

Marsh stepped back soundlessly, trembling lightly, into the dappled shadow of the trees and halted, quirking an eyebrow at her in a last burning, enticing question. She shook her head stubbornly. He scowled.

"That pup'll have let his Alpha know about this by now," the Alpha continued, "and Vanil, who is not one to miss out on an opportunity to piss off Mac, is probably already on his way here with the intent of subduing you himself. You sparked his interest too, when you faced down Lou at the university."

What? Not another?

"So I have - we have brought you some assistance," he corrected himself, with a flicker of a glance at the woman, who was smiling serenely at him. "A thank-you for stopping that biker shooting Mike, little manu - I am grateful, even if the idiot almost deserved to be shot for behaving like a rabid wolf on a public highway."

The slight, dark beauty strode back to the tall, beautifully moulded male, briefly touching him on the shoulder in acknowledgement and farewell, before she turned her jet black eyes, now sparkling with pleasurable anticipation, to meet Gemma's.

"Also in apology and slight atonement for the actions of Madam Marsh," Marsh finished gruffly, an echo of anger reflecting deep in his voice. Then the man shimmered into the powerful wolf and flashed off into the forest in one seamless, graceful blur of movement.

Well. Mind whirling with the overload of suitor information, Gemma stood mute, heart racing, facing the dark young woman and the spot where Marsh had just disappeared. Someone else was chasing her now? Wasn't Vanil the platinum-blond muscled one who'd been spitting into Mac's face? It figured.

And assistance? In what?

The smooth black hair framed a perfectly oval, young, beautiful brown face; the short nose was wrinkled into mischief and her bow mouth curved in a friendly smile. This time.

"Glad to meet you, Dr. Smith, I'm Jasmine. I teach sjeste lust control and rut evasion at the Academy." The girl said this airily, easily. It was as if she'd never snapped Gemma's nose off three minutes ago.

Sjeste? Rut evasion? queried a corner of Gemma's mind, faintly. She felt stunned, unable to move her brain past the safe - not safe - safe - treadmill that her world seemed to whirl her through at the moment. And there was the distracting, disappointed whine in her blood at the disappearance of Marsh. At least she'd felt safe with him around. More than just safe. Hot. Damn hot.

Get here, Mac.

The woman's mouth tilted in a light, teasing smile and one eyebrow lifted in light sarcasm. "Let's just see what I can teach a human in the few short hours until your Alpha turns up."

Her Alpha.

Jasmine seemed nice, Gemma thought cautiously. Who was she? What was she to Marsh? And what could she teach a human that would work against wolves? She smiled tentatively back, but wasn't sure about this girl yet. Or other things.

"Evasion? You mean female wolves hate the rut too?" she queried.

The black brows twitched together in evident astonishment. "Sjeste hate the rut? No!" Jasmine smiled again, hot, naughty memories behind the eyes, "But the longer you evade the chase, the more heated the mating. Making stronger cubs."

A flash of memory of - heated - Mac seared through Gemma's veins and she closed her eyes as a wash of colour flared across her skin. Maybe she'd run when he got here. Oh yeah. Yum yum yum.

Like it'd do her any good.

Like she really wanted it to. Hah.

Trembling lightly, she heard a brisk sniff and opened her eyes to see Jasmine standing tautly erect, her nose in the air, turning her head slightly to scent the light breeze, an intent look in her black eyes.

"We need to get moving. I can scent a distant cheesemoulder on your trail - he'll be a good dreg of a nose-led idiot to teach you your first tactics on."

What?

The Indian girl smiled gleefully, "You wait - you'll be able to lead him around in circles, I promise. If you're clever, only those who can still think can catch you. And that takes a good, strong wolf. Especially with a doft as tight as yours - I've never seen Dad have to struggle that hard to keep control."

Dad?

Gemma bristled warily.

Marsh seemed OK - if what he said was true. And he had subdued that tan wolf. And left.

But if Marsh was the girl's Dad, then wouldn't Madam be..?

Jasmine saw the coldness growing in Gemma's eyes, and her own black brows twitched together in sudden anger, sparkles firing in the black as she made a short, violently negative movement with one hand.

