Long hours later, Gemma sat on her own half way up the curving hillock dotted with trees in the centre of the park. She was watching the many battle-weary but contented adult wolves weaving a little painfully back and forth around the pond at the foot. The adults were gently circling among the crowd of uneasy, half-awake cubs, stepping carefully over the sleeping ones, nuzzling some. Each adult left the pond-side with a pair of youngsters frisking, sleepily complaining, or trotting silently, wearily at their tail. The four-legged forms of adults and cubs blended smokily with the darkness and the light mist floating under the dim light of the stars. A distant streetlight at the entrance to the park reminded Gemma that they were in the centre of the city, but her nose assured her that there were no humans close enough to witness this strange assembly.
The news filtered into her mind, she could catch stray thoughts flying between the wolves below like echoes of shouts, keeping her ears twitching. The thoughts were overlaid with layer upon layer of emotion, and the light breeze also carried their scents to her, laden with half-understood meaning.
There was a thickness of seething anger because neither the Marsh nor the Mackeld had gotten close enough to stop Grey getting away, and Nicolas had ripped Johnson badly when the aging Alpha had attempted to hold him. Sadness at the three cubs lost, but pride that the others were now free. Deep revulsion and guilt at the horrors perpetrated on the wolves freed from the deepest rooms, the torture chambers and the whoring dungeons. The chained inmates had stunk of blood and pain and human seed, or had had that disquieting lack of scent and hard-chilled flesh which indicated the presence of silver.
Karim Marsh - the wolves who had found him were nauseous. He had been steam-hammered onto a bed of silver spikes by an industrial carpet press, Grey testing his latest implement of torture just before he fled, to avenge himself on the Marsh. Karim was still clinging to life, and his physician was fighting to remove enough of the shards that he could heal, without bleeding to death, while his father was straining to feed him enough shiele to keep his heart pumping and halt the bleeding. But his natalí still had not recovered consciousness, a bad sign.
It was unbelievable that one wolf do such things to another.
Why had they not listened to the Mackeld?
Deepest was the hollow disquiet in those who had seen the chemical factories underneath the vast complex, and the live experimentees. Revolted incredulity was raging, seething through them. How could a wolf do that to his own pack? But the shudder of repugnance and nausea was tempered by a steely resolve: they had stopped it. It would stop, never be allowed further. Grey would no longer be abusing his drug-and-blood fettered wolves, or manufacturing his potions and poisons; they had captured the formulae, too. They would destroy them. And destroy him, as soon as they found his final bolthole, and -.
Natasha Vanilchov.
The Aster wolves winced away from remembering the raw, grief-stricken, explosion of guilty rage when the Vanilchov Alpha had found out the truth about his natalí. She was not here, she was hidden elsewhere, not one of the Grey wolves knew where. It had taken the Marsh, the Mackeld, the Silback and the wounded Johnson to restrain the powerful wolf, and shock at the sight of their Alpha losing control like that was still shivering across the skin of his pack.
A shudder of sad guilt traced across Gemma's skin. Nick had escaped; she so hoped that the Vanilchov sjeste wouldn't pay for the events of tonight. The toppling of Nicolas Grey's powerbase, which she and Jasmine had precipitated.
She remained sitting on her haunches, ears alert, and tail tucked around her, slightly wary of the powerful, graceful creatures as she watched them pass back and forth at the base of the hill. She felt as though she didn't really belong, like a stranger amongst a party of close friends, unsure of her welcome. Out of place. But neither did she want to leave; contrarily she felt connected, safe, a bond with these creatures.
Plus she didn't have any clothes.
When she had first arrived in the park she had shifted into a wolf - a loup - instinctively, without conscious thought, in order to reassure and nuzzle the melee of tired, excited, scared four-legged cubs trembling around her under the low bushes by the pond. She had realised as soon as she did so that all the cubs had instinctively shifted for warmth, their thick wolf pelts easily keeping out the slightly damp night.
In her furry, four-legged form, she had had no clothing. She now remembered standing on ripped denim after she'd shifted involuntarily, when that first tiny cub had whined plaintively, shivering against her. And ducking swiftly out of her loose, in-the-way jacket and T. Her underwear had also been annoyingly constrictive, and she'd soon ripped it off with her teeth. The cubs had helped.
Later, she had noticed many scraps of denim and soft cotton being used in tug-o-war by various of her charges, but had been too frazzled and freaked out at having to suddenly babysit hundreds of wolf cubs to really register what they were playing with.
Doh.
She'd also been worried. What would she do if some enemy found them? She couldn't fight a wolf as a human. And she couldn't seem to walk more than a wobble as a wolf, sorry loup. She had to learn.
The cubs had found it hilarious, watching her efforts to walk, and then, as she grew slightly less incompetent on her four tangling feet, to run. The majority of them had thought that it was a fantastic game, and had joined in cheekily copying her, running circles around her, or playing dare by trying to dash across in front of her embarrassingly inept lope without tripping her, or being licked in the face by her long wet tongue. The ones she managed to catch had squealed disgustedly at the wet slurp she had dealt out.
Annoying. She had seen Marsh shift wolf with his clothing disappearing with him, and he had originally shifted to human from wolf, sorry, loup, with his clothing appearing on him. Later she had seen Mac do it too, and Jasmine.
But right now, it looked like she was stuck in four-legged form, or stark naked in a park in the middle of Medway.
Bother.
So Gemma sat on the grassy hillside as a wolf, watching the wolves below trotting backwards and forwards among the sleepy cubs, hoping that Mac or Jasmine or even Marsh would appear.
Someone she would feel slightly less of an idiot asking.
The huge, frosty-coloured male was standing at the foot of her hill in the centre of the remaining cubs. He was obviously directing matters; the others adults approached and received a look, or a twitch of the ears, before weaving among the young pups and sniffing noses, nuzzling ears.