"No way. She's not my mother. Stepmom is what you humans would call it, I guess." There was a quiet seething in her tone, "And I would guarantee that Dad's finally going to boot her for this - inciting conflict among the allies in the middle of a war. Stupid, self-centred Louse. She is an absolutely bone, a led-by-the-pussy bitch, and he may love fucking her, but this is way over the line. She just finds it impossible to believe that anything could be more important than her own perfection and sex," Jasmine was breathing harshly, angrily, as she gasped out the heated words. Then abruptly her brown face lit with delight, "And god did you drive her up the wall, facing her down in front of four Alphas." The girl ended her little rant on a high note. But she was still breathing hard.

"Guess you hate people thinking you're related, right?" Gemma murmured, a provocative sparkle in her eyes. The question set her companion off again.

"Have you eyes, manu? My Dad's human side is Caucasian - you think I'd get this exquisite skin tone if the Louse was my mother?" Jasmine stopped abruptly and twitched her nose in the air, tensing slightly to alert, adding with a soft growl, "Please pick your feet up, Dr. Smith - time to fuddle the brain of the already rut-fuddled wolf approaching."

OK. This was beginning to sound like it might be fun. And she could feel herself warming to Jasmine every time the younger girl referred to Madam as the Louse.

"Right. Call me Gemma."

Almost like fun. Pick up your feet. Gemma sighed and limped wincingly slowly toward the trees. Ow. Ow. Ow.

Jasmine stilled her own effortless, smooth gait and looked at Gemma. Then she echoed the sigh, wrinkling her nose, and waved the shorter girl slightly to her left.

"There's a stream that way. If you wash your feet, I'll heal them for you. Eugh. But I'll have to shift. No way am I licking your toes in human form."

Gemma wrinkled her nose back, and found that they were grinning at each other, her heart lightening as they crossed into the shade of the trees. A companion.

"Have you ever thought of seeing anyone about your weird foot-licking fetish?" she asked.

"Watch it, little manu," retorted the slender girl to her right. "I can find other ways of improving your pace."

Fuddling the wolf was fun.

There was a playful little smile on her face as Gemma leaned back against the trunk and watched from her perch high in the branches, grinning as the creature below them began to weave desperately around the deep pool where her trail disappeared. The drum of demanding heat in her blood had been soothed again by the effort of forcing herself to think with focus when setting up the misleading trail, and Jasmine had explained that this was a common beneficial side effect.

The wolf abruptly dashed off downstream, nose to the ground, frantically searching for a new scent, careering splashily from bank to bank of the narrow, flowing stream. He called triumphantly, a crooning kind of howl echoing back from around the second bend when he found the scent of the handprint she'd left on the rock midstream down there. Gemma sighed happily as she watched the ruffled fur disappearing into the green dappled shade as the wolf set off at full sprint following the water away from them.

Gemma tilted her head and grinned down at Jasmine on a lower branch. The Indian girl was shaking her own head and rolling her eyes after the retreating figure.

"Told you," the wolf girl snorted. "When they're this heated, it's like playing hide and seek with a toddler." She paused for a second, eyes slightly unfocussed as she scented the breeze, then continued, "OK, he's out of range. We can get moving, find you some food. You'll need refuelling, Mac can't be far now." Her eyes gleamed naughtily up at her human companion. Gemma's skin felt brittle, taut with lust and she felt a flush run across her cheekbones with the heat reviving in her blood. Energy. Mac. Mmm.

She ignored the taunt, excited by a sudden idea, "Can you talk to Mac? I mean, convey, whatever?"

"Sorry, no can do, little human." Jasmine began to swing down through the branches with lithe, unconscious grace.

Damn. And little was a bit rich, coming from a girl three years younger than herself. Even if she was a bit taller. Like everyone else on the planet over the age of ten.

"I'm petite," corrected Gemma haughtily, "so I believe the correct phrase is, 'elegantly petite manu', you will find, oh unable-to-communicate-clearly sjeste." Along with rut evasion, she'd been having wolf language lessons while they travelled through the wooded hills. A sjeste was a young female wolf, or sjeste were several young females wolves - Gemma had commented on the similarity between sjeste and sheep, there being no difference between the term for one or several, and been pushed into the stream. Manu was slang for a human.

Gemma began to lower herself through the branches after the younger girl, grinning at the snort from her new friend, and Jasmine crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue when Gemma landed carefully on the ground under their tree.

"No, I believe the correct phrase is cheeky manu," the wolf girl retorted. "I can't convey to Mac because I'm not an Alfamme yet. Not reached that level. Nor am I in his pack. And he's too focussed on hunting you - and too furious - to respond to Dad, so we can't do relay either. C'mon, cheeky manu."

Gemma sighed as she scuffed the grass with her toes. Jasmine was already off, weaving between the trees with her steady, effortless lope. OK, so Gemma's feet didn't hurt any more but OW she was sick of running. She stuck her hands on her hips and scowled after her companion.

"I'll only run if you tell me what picchu means," she called stubbornly.

Jasmine spun on the spot, grinning again, a cheerful, taunting grin as she halted. "So walk, cheeky little manu. I told you, you have to ask Mac. It's not a word I use." Gemma growled under her breath and lurched into slow movement, grumbling to herself. What did that mean?

"And there are no threats in scent range so we can go at your snail pace anyway," Jasmine continued sunnily as she waited.

Gemma stalked past her.

"How do you know which way to go, anyway?" she grumbled as Jasmine began to guide them further up the slope out of the valley, angling slowly towards the craggy peaks just visible beyond the rolling, thickly-forested hills. Anything to distract herself, stop her mind from sinking further into lurid, lustful fantasies.

"Well, Mac's ignored Dad's offer of a lift from Sandby," replied Jasmine. Gemma gave her a look, and the wolf girl grinned and explained, "The nearest wolf airfield."

Wolf airfield? An image of a wolf in a world war one flying helmet with goggles perched on his long, furry nose darted into Gemma's mind.

".. and this is the fastest route through the Cappachians - he can probably even beat car speed as he doesn't have to go round via Denby pass, and can swim across the narrow point of lake Armande."

He was coming on foot? Slow! "You're sure he hasn't caught a cab round?" questioned Gemma grouchily. Her skin was aching, seared to stretched tenderness with the desire to be touched, and it was rubbing off on her mood.

"A human cab?" responded Jasmine incredulously. Then added strongly, "Positive."

"Why not?" growled Gemma.

"Because the petrochemical stench makes us ill. He'd be incapacitated, and it takes forever to get it out of the fur. We keep them off wolf territory as far as possible." Jasmine slanted a teasing eye across at Gemma, "You might be a little disappointed if he just lay around groaning and vomiting. And you can bet that's not what he wants to do either."

What Mac wanted. Mmmmm. Cool it. Cool it! Think of something coherent. Anything. Anything!

"I rode in a car with Madam," Gemma's voice had risen to a high pitch, but she managed to breathe out the whole sentence, and even to drawl the last word in slightly squeaky sarcasm. She focussed desperately on memories of that silent, brooding drive. Just hanging in there.

"Electric," responded Jasmine succinctly. "With solar panels. Every range has a few, but wolves mainly go everywhere on foot. Unless it's really long distance or urgent. The Louse, of course, likes the ostentation of rolling around in her Rolls."

"Plane?" Gemma squeaked. She wished it was the steep wooded incline they were walking up that was making her so breathless. It was, she assured herself, dragging her stubborn mind away from indulging in memories of other times her breath had been particularly short. Absent. Caught in her throat as he surged a heavy thrust up her passage. Jasmine's answer filtered slowly through her burning, molten preoccupation.

"..some kind of fuel cells - I think it's very explosive, can't remember. Just not the stinky stuff you lot use." The wolf girl wrinkled her nose. "But we know he ordered a plane from Huxley to Sandby, so to get to Sidville from Snake pass," Jasmine indicated a gap between two of the jagged peaks with her hand, "he's got three valleys he can follow - we've crossed two now and the next - the valley of Lake Manitree, well it's the most direct anyway. We haven't crossed his trail."

Next valley.

Gemma's stomach started doing cartwheels while her limbs trembled, and she quickened her pace.

"Ah - knew you could go faster," scoffed her companion quietly.

Shortly afterwards, they reached the stony crest of the ridge and paused together, looking down across the grassy slope to the tree-lined borders of a wide expanse of glittering blue water. Hills in the distance lifted on the other side of the lake; spruces, pines and birch basking together in the warm sunshine. Mountains closed the end of the wide valley, the green, tree-lined slopes falling away to craggy summits.

Jasmine's nose twitched. She lifted it gently, scenting the breeze as she slowly straightened to her full height. Gemma watched her. The black eyes glittered. A delicate flush spread across Jasmine's cheekbones, and a shiver ran through her slender frame as her lips parted slightly.