A few of the tired, torn and bloodstained adults curved immediately, without instruction, towards one specific pair of youngsters and had to hush echoing yips of joy as their offspring pounced on them in delight, or whiny complaints when they nudged tired children awake and into motion. Gemma felt her ears curving back in a smile as she watched a nearby set of four or five-year-olds tumbling ecstatically over and around their parent, trying to obey his gruff coughs for silence as they bounced up to nip under his jaw, quivering with joy when he nuzzled them affectionately and licked their small ears.
She also thought she had caught a glimpse of Ada, limping three-legged out of the darkness at the far side of the dwindling circle of cubs, but the mother wolf had disappeared again even as Gemma had risen to her feet to see better. Two exhausted little cubs had wobbled at her heels, and the mother wolf had been too intent on nuzzling them along and licking them over to look around. Besides, Gemma had never seen Ada as a wolf. But for some reason she was sure it had been her.
When the last pair of cubs had been settled with an adult and stumbled off into the darkness, the tall, frosty-coloured leader turned and looked at the lone female sitting on the hillside, the slight, rising breeze ruffling his fur towards her. His ears tilted towards her in query.
What did he want?
A number of other adults were appearing out of the darkness, hunting around in the bushes, settling wearily into places not taken by the families for what remained of the night. Others congregated by the edge of the pond and took long drinks before beginning to clean their fur and teeth, licking gently over closing wounds.
The frosty wolf ducked his head and began to advance gently towards Gemma, body swaying slightly in welcome, head tilted to one side. Gemma relaxed a little at the smile in his eyes as he approached, and she stood up, dropping her own head slightly, curving her back and shoulders into a wary arch as she looked up at him. He seemed friendly.
He slowed his trot a few paces away, halted, and then carefully reached his nose forwards. Gemma found herself responding automatically, extending her own nose and sniffing the warm, male scent of his breath against her nostrils. The hair on her back began to sink slightly at the lack of threat in his musk, and then a different ripple flowed along her skin as he circled carefully around toward her hindquarters, nose leading.
Eeeek. She knew that dogs sniffed each others' privates, but - oh no. She had the feeling that this was going to be way too intrusive. But would it be rude to back off? There were now another ten or twenty adult wolves down by the pond, relaxing together, some looking on as the big one approached her hindquarters. But his musk was getting stronger, more pungent, making her skin shudder sharply with the knowledge that this powerful wolf had spent half the night fighting, his blood was still coursing richly in his veins, and the warrior was now hoping for some recreation.
His rising musk told her that he liked her scent.
As he approached her wary, quivering form from behind, a wash of lust crashed over Gemma, clouding her mind into a fog of heated images of being mounted, mated, pinned under the heavy weight of the wolf and rutted hard. Her legs trembled and head sank. The searing remembrance of the heavy weight of her mate atop her melted through her limbs, immobilising her with longing, mind lost in memories of the sensation of being ridden by the wolf, feeling him lunging powerfully within her.
Out of the corner of her eyes she barely registered the big frosty wolf being catapulted in a tumble back past her, down toward the water. The warning snarl echoing in the air sounded muffled in her ringing ears as the heavy, graceful white figure of the new arrival halted his charge a few paces past Gemma. His scent was drowning her in shuddering, trembling lust, the rich, deep, haunting, pulling musk liquefying her body. The quivering in her limbs and begging whine in her head deepened when Mac dismissed the other, head-bowing wolf from his mind and swung around to face Gemma, his scent breaking over her anew. She reeled under the cresting, melting sensation.
Here he was.
The fire was already raging through her blood, a conflagration of lust, of begging, of deep, painful need igniting in every pore as his fiery doft melted through her. Mac radiated power and prowess, fierce tumults and victory - hunger - and Gemma's head dipped further under the weight of her answering lust. She was swaying, swallowing each fresh wave which crashed over her, swamping her body. Every hair trembled delicately to alert, aroused. Moisture oozed, rich and ready through her core.
She knew his scent, felt it burning through every pore of her. Yet even on the rut she had never known it to be this compelling, this intoxicating. Smooth, rich, overwhelming. Male. She could feel the lingering adrenaline burning through him, the rush of life, battle, every nerve and muscle humming at full, peak power. Triumphant male. Alpha.
Lustful Alpha.
Gemma was almost sinking to the ground under the tremble caused by his presence, the sense of him. The awareness of his burning, urgent desire was paralysing her, her skin tightening painfully in answering, begging want, head down, waiting, writhing inwardly while he softly prowled closer, circling her nearer, and nearer still. He scented her fur, and looked over her proudly where she stood, head down and trembling, awaiting him. His mate.
Feather-light, almost undetectable, his fur brushed against her shoulder, shuddering across her senses. His tall, powerful frame dwarfed her quivering form, and the awareness of him standing beside her, looking down at her trembling figure, teased unbearable urgency across her pelt in tightening, deepening lust, burned into her senses. Her enticing, pungent moisture flowed more swiftly, coating her in her own need. She couldn't lift her head. She was in meltdown, powerless, waiting in breathless, glowing lust. It was all she could do to hold her limbs steady enough to remain on her feet.
But she knew that that was how he would prefer to mount her.
Soon. Please, oh god, please, Mac, soon.
The sound of his soft, deep breathing, growing deeper, knotted the unbearable heat in her belly, knowledge of his lust shuddering across her skin. Please, Mac. She was sinking under the exquisite, excruciating need. His hardening desire poured down over her, increasing the flow of tight, wet want melting through her passage, trickling down from her entrance. She could feel her tail lifting in silent appeal as he bent his head to snuffle delicately at her neck.
The lust in his fiery musk intensified when he pushed his nose deeper into her fur and sharply inhaled the scent of her. Mac began to stroke his nose lovingly through her ruff, sliding his neck against hers, twining his nose down to nuzzle against her cheek . Then he was prowling around to her rear, gliding his body along her flank, marking his mate with his musk. He could feel her tremble increasing to a boneless, endless shudder, feel his aching cock tighten unbearably to the feel of her body against his, her scent melting into his nose. His little mate.