The glittering gaze turned to Gemma. Jasmine was breathing in short, gentle pants, wide-eyed. Then she swallowed and softly murmured, "Wow." There was a touch of envy, of almost challenge in the black gaze as she met the human's eyes.

A gust of warm, scent-laden breeze swirled around them and Gemma tensed, fingers curling into claws as she caught his musk. She snarled viciously at her companion, leaning forward challengingly, then blinked, stopped, and clapped her hands to her mouth, horrified.

But she could feel her nails biting into her cheeks as she snarled even more ferociously past her palms, advancing an aggressive step towards her new friend.

Who wasn't there. Jasmine whisked around with a snort of laughter and a furry golden and grey back bounded off down the hillside, streaking downwind, away. Gemma caught the words, "I'm gone!" floating across the empty space in front of her, as her fighting blood sank and was smothered in the lust that exploded through her, consuming every pore.

The fury also rose again in her mind - she was accustomed to the pull now, but this time they were both pulling together, and it was unstoppable. The ache in her nipples intensified to a tingling fire and she felt a surge of hot, liquid tension melting and cramping in waves of lust between her thighs as she climbed a panting plateau of excitement, almost peaking just from his musk, and the knowledge that he was here. She began a fast trot down the hillside, aching, burning, fuming.

He was here!

He was late.

The tension of the hours since she first scented the boy, the aching, unceasing torment of her own arousal, the urgency of the chase, the furious fights, the internal struggle- the tumult of feelings all intensified the anger in her mind and her blood. She was seething, melting in a furnace of furious lust as she bounded over the coarse grass, tugging off the small ring on her pinkie and stowing it away inside her fleece pocket.

He wasn't getting her that easily.

Make him earn it.

Gemma halted, trembling with harshly controlled lust on a lower crest and surveyed the lush landscape below her where the forest spread up from the lake shore. Her breath caught a little at the speed of the white fur streaking through the trees at the foot of the hill, weaving an effortless, breathtakingly fast course beside the water towards her hill. He was so beautiful, so in tune with his surroundings. So powerful. Her blood pulsed.

He still had to earn it.

He'd better.

Gemma's eyes narrowed as she spotted a good ambush point and she broke into her own run, bounding joyfully down the hill, the clarity of the heat in her mind, the simmer in her blood and on her skin all drawing her, pulling together to intercept him, weariness forgotten.

Mac jerked his head up, sniffing sharply, and swerved to a skidding halt on a flat hollow of sandy earth wedged between the lake shore and a tall scar of rock just as Gemma landed lightly on the curved smooth summit of the sandstone slab above him. She grabbed an overhanging tree branch to steady herself as she stood at the edge, staring down at his sleek, huge form. Her feet had loosed a light shower of sand and small stones, which scattered on the white fur head even as in one graceful, urgent lunge, Mac surged onto two feet, into lycan form, and leaped up against the smooth rock face, reaching for her with a straining right arm. Gemma quickly drew her left ankle back further out of reach, her eyes glittering down as she glared at him, hand on her hip, while he landed back at the base of her rock.

"You're late!" she growled accusingly, and kicked off her abused trainers. Her feet were planted hip width apart and she could feel the lust pooling, crashing through her as his hot male scent broke over her. Hot, hot, and oh so male. Liquid seeped down between her thighs and she growled again as the male musk curled around, melting her. Her skin tightened as he looked up and she caught the black glitter of answering lust in his eyes, the black spreading, obliterating the last remaining glimmers of green in his gaze as her own doft melted into him. The air shimmered between them.

Mac half-whined, half-snarled as he gathered himself and leaped against the rock again, his powerful lunge aided with urgent, surging, perfectly-timed pulls of his arms. Impossibly, his momentum and fierce determination powered him all the way up the long, smooth slab. Gemma's breath caught in her throat and her heart jumped in fierce pleasure at his triumph, his impossible feat, when his face appeared over the top of her rock, eyes burning intent into her. Then anger spiked and she lifted a dusty foot and nudged it sharply against his forehead, pushing him back as his balance wavered on the brink. Her heart skipped again and she had to jump to evade the swift swipe of his hand grabbing for her ankle even as he tumbled back down to the bottom and rolled smoothly to all fours.

Not that easy. She glared at him, challengingly as she slowly undid the haphazard bits of cloth holding together her jeans, dropped them to her ankles, and kicked them aside.

A wide, ferociously answering grin split Mac's face as he met the challenge in her angry gaze. There was a flash of white fur and the white wolf streaked to disappear silently around the side of the slab, seeking another way up.

Damn, he moved fast.

Gemma's blood pulsed again in hot excitement, and she swiftly tossed aside her fleece and dove off her rock at a shallow angle into the calm blue waters of the lake. The cool liquid seemed to part effortlessly, evaporating away from the burn of her skin as she powered into a fast crawl towards the cliff of the opposite shore.

She heard a second splash behind her, and could feel her skin tightening further, further, at the knowledge that he was chasing. On her tail. Mmm.

Catch me if you can. Damn you.

She accelerated, speeding gracefully away from him in her favourite crawl, sure that she could out-swim a wolf in the water. Far out, she glanced back and a pulse of urgent arousal slammed through her, fracturing her stroke when saw how close he was behind her. Her breath caught and she spluttered at the mouthful of water. Damn. The lycan could swim. Fast. As she desperately broke into a faster stroke, the memory of that glimpse of the power of him chasing after her melted into her already overheated blood and she lost way, her limbs tangling in flustered excitement.

Double damn. She glanced back again. Closer. Still closer. Then the furious burn echoed in her head - make him work - and she centred herself and powered back to full speed, extending herself into a challenging, all-out stroke.

He's still going to catch you before you reach the opposite cliff. The excitement pulsed again, momentarily clouding her eyes. Her skin tightened with anticipation of him reaching her, and the burn drove her to curve her path urgently towards a small wooded island near at hand to their right. Mac closed the distance rapidly as he cut the corner, and she could heard him a breathtakingly short distance behind her as she splashed into the thigh-deep shallows, scrambling to heave herself onto the grassy bank. His hoarse, heavily excited breathing was gaining swiftly as she rolled across the soft green carpet towards a tall Scots pine.

Too close.

Gemma finished her roll with a swing to her feet, grabbing up a wrist-thick branch the length of her forearm and a handful of sandy earth as she swung to face him.

Mac rose to his full height two metres away in the thigh deep water, breathing harshly. The shimmer of the sunlight reflecting across his form and dancing off the water surrounding him blurred the detail of his trembling frame, but the fire in the eyes burning into hers captured her breath, holding her still.

There was a prickle across her skin, a light rake of unsettled feeling across her senses. Mac seemed larger. He was larger, the sleek fur plastered to his shoulders and upper arms beginning to bulk his form as the water ran out of it. He was more densely packed, coiled into a rougher, more solid, aggressive, fighting form - the leashed power of him stirring the air between them and trembling across her skin as he waded smoothly forward.

The shade of a tree fell across him, and her breath caught audibly as she bit her lip, frozen in place as her wide eyes adjusted to the softer light and she stared at him. He stopped.

Bloody hell.

He was a monster - a raw, feral fighting machine, packed tight into the looming, heavy frame, breathing power. A vicious, wild, untamed version of her laidback, laughing flatmate. Her gaze traced over him, the shimmer in her blood tightening as the wariness melted into appreciation. A beautiful monster.

The features were broadly the same, lightly dusted with very short fur the gorgeous colour of his human hair. The flecks of green rising in the black gaze warmed her, and she dropped her gaze to trace over the well-known, strong nose and the blunt chin.

He needed a shave. Everywhere.

Were his ears slightly more pointed? His jaw slightly heavier? Or did the fur just make them seem so, blurring the outlines. The beautiful, sleek pelt moulded to his powerful frame was lifting, fluffing out in the warm breeze. That tawny gold swirled with streaks of dark and light - clean, healthy soft hairs that her fingers longed to tease, to stroke through. The fur was longer on his back and upper arms, reaching almost two inches across his shoulders while shorter hairs defined his forearms and heavily muscled chest. An arrow of longer hairs curved down from his chest across his belly, ridging through the very fine, almost invisible, tiny hairs covering his abdominal muscles before fading at his groin, which was hairless.

Her eyes lingered briefly on the slightly swollen, small blue PVC patch taped tightly to his stomach across the wound, but then they were drawn, inexorably, to the right, to the swollen, moist, proud head of his taut, throbbing erection. It swelled larger as her eyes lingered, widening, and she moistened suddenly dry lips.

Was he bigger there too?

Mac trembled as her gaze traced over him, but made no attempt to advance nearer. His fists were clenching and unclenching against his thighs, and Gemma noticed that the nails were black, standing out starkly against the tawny fur of his fingers. They didn't look to be longer than usual.