He circled back to her head and gently licked her nose, looking down at her bent head, waiting for those soft brown eyes to melt up into his. Yes. Like that. The burning, pleading look in her eyes tightened his skin unbearably, making his cock throb painfully, and he leaned lightly against her quivering frame as he prowled back along her other flank, slowly, maintaining the contact, and then abruptly pushed his nose under her raised tail into her wet scent, breathing in, savouring the hot musk of her shuddering, melting readiness.
He began to lap gently, delicately, nudging her softly with his shoulder to keep her upright when her hind legs almost buckled under the sensation. His mind began to cloud over at the delicious savour of her, the ferocious urgency cresting in him as he tasted her want.
Gemma was shuddering, swaying on her feet, mind flitting through clouds of lust as his tongue flickered, light and skilled and oh so tantalising, delicious, unbearable, over her engorged, needful pussy lips. But her lust was also cooling under the tingle of alarm shimmering in her head, and her mind was resurfacing, unsettled. She was seething with lust, but - she had seen his eyes. The sadness in their depths. Deep, deep sadness, beneath the hot, burning lust. His breath was rippling against her wet pussy, tongue teasing, probing, scorching desire through her, but she was haunted by that sadness. Mac was sad that she was a wolf. Wereem.
An effortless leap, and suddenly he was over her, on her, his open jaws sliding over her bent neck from above to hold her steady while she almost sank under the weight of the huge paws that landed briefly on her shoulders before sliding down in front of her own forelegs. His thick cock was pulsing hard, deliciously against her wet slit, and her mind sank momentarily back out of focus, swamped under the tide of begging lust.
But she could scent it in his musk, too. The knowledge tightened on her skin. He was sad that she was a werewolf. That she was going to go insane. He was going to fuck, claim his little picchu as a wolf sadly.
Like hell he was.
An electric impulse shocked through Gemma at the realisation, and without thought she jerked her head and shoulders backwards, sideways, twisting free of his open jaws with her body bent almost double, and sprinted out from under him, snorting hard.
She bounded unsteadily up the hillside above him a little way, then spun on wobbly legs to face her startled, puzzled mate. At his concerned expression, she dropped her forearms to the ground, pressed her head down onto her paws, and peered naughtily back at him with her back legs straight, bottom shimmying in little circles high in the air and her tail arched so that her rich doft melted into the night.
Come and get it.
A gasp of disbelief, shock had sounded through the crowd when they'd seen the female break clear of the Mackeld just as he had been about to mount her. Now she heard a few low snickers of laughter as they took in her playful attitude. But teasing an Alpha?
Shit, the crowd. How could she have forgotten that they had an audience? A burn of embarrassment curled over Gemma's skin even under the fur, and she shot Mac a look. It was his fault that she had been so distracted.
He didn't seem to care a jot. Her mate was more intent on pacing slowly towards her.
Oh-oh. She knew that gleam in his eye.
Good. Not being so gloomy now, are you Mr Wolf?
Suddenly he pounced towards her impossibly quickly, and her heart pulsed hard in excitement while she dove ineptly off to the left, down the hill.
No chance. He was upon her before she got one pace, a paw ahead of her stopping her forward momentum while he carefully sank his weight over her, pushing her gently into the grass and rubbing his groin in teasing little circles against her buttocks, mimicking her taunting movement of only moments ago, his erect, throbbing cock nudging against the wet, overflowing entrance to her pussy.
Oh.
My.
She melted under him, feeling her passage clenching around emptiness, and then suddenly he was upright, off her, weight gone, scent gone.
Bereft, she whined, twisting to her feet, and was just turning her nose toward him questioningly when she felt a large paw pat her buttocks, A little encouraging pat to get her moving.
Eyes incredulous, then slowly beginning to gleam with fire, she stared into his. Read the playful gleam over the lust, the clear message, "You wanted to play." He was quivering lightly, waiting for her to move. Daring her.
Alright then.
She feinted to the left, and dove right this time, but didn't get two paces before he rolled her in a tumble, ending up in the same position as before although slightly more flattened to the ground, with her body begging in melting, desperate lust as he gently teased his erect cock along the length of her wet slit. Oh please.
Dammit. Hadn't Jasmine warned her about challenging an Alpha?
Then his weight was removed, and she sighed, and just lay with her head in the grass, pondering. She knew she couldn't outrun him, not as wobbly on these new legs as she was. And she was not streaking human through the park, however dark it was. But if she could sidle to the bushes or the pond, maybe she could play a few tricks.
Another pat on her bottom. She would really have to talk to him about doing that in public. Although - absently, she noted that the other wolves had all dispersed. There wasn't a single one in sight. Thankfully.
Mmm. Relaxing slightly, Gemma rose to her feet and turned carefully to face her wolf, then began to back off, slowly, feeling her way down the hill towards the water, eyes holding his. The laughter in his gaze was smug, he was sure that he could catch her, whatever she tried. And he was daring her to try. Mac paced after her slowly.
Her wolf?
Abruptly, incendiary rage ignited through her at the dim, unformed question of Natasha Vanilchov in her mind, and she suddenly pounced at him, raking an enraged fistful of razor sharp claws at his shoulder as the pins and needles washed through her.
Before they could connect, before she could even blink, she was on her back in the grass, pinned firmly under him, and the stern order, Human or loup within sight of humans or human habitation, was burning through her mind, burning her back to her vulnerable, naked human self.
The rage was still seething through her, though, and she was unaware of her state of undress or the cold grass against her back while she howled, bucking under his now human weight, and hissed, "Going to add me to your wereem harem until you rescue your beloved betrothed?"
A second later, bereft of breath by the creasing pain which had rebounded instantly from her mate at the accusation, Gemma swallowed, and shivered, motionless in the chilly air, feeling the cold leaching into her while Mac stalked off, trembling, toward the trees.
No. No. No. What the fuck had gotten into her? She knew he didn't want this betrothal.
"I'm sorry," she croaked after him from her prone position, tears lodged in her throat. Where had that vitriol come from?
Mac returned moments later, his eyes calm, sad, with a long, black woollen coat, and he lifted her to her feet, silently wrapping it around her as she stood motionless in shock. Then his hands clamped onto her shoulders and his eyes burned challengingly down into her tear-filled ones.
"Who changed you?" The desire to kill was blazing in the depths of his eyes.
Was that all he cared about? "I don't know," she glowered back, sulkily. "Lots of the kids scratched me, and one adult clawed -." She stopped. Mac was shaking his head. "Clawing would not infect you," he replied. "It would have to be a bite, didn't you feel it?"
With all that was going on, and among the hundreds of scratches?
"No," she bit out, She was getting angry at this questioning, when her insides were squirming at his musk, igniting with the desire for him to fuck her. Now. Hard.
His voice was deepening on an exasperated growl as he replied, "Well, why the hell not? What were you doing that you didn't notice some bloody wolf biting you? What the hell do you think that you're doing here anyway?"
Her eyes gleamed fire back at him, "Rescuing cubs."
The green eyes lit with black, and a pulse of something in his scent suddenly made Gemma instinctively shrink inside her skin. Not from fear: from shame. But she was not ashamed of this, her thoughts protested angrily. Holding his eyes, she roughly, briefly related what she and Jasmine had been doing for the past five days, leading up to meeting Ada, and the events at the cub ward.
Silence echoed between them once she had finished. His eyes were shadowed in the eerie shimmering back-light, hiding the rage she could feel trembling through him.
Then the corner of his mouth crooked slightly, and he sighed.
"I knew you were up to something," he said, lifting her in his arms and carrying her across to a park bench facing the pond. Gently, impersonally, he removed the coat, and began to run his hands over her, peering closely at her skin in the clouded light of the stars, and the faint city glare. Gemma quivered, frozen in lust while he checked her over. He murmured absently, "You know, there are very few wolves who would hold my gaze when I'm that angry."
His fingertips were gentle, questing, and hesitated over several sites on her body: back, legs, buttocks, and shoulders. "It means that you feel no remorse for your idiocies, however angry they make me. And I can see why. And -," his voice was smiling, "- you are not afraid of me, or going to accept any rebuke because of this. You did what you thought was right, in defiance of both the Wolflord and myself."
"I don't believe either of you have the right to dictate to me," returned Gemma, low. Her skin was burning in the wake of his touch.
Mac sighed again, and settled the coat back around her, agreeing, "We didn't then, no." He lifted her and turned to sit down with her in his lap, hugging her to him as he leaned back on the wooden bench.
"Five," he breathed the word quietly.
What?
"You carry no less than five fresh bite-marks. Healed, of course, now that you are a were. But - my only guess is that the younger cubs were using any purchase they could, to climb."
Five?
"So which turned me?" she asked.
"I haven't a clue."
He paused, and murmured quietly.
"However furious I am that you have endangered my mate, I - thank-you, Picchu. Tonight, we have broken Grey's power: his prostitution empire, his drug manufacture and experimentation. Tonight, we finally have testimony that Tasha was here -" Gemma felt a thrill of ire tingle through her as her mate said the name, and she clamped down on it. She wasn't going on about that any more. Tasha was his foster sister, that was all. "- even if Grey managed to break free of Johnson. Up until now, everyone - including Vanil, has thought she was just on changpao, too far out of range for convey."
Everyone but Mac, an insidious little voice whispered inside Gemma's head. Mac had known better than Vanilchov, which meant that he had a tighter bond with her than her natál, even. Close, very close.
Gemma felt blood in her mouth. Mac sat unmoving but snorted, a little sadly, and she backed off abruptly, horror-stricken at the deep tear in the flesh of his shoulder, the tangy taste of his blood on her tongue. Tears flowed from her eyes as a sob escaped into the night.
She did that.
"Gemma, you're a new wereem," Mac sighed, caressing a hand down her cheek. "Your reactions and control over your emotions are like those of a small infant. You're aroused, so you lift tail. You're angry, so you bite me. You wound your mate, and suddenly you are crying."
I can control myself, thought Gemma faintly, desperately, watching the tear knit under her horror-stricken gaze. The trouble was, she had a sinking, slightly panicked feeling in her stomach. She didn't think she could, really. She kept doing things almost before she thought about them. Reaction before thought. Without thought.
Mac's hand soothed over her hair and down her cheek, and he tilted her sad face up to his, asking softly as the deep, warm feeling in his green eyes melted into her, "But - why did you break away from the mating, picchu? Not from lack of desire, I could scent you melting under me." The semi-hard cock under her buttocks twitched, and lengthened.
Gemma sank against his chest, resting her head tiredly in the hollow of his shoulder cuddling into his warmth. What if she couldn't control this? What if she did go insane?
"Picchu?"
The love in his voice. OK, Tasha may be his betrothed. He had a bond with her. But she, Gemma, was his mate. He loved her.
"You were - sad. That I am a wereem. I didn't want you to mate me in sadness."
There was a little pause, and Gemma felt herself sinking into despondent uncertainty. Maybe he was right to be sad? Maybe this jumble of thoughts and fierce emotions in her brain was the clearest she ever would be in future.
In which case, maybe she had better just use this time of relative sense as best she could before she lost herself to rage? Accept what joy she could in the short time available?
Outside the dull echo of gloom in her head, Mac's voice had a tinge of eagerness, "That shows signs of control. Deeply, deeply sunk in wanton lust, just hours after being turned, yet you surfaced. You had refocused before, on the rut, but I thought it may have been because you were still human."
There was hope in his voice.
"And just now - you were defying me with clear reasoning," he added.
Gemma snuggled in closer to him, nuzzling his bristly jaw, nibbling kisses along the strong line of his chin. Her blood began to throb in her veins.