He was beautiful. Powerful and sleek.

Her breath was short, chest rising and falling in light pants as her eyes lifted again, tracing slowly over the sculpted lines of his chest to meet his gaze. The green swirl in the black melted into her and she felt a drench of liquid warmth pulsing, melting through her body, soothing down the tension in her spine.

He was still Mac.

Mac lifted an eyebrow questioningly.

"Scared?"

His voice was deeper, coming from that huge barrel of muscle. Huskier. Or maybe that was because of her. Her scent. Gemma tilted her head slightly to one side, raising both eyebrows in return as she pretended to ponder the question. Trembling lightly in turn. Respite over. Goody.

"Of you?" her tone was softly sarcastic, derisive, and her lips twitched at the sudden spark in the green-black eyes at her taunting tone.

Mac grinned and dove for her, exploding into movement so suddenly that her heart slammed against her ribs and the fire in her belly roared in satisfaction. The fire fuelled the anger but it was cooler, quieter now.

She was supposed to fight.

He was supposed to win.

But not that easily.

She had already dropped into a light stance and swung the heavily branch at him, striving to make him swerve backwards.

But Mac grabbed the weapon too swiftly for her to see, and abruptly she was in the air, swinging towards him by her own weight and her grip on the wood as he lifted it above his head. She dropped and landed eight inches from him, the heat of his smoothly muscled, harshly panting body tingling along the wet surface of her aching skin, lust burning demandingly through every particle. Then she flung the handful of dusty earth and dry pine needle into that intent, demanding grin even as he reached for her.

"You were LATE!" she snarled, springing for the tree as he reared back, coughing and swiping his hand over his dusty mouth, eyes closed.

Not that easy!

She was leaping to reach for the third tier of branches, hauling herself further up towards the smaller twigs where he couldn't follow, when she heard him stop coughing and chuckle huskily. The tree swayed as he leaped into the lowest branches.

Glancing down, Gemma was mesmerised by the molten black maelstrom in his eyes, and her breath caught as she was drawn into that heat, melting, feeling the burn of it igniting her skin as her own senses faded into nothing but awareness of him.

He smiled up at her and softly, tauntingly crooned, "I'm going to catch you." A shudder shook her slight frame as the words burned in fire across her skin, tingling, and she felt the molten, liquid core of her pool and trace a path down her leg as pleasure pulsed through her.

Mac's eyes glazed over slightly, glittering madly as her musk ran over him, and he panted heavily and lunged for the branch at her feet. A spike of pleasure, of anticipation shot through Gemma with the word No! now reverberating like a playful song in her head, and she laughed as she dove back into the lake over his head.

Catch me!

She curved the dive, angling back under the water toward the shore of the island, surfacing and leaping back onto the grassy bank as the ripples of his following dive lapped her skin, before spinning to see which way he was heading. If her ruse had worked.

A squeak escaped her at the end of her spin as she was enveloped in a huge, breathtaking hug, Mac colliding with her in his own leap after her onto the shore. He twisted as they spun together in the air, exploding on another laugh as he landed flat on his back on the grass with her cradled on top of him in his arms, her breath knocked out of her by the sudden pounce.

And the sudden feel of him. Skin against skin. Wet skin. Hot, wet, slick, lightly-furred skin. Her body was shuddering as she melted against him, feeling the last strands of anger evaporating.

Mac laughed huskily as he smelt the change in her scent, murmuring softly into her ear, "Gotcha."

Then he nibbled the lobe gently, murmuring, "Mmmmm," as her doft melted around him, and his cock hardened impossibly to the fierce, demanding, unstoppable urge to mate. His mate.

Gemma's blood exploded, and she arched, skin screaming with want against him as she let out a breathless, high-pitched cry, unbearably stimulated by the rich musk that rolled over her and the sharp tang of pleasure reverberating out from where his teeth pressed into her ear.

She couldn't see, couldn't sense anything outside the circle of his arms as he rolled her urgently beneath him and pulled her thighs apart. Her hands slid up his arms, clamping tight around the hard muscle as she arched on a second cry when his throbbing, swollen cock slammed home urgently in her wet, aching pussy. The burn of him breaching her was a forceful ache, a pleasure and a pain, completion, and she sobbed out a second moan, curving her belly up towards him as his demanding thrusts began to shake her small frame. His fur was brushing gently, teasing her brittle, oversensitive skin with each powerful slam into her and she cried out abruptly, stretching and breaking into shudders of pleasure as an orgasm wracked her with the feel of him. Finally.