She wasn't really listening. Her mind seemed to have landed on - what the hell.
He was at war, fighting ferociously, risking death daily to protect his pack.
She was a wereem, doomed to go insane as she slowly lost control of herself.
So just kiss him while the kissing's good. Enjoy him. Take whatever he can give and give back as much as you can. He loved her. She loved him. So who cared about the future? Life was too short.
Right now, she just wanted him to roll her over again and mount her. Was dying for him to fuck her. Hard. It had been over two months.
The throb in her veins had turned into a heated simmer, and she could smell her own arousal roaring back into life as she pressed back against his now rock hard erection, squirming her buttocks against it, while her fingers shakily explored his biceps. What that heavy girth would feel like sheathed inside her - mmmm. The slick lubrication pulsed through her aching passage, and a little whimper escaped into the air.
"Picchu," he murmured warningly as she reached up to bite gently on his jawline, and slid a hand down behind her own back to close around that huge, throbbing staff.
"Please, Mac," she whispered in reply, squeezing his weight gently in her hand, "Please may I please you, please? To please me?"
Her body was quivering in eagerness, her lust beginning to coat her thighs.
He chuckled, and replied obliquely, "Well, you are a wereem now, so allegedly no threat. And you're mine. Whatever they say."
Gemma's brain was just beginning to sort through his words when his lips found hers and he surged to his feet holding her, kissing her hard. Her brain short-circuited, excitement roaring through her veins.
She shivered in the cool night air as her coat was parted, then fire scorched her as she felt his lips begin to travel down her torso. He moved, and her buttocks were pressing down on the back of the wooden bench through the woollen coat skirts. She was bent backwards over his arm, and his lips were fastened fiercely around one nipple, suckling hard. She arched on a cry, fire roaring through her, the coat falling fully open.
Then a vague wisp of embarrassed thought surfaced - she was naked, human, in the middle of the city. There were tower blocks overlooking the park. Cheeks hot, she reached for the concentration to change to wolf. Loup.
No. The thought was halted abruptly as her mate's heated words burned in her head. I want you like this. Please.
Her brain stuttered at the image of her bent backwards underneath him, naked, delicious and wet and wanton, the image searing from his simmering mind into hers. She moaned, then sank back into lust as she arched into his pulling mouth, the fierce, hard suckling engulfing half of her breast. The nipple of the first breast puckered, cold and tingling with fire in the light breeze while her mate turned to try to swallow the other, the taut, clamping suction over the plump mound almost painful. Writhing under his lips, she bucked as he grazed little nips of his teeth along her soft flesh, her stomach, her thighs. Gemma was lost in want, uttering helpless little cries, lust oozing from her pussy.
Through the cloud of raging desire she dimly became aware that the softness of the coat was now pressed only against her buttocks. He had folded it into a wad, draped as padding over the carved wooden back of the park bench. Her naked butt cheeks were resting against the soft wool, barely feeling the hard back of the bench through it. A steely arm was clamped around her buttocks to steady her while his other palm on her stomach gently bent her backward, lifting the junction of her thighs higher towards him while he swirled his tongue inside her belly button, breathing harshly as he tried to restrain his own urgent lust.
Gemma moaned as her feet left the ground and she tilted backwards on just her buttocks, held securely by her mate. As her long hair dropped to rest on the seat, she reached over her head to grasp the front slats of the bench for support. Her legs widened automatically, presenting herself to him, while his warm hands slid to cradle her thighs, and eased them further apart, to a width of his liking.
Please Mac, Please Mac, Please Mac.
He settled his warm palms around her buttocks, breathing hard, and knelt between her thighs, nudging the slick, swollen entrance with his wet tongue, swirling the stiffened length deep while his mate moaned and arched pleadingly to the exquisite feeling, her legs kicking in the air. Mac groaned in answer, tasting the wereem juices of his mate for the first time, the lust kicking him in the stomach, his balls tightening urgently. His tongue delved back in and he began to eat her, the taste of her calling him, roaring through him, wave upon wave upon crashing wave. His cock was being tempered to unbearable, straining steel in the fierce fire fuelled by her washing juices, her little cries echoing to the stars as he slurped his tongue into her again and again. The bursts of fresh taste coating his tongue were calling him, and he buried his head between her thighs, trying to get deeper, swirling harder, calling more and more of her lust into his mouth.
Abruptly Mac surged to his feet and steadying her with one hand, grasped the root of his rock-hard cock with the other. Then he stilled, shuddering, straining under the sway of unbearable, opposing forces. A small half-whined snarl escaped as he gasped for breath. Mac began to rub his straining member around and around in her abundant juices, nudging against the drowning entrance to her pussy, painting her cleft with the intoxicating liquid while he licked the lingering taste from his tongue, savouring his mate, struggling for control.
Do you want this, picchu?
Did he really have to ask???
He was sliding the throbbing head of his urgent cock over the hard little bundle of nerves aching at the top of her cleft, and she cried aloud at the sensation, bucking on a lurch of pleasure, trying to press herself closer. Shades of their games in the forest. But now, with her awareness of his thoughts, Gemma read that he did have to ask. He was an Alpha. Almost any female wolf would lift tail to him, melting automatically, at the faintest hint of his arousal. But any female life-mated to another would never be able to bring herself to plead aloud, however much her body was drowning in want.
Not a problem, here.
"Please, Mac," she panted, widening her legs to him, feeling herself melting at the knowledge that he had to check, even with her, his own mate.
With a delighted sigh, Mac grasped her firmly, impatiently, and carefully positioned the moist head of his aching cock at the wet entrance to her pussy. He loved the sight of her, bent naked over the bench under him, the mouth-watering arch of her breasts poking up toward the stars. Between her wide-splayed legs, the dark head of his member was probing her slick entrance. Her soft skin was bathed in the faint orange city glow, light gleaming on the abundant sheen coating on her thighs, her belly, his shaft. He licked his lips, savouring this little moment of slow pleasure. He knew he was going to lose himself pretty soon, as soon as he mounted her. Soon. Very soon. Very, very explosively. Mac gripped her hips firmly and felt his breath growing heavier, deeper in excitement while he watched and felt the head of his rigid cock slowly, steadily probing the entrance to her exquisitely tight, wet passage. Her long moan was quiet music to his ears. He shifted his grip, and felt the intense, overwhelming rise of roaring lust begin to engulf his senses while he steadily, exquisitely, forced her pussy mouth to yield to the invasion of his girth. A spasm shuddered through her passage, clamping him to a halt, and Mac bent to kiss his mate's tight-puckered nipples.
"You OK?" he growled, hoarsely.
"More," was all she could manage, gasping out the plea.
Mac chuckled under his breath, rubbed a teasing thumb-pad over her jutting clitoris and watched in pleasure as her heaving body bucked her further onto his cock. The unbearably tight sheath of her around his aching erection was plucking at the edges of his control, and he could feel himself quivering in excitement while he greedily sucked her taste from his thumb. The longer he could hold on...
"More," his mate whined, again, legs parting further. The slight shift of her weight pulled her passage slightly along his cock, and Mac growled. His eyes half-closed, drinking in the sight of her impaled on him, the root of his cock and balls all that was visible now, coated in the wetness between her splayed legs. He could feel the impatience growing in his blood, stiffening his limbs, demanding. He had missed her. He wanted to hear the hoarse pants as he pounded into her, to feel and scent her body arching under his in pleasure. His spine tingled on a rush of lust, and he slowly withdrew until only the tip of his cock was buried. Wanting it all.
"Picchu?."
Her eyes opened on that glazed look which he loved, and she moaned at the sight of him looming over her, poised.
The eyes rolled back in her head and she screamed in pleasure, legs swaying in the air as he thrust violently between them. A whimpered groan followed.
Mac growled at the delicious feeling, pulled out, and thrust in again, faster. Wonderful. Again. More. Faster. Harder. His eyes were glowing eerily at the exquisite pleasure of mating. His mate. His. In and out, quickening the tempo. His lust was raging higher at the unbelievable, delectable tightness of her silken, wet passage. Her luscious scent.
Gemma's back curved into a painful arch, hands clamping to the slats as she cried aloud. So deep, so deep. Oh. She was so - open, lost to the pounding force between her thighs, balanced only on her buttocks, connected only to Mac. His driving cock was rocking her backside against the bench with each breath-taking slam into her. His hands were biting into her thighs, holding her in place for each hard rut. She was melting in the knowledge, the scent of her mate's rising pleasure in taking his pleasure, pleasuring her. The hard shaft of him surging through her passage was deliciously, relentlessly driving her higher, wilder.
"Mac," she cried, and the pace quickened, the bench rocking on the ground as he pounded ruthlessly into her, causing her breasts to bounce hard to the rhythm. Unbelievably, exquisitely deep, forceful, unstoppable, unbearable. Higher. Higher. Harder.
Gemma could feel the crest rushing toward her and screamed out in shock at the abrupt, white flash of ecstasy that smashed through her. She convulsed hard under him, her legs straightening, cramping in the air, body rigid with the force crashing through her, but her mate only growled in satisfaction and surged more forcefully through her tightening passage, savouring the scent of her come, the shudder of her limbs, and the taut squeeze of her slick walls around his hard, demanding cock.
Pulling her legs wider he began to thrust with full force, the bench scraping across the ground when he heaved her back to meet each hard rut. Mac was dimly aware that there would be bruises on her thighs, but she was wereem now, she would heal in minutes. And judging by the mewling gasps of his name escaping her each time he slammed into her, she liked it like this. Oh boy, so did he. Faster. Harder. The possessive growl was rising in his throat.
His mate came for a second time, the erratic, violent spasming of her pussy around his cock making his eyes glaze over and his rhythm falter, before he splintered into frantic, furious thrusts, forcing himself as deeply inside her as he could while the prickles of pleasure down his spine spiked higher, wilder. She moaned, arching, her passage clamping again, massaging along his tingling member, forcing him even higher, faster, deeper. Further in. Further. More -- oh. Mac's eyes blacked out as the unbearable explosion of pleasure suddenly stopped his heart, his surging seed shooting deep into his mate, twisting his spine in ecstasy. Then he was panting hoarsely, forced to shattered stillness, grinding his still pumping cock within her belly as he shuddered in deep, deep, sensual delight. His heart was hammering painfully while slowly the spurts slowly subsided.
After a long, still pause, Mac sighed gently and half-opened his eyes to admire the soft, full curves of his little mate bent backwards under him. Her breath was still rapid, the rise and fall sending ripples of light over the sweat coating her soft belly, and playing across the dusky valley between her rounded breasts. He bent and gently kissed over her pulse, his mark, smiling against her flushed skin.
His mate.
After a night of solid, delicious exercise, the pull of her muscles under her skin as she gently ran felt good, easing the deep ache left from them clamping in pleasure over and over again. Despite the lack of sleep, Gemma was feeling more alert than she had ever been in her life, delighted with the whole world. The sun was warm, the breeze gentle, and her new wolf senses were entwining her in the joy of the life bustling around her.
She was richly aware of the powdery feel of the bare earth under her paws as she gently ran along the tilled furrow at the field edge. Her nose was twitching to the wind in her face, enjoying the scents of warm, rich soil, dusty straw and grain. The faint, sour scent of the green fronds of weeds growing along the edge blended with an enticing variety of meaty smells: stale, fresh, tangy, musty, and hearty. A woven tracing of the small and larger creatures who had passed either long ago, or scurried swiftly away at their approach. The scents were fascinating.
Best of all was the deep, sensual tang to the musk of her mate, loping gently beside her.