Mac's breathing was harsh, hoarse as he lifted one of her thighs and pressed her foot back to his shoulder, turning her slightly sideway to increase the depth of his plunging cock. Thoughts fractured, blood demanding, he increased the pace of his urgent penetrations and held her in place for the incredibly fast, broken staccato rhythm of his hips against her. His mate. His. A soft howl was rising in his throat as the pleasure intensified, and she tightened around him again, crying out in pleasure and bucking up to meet him as he rode her. Mac held back for a brace of aching, intense, pulsing seconds before the howl escaped and he exploded into pleasure, dropping to sinking his teeth possessively into her neck as he thrust and spurted his seed inside her rippling sheath.

Through the pleasure of her shuddering, crashing orgasm, Gemma felt the sharp possession of the hard bite sinking into her flesh as his hips ground against her and his cock swelled further to explode in her tight sheath. She arched again, crying out in aching, beautiful wonder as she exploded in turn, pushed higher, further than the stars. The ripples went on, and on, unceasing, unbearable, beautiful as slowly, slowly, she sank back into herself.

Mac was gently licking the tender spot on her neck - his spot - as his cock slowly hardened again inside her. She felt a sudden flash of hatred sear across her skin at the memory of those others - Marsh wolves - scenting it. Mac lifted his head to see what had caused the shudder, the tension in his mate, and Gemma raised a trembling hand and gently brushed it over the light fur covering those oh-so-well know features. It was soft, baby-down on his face, tawny, the dark and light streaks accentuating the angles of his face.

How come he wasn't a wolf? Gemma's intended words emerged as a slightly grunted squeak, and Mac smiled and dropped his head to lick a long possessive swipe up the scent trail between her breasts. His cock hardened to swollen readiness instantly, pulsing against her passage walls and he smiled down at her wide-eyed expression as he licked the last flavour of her delicious doft off his lips, looking down into her heated, shiny face. Her soft little smile pleased him. He didn't think she even knew it was there - it was his smile. The smile for him. Because of him. He began to rock inside her pussy in short, soft little lunges.

"Ma-!" His name was cut off as he pleasured her with the hard little thrusts, increasing in tempo, and Gemma gasped, arching as the melting, tightening sensation radiated out from the friction of his cock sliding, pulsing inside her. She couldn't speak, arching up against him and pleading with her body as he increased the pace, slamming into her with heavy, short bursts.

Mac slid out of her suddenly, making her gasp in protest as he rolled them both, his scent wrapping around her, hugging her. Then he separated and landed with a splash off the bank in the thigh-deep water by the lake-shore, gently hauling her by her ankles until her buttocks were hovering precariously on the edge of the bank. Her legs naturally parted from their weight and she reached urgently for him, empty, as he folded her knees back against her chest and advanced between them. Mac bent to kiss her, and then slid his cock back smoothly into her wet pussy as he thrust his tongue into her mouth. He lifted and began to slam in harder, the change in angle giving him deeper reach as he grunted with each bottomed out thrust and felt the heated lust surge through his veins as she came under him again while he tweaked her nipples and pounded urgently into her. Her scent as she came - just intoxicating.

Oh god. Oh god. The tension was peaking, repeated waves of intense pleasure wracking through Gemma as he rode her hard. She didn't know this was possible, to keep this feeling, this intensity, this bursting, melting, cresting sensation repeating again and again as he mated her. Her eyes blacked out again as the pleasure in her body burst around him, and she writhed on an echoing cry impaled on his throbbing, thrusting cock. He kept on. And on. She couldn't bear it, couldn't stand any more of the aching, intense pleasure. She cramped again, screaming as she arched into a third wave as he leaned further over her and rocked hard, furious, slapping pounding between her thighs. Then as her unbearably sensitized body released the clamping hold on her muscles, she heard him growling in satisfaction and felt him swell inside her, bursting to spurt his seed. Fire burned through her and she screamed in release at the intensely possessive pleasure-pain of his teeth biting down on the tender skin of her neck, aching to peak again, her own cries echoing in her head as she blacked out.