She had thought he'd had to restrain himself to a mere three fucks a day when she had still been human. Wow. Wowwee. Oh oh oh oh. Yes. She had been oh so right.
Next time I come into rut - mmm. If this is what he's like when I'm not on heat...
A tingle of guilt shivered up her spine. Gemma could feel the urgency Mac was suppressing as he loped easily through the stubble field. So she speeded up. Instantly, one of her front paws tangled in one of her back ones, and she stumbled, toppling to her knees and tumbling in an ungainly roll onto her flank in the moist earth furrow to the left of the harvested grain field.
For the hundredth time.
Coughing the dusty earth out of her nose and mouth, Gemma snarled in anger at her own ineptness, and grumbled internally as she lay in a grumpy hump, considering moving again.
She hated being a wolf.
Mac nudged her urgently, sighing, and she snapped at him. His nose moved out of her reach effortlessly, the tawny lycan shimmering into the place of the large white wolf.
"Get up. Come on," he barked brusquely, a large hand clamping into the loose skin at the scruff of her neck to haul her to her feet. He wasn't being much of the lover this morning. His body was quivering with the urgent stream of messages in his head, his eyes slightly unfocussed. Mackeld Range was under attack. Grey had alerted the Tzo Alpha about the scanty number of Aster fighters remaining at the Range, and the Chinese warlord had pressed his advantage, attacking at dawn while the majority of the Aster were down in Medway. The skeleton group of defenders were struggling desperately to hold on until reinforcements could arrive.
"You go," panted Gemma. "I'm only holding you up. I'll go home. I'll be fine."
In seconds, the powerful white wolf was towering over her, and she felt the weight of a searing order pounding in her head.
Get on my back.
Gemma found that she'd turned human and crept astride the shoulders of the crouching wolf even while she searched for the pithy argument reverberating somewhere deep inside her skull. She was sure it did, somewhere.
Her fingers barely had time to twine into the rich fur before the ground dropped away beneath her stomach, and she flattened herself instinctively to his back to keep out of the wind.
Naked woman spotted riding white wolf in Bromwich County. She could just see the headline now. She wished they'd had time to find her some clothes, at least. That coat had been a little mangled by morning. Shredded. And sticky.
The prickling of gathering heat between her thighs pulled her thoughts away from the memories of the past night. To the very, very tangible here-and-now.
This was similar to being back on the monster bike.
Except that this engine, between her legs now, was oh so much more exciting. Much much much much more. Tasty, delicious, mouth-watering. Nose-watering. Cunt-watering.
Would you stop distracting me? The exasperated, amused rebuke shot across her mind, and Gemma tried to rein back her rising lust. But he'd been feeding it sweet treats all night. It was feeling hyperactive.
Between her thighs, she could feel the constant, streamlined extension and pulling of his powerful hips, the effortless, edible expenditure of energy causing his spine to rise and fall in a rhythmic ripple against her pussy. His fur was brushing rhythmically against her skin and aching nipples, teasing them erect, burning, so that they were straining towards him. The delicate, gentle skimming of his fur against the soft skin of her inner thighs with each bound was making her bite her lip against the moan of pleasure.
Oh god he was powerful, it was so evident as she clung to him up here. Bewitching. The muscles under his skin circling in their ceaseless, smooth, effortless rhythm. Her stomach was tightening in burning, rising want.
Your thickening scent is driving me crazy. Mac's conveyed words were smouldering against a backdrop of frustration and lust.
Well hurry up and let me get off. I can't help it that you're so damn arousing.
Wow. The acceleration he put on blurred the edges of her vision, the wind pulling a stream of tears from her half-shut eyes. And the speed with which the ground was passing, inches below her bare toes, pulled her mind away from lust. She wound nervous fingers more securely into his fur and tucked her feet higher up on his flanks to safety, trying to clutch the long hair with her toes.
Abruptly, they curved around a small bank, weaving at whiplash speed through a thick stand of trees, and Gemma barely had time to register the two skinny adolescent wolf guards stepping back out of the way as Mac sprinted past them. They shot on a rising curve through the open gates of a large, fenced grass compound, sheltered within the trees and hidden to the West by a long hill. To their left, a cramped jostle of small, light aircraft looked as though they had been pushed untidily and swiftly to one side of a shorn stretch of smooth turf. The only other indication that this was an airstrip was an orange blob - she thought it was a windsock - blowing gently in the breeze from a tall pole at the far end of the break in the trees. The wide swathe of beaten, short grass stretched far into the distance to the orange speck, so that Gemma had to crinkle her eyes to see, but she barely had time to register the splash of colour before the loud buzzing of a light aircraft overtook them, the tiny vehicle accelerating away toward the orange dot.
Mac put on an impossible burst of yet more speed, flattening into a full, belly-to-the-ground sprint after it. Gemma's heart leapt into her mouth when she noticed the open door in the side of the aircraft, and recognised their bullet-like trajectory towards it.
"Mac!" her squeak was muffled by the wind. She could feel her mate concentrating on pouring every ounce of effort, every last atom of concentration into smoothly, steadily notching up the speed, judging the pace, while they slowly overhauled the accelerating plane, nearing the gaping doorway.
She could see those huge black tyres spinning in front of Mac's nose, the whirring blur of the deadly engine blades just above her head coming closer, closer. Gemma shut her eyes and buried her face in Mac's fur. There was a powerful heave under her when he leapt, and for a moment she was squashed under his heavy bulk while they tumbled across the floor of the rear of the plane, amid the multitude of wolf-scented human legs which leapt easily over them.
Despite the fact that she hadn't been the one sprinting, Gemma lay poleaxed on the floor, heart stuttering, blood pounding in her veins. Mac, on the other hand, rolled instantly to his feet as a human (clothed - huh! - but barefoot), while one of the other wolves sardined into the back of the plane slammed and locked the door in a practiced manner. Mac clapped a pleased hand onto the shoulder of the tall, lean man sitting in the pilot seat wearing a headset, who was easing back on the controls to lift them off the ground.