Gemma was folded over her knees, leaning on her forearms, head resting exhausted on the grass between her hands as she slowly came back to herself. Mac was feathering light kisses over her spine, standing behind her still in the lake, his newly erect cock brushing against her buttocks as he leant over her, trembling lightly in tension as he held himself back. He held a cupped hand to her lips and she drank the cool liquid eagerly. His cock surged against her soft cheeks.

Gemma groaned, dropping her head back to the soft turf and muttered tiredly, "I need to sleep."

His warm sigh tingled arousal against her back, and felt him grasp her hips gently, firmly in both hands, teasing his cock against the entrance to her pussy. She pulsed in hot, liquid want, despite the bonelessness of her entire body. Yes. Yes. Yes. But she couldn't lift her head off the grass.

"Mac, I'm exhausted."

"One more, please, picchu. Then you can sleep for a while. Please?"

For a while. Her lips twitched, face down in the grass. She could get into being on heat.

"Mmm. So long as I don't have to do anything," she grumped drowsily into the blades tickling her lips.

His thumb brushed against her cheek and he pressed gently on her jaw to turn her face sideways.

"And what does that word mean?" she grumbled, then a scent teased at her nostrils and eager pleasure exploded through her, tightening every pore into instant, racing urgency so that she arched back up against him, pressing her buttocks insistently against his heavy, throbbing arousal. She parted her lips to pant as her blood erupted again in a surge of want.

He laughed huskily and thrust his tongue inside her ear at the same time as he carefully slid the tip of his index finger into her mouth, the drop of precum that he'd been teasing her nostrils with exploding on her tongue, heat surging to her nipples. No way did she want to sleep now. She suckled, hard, and he laughed again, carefully withdrawing his short nail from between her lips before he got too excited.

"That's my girl." The smug satisfaction in his voice grated on Gemma and she growled, slamming her buttocks back urgently against him.

"Stop blethering on and fuck me."

He growled in return, a laugh in the sound, and wound one hand through her hair, pulling her head backwards so that her buttocks arched enticingly up towards him. He nudged them slightly wider to give him access, pressing his throbbing cock against her soft arse cheek as he leaned across her back, bending down to murmur again in her ear as he held her immobilised, panting, on her hands and knees, trembling with readiness.

"As requested, you don't have to do anything - just brace yourself. And keep on moaning, I love that."

He laughed as she folded her lips stubbornly closed - arrogant wolf - then he slammed in and began to rut on her hard, breathing harshly into her skin as he surged with pleasure within her. Gemma's hypersensitive passage crested on the first penetration, and despite her stubborn determination to deny the smug wolf, she couldn't prevent the moan which escaped her as he thrust in hard, harder. Wow. His breath was torture in her ears, the feel of it against her skin tingling in her nipples and the hard, relentless force of him pounding into her was right, so right. She moaned, louder again as she felt the burst of moisture trickle down her thighs again. Harder. Harder. He seemed to hear her voiceless plea through the moans, and the pace picked up impossibly until she was beaten hard with the slap of his hips against her buttocks. Gemma collapsed down onto her forearms, moaning in a high-pitched croon as he pounded relentlessly into her from behind, then arched back with a scream of pleasure as the grass brushed over her achingly tight nipples with the next forceful lunge of his hips. He thrust hard through each aching, moaning peak of her pleasure, riding the intensely delicious sensation of the ripples of her pussy squeezing around his cock, then released a full-throated howl of satisfaction as she collapsed under him, writhing, moaning, undone. He followed her down, surging the last, hardest thrusts inside her as he firmly, gently bit down on his mate and exploded in a third surge of intense, impeccable pleasure as he spurted within her.

Gemma's last, dazed awareness as his healing tongue lifted from her neck was of being gently, tenderly rolled into a warm fur embrace. "Why aren't you a wolf?" she murmured, half-asleep as she snuggled up against his chest, wrapping an arm around his waist, enjoying the soft brush of the down against her achingly sensitive skin. Her fantasy had come true.

Mac sighed, and stroked a gentle hand over her back as he cradled her to him. "You mean a loup? This is the wolf. And your scent is also wolf at the moment, Gem, so I can respond as myself. I won't hurt you like this."

Her head was sinking softly into clouds of sleep-filled satiation. Her voice was a thread of sound, "This is you?"

"This is me," he responded softly, the hand sweeping gently down her spine. "Sleep, picchu."

Gemma 's brain drifted under the caress of the word, the endearment, as his warm hands soothed her body. That was another question - but she was too tired to ask now. Too tired. Too content. She slept.