The pilot grinned, and one of the wolves standing behind him silently handed Mac a bright, long blue-and-green swirl of cloth.
Incongruously, all of the burly human-form wolves standing sandwiched, holding straps in the back of the small aircraft were barefoot, wearing loose shirts or t-shirts and baggy, soft trousers. Each was also wearing a huge pair of heavyweight ear defenders.
Gemma winced as the rising scream of the engines began to drill into her head.
Mac bent and lifted his shivering, naked mate to her feet, pulling a cotton-weave dress over her head. The cloth his packmate had handed him.
Gemma eyes were still wide in shock, heart pounding, but she managed to curve the corners of her mouth up at him when her head emerged from the neckline, and the soft fabric dropped to just above her knees. She threaded her arms into the holes - there was something about the comfort of being clothed. And of her mate thinking to tell someone to bring a dress for her, among all else that was demanding his attention. He grinned and bent to press a hard kiss to her lips, before lifting her, turning and slipping between the pack of his wolves into the co-pilot seat. He settled her on his lap, then pulled a blessed headset over her painfully pounding ears, followed by a second set for himself.
Four days later, Gemma was standing at one side of a dappled forest glade in the Mackeld range, gazing along the path of the stream through the trees. She was shrugging and twisting her shoulders and right hand, trying to ease some of the tension out of the aching muscles. That was the way towards the fighting. Toward Mac. Behind her, across the wide clearing, was the large Aster hospital tent, the food gazebo, and dozens of convalescing wolf warriors sitting or lying on the soft grass in wolf, human or lycan forms, recovering from surgery or antidotes.
Gemma shuddered. They set her teeth on edge.
Probably because they made it so evident that she set their teeth on edge.
Rebecca and Will were the only ones who seemed truly relaxed around her.
Mac had disappeared as soon as they'd landed at the Manor. The plane wheels had barely touched the ground at the foot of the hill below the complex of buildings, before he and his warriors had been sprinting loup-form off into the trees toward the fighting, the order for her to go with Chris echoing in her head. Her anger at his abrupt dismissal had been wild, but he'd already been focused elsewhere, not listening.
And then a sarcastic voice at her elbow had drawled, "Poor ickle were-i-poohs. Did the nasty wolf put the battle ahead of kissing you bye-byes?"
No, "Hello, my name is Chris" from the caustic old warrior who was guarding the airstrip.
He had provoked her on purpose, she'd realised after her eyes and brain swam back into focus from the black fog of rage, and she'd found her lycan-self immobilised, her face buried against the turf underneath the inflexible hold of the humming old warrior.
"I always believe that actions speak louder than words," Chris had said, getting off her. "Now you know you can't land a scratch on me, so stop pouting and get moving, little were. The A wants me to deliver you to the physes, and I have to get back here ASAP to keep directing the pilots, with the whole of Aster flying back as quick as they left yesterday."
The way he'd spoken, it was like she weighted up the chances of success before attacking. Gemma had felt her lips twitch. Didn't know diddly squat about werewolves, did he?
But she'd loped easily enough after him into the trees. There was something about his abrasive, stinging scent that was reassuring. There was no lust in it.
Unlike most of the other males, however hard they tried to smother it.
They'd halted abruptly at the edge of the hospital clearing, transfixed by the sight of a medium-height sjeste, in human form, carefully kneeling on the massive form of a softly yowling male lycan, trying to hold him down as she reached into her kit bag. The female wolf had impatiently brushed blood-coated hair out of her tired eyes with a blood-coated hand. The male had had deep, embedded wooden spears broken off in his flesh, shards poking out where blood had sealed around them and the flesh was healing. The female had barely introduced herself as Mac's sister Rebecca before Gemma had found herself sitting on the male's legs, picking splintered pieces of a tree branch out of them while the physician had injected something into his stomach, and begun to cut and yank shards out of his flesh.
That had been the beginning of the race, with just the two of them against the tide of wounded. All of the other medics had been over at the front, and Rebecca had only arrived back at the hospital with her wounded packmate seconds before Chris and Gemma.
The pair of them had had to work at an astonishing pace. More wounded had staggered in or been carried into the clearing minute by minute. Gemma had barely been aware of the constant sound of planes landing and taking off in the distance, or of the stream of wolves sprinting deeper into the forest past them from the airstrip, while she'd worked frantically to try to clean each wounded new arrival before he or she healed over.
She had been aware when Will retreated from the fighting to join them, because of the sense of calm he had brought with him. She'd realised then that Rebecca had the same projection of - ease, friendliness, care, but with the pair of them together it more than doubled, soothing more than the physical hurts of the injured wolves scattered around the clearing. They were a team, this pair, you could sense the deep, easy, wordless bond between them.
For nearly all waking hours since, she had been picking shrapnel out of wounds. And she zonked out, exhausted from the constant tension, as soon as she had stuffed herself with food and crawled onto to her small pallet at one side of the newly erected hospital shelter. Thank god some of the food was cooked. She needed the strength. The work was relentless.
But sometimes, sometimes, there was a brief respite, such as now.
Gemma flexed her aching fingers, sensing one of the males she'd tended approaching behind her as she stared down the stream toward where she knew the fighting was. Mac. The constant blood, constant wounded were unnerving her, worrying her. She knew her mate was the best, but couldn't entirely block out the what-ifs which sneaked into her head.
Whenever he could, Mac checked in on her, during a pause in the offensives. She might have been worried by his brusqueness then too, had she not been simultaneously aware of the mesh of other minds constantly reporting in from all directions to her wolf while he focused his main attention to her. Indistinct thoughts echoed from his head, wolves constantly calling for aid, clutching in agony or grief, requesting guidance, or just reporting in or out. It was as though he was a switchboard operator at the centre of an incredibly busy airport, mind awash with messages from all sides. And he didn't just have to pass them on; he had to deal with each of them himself. She didn't know how he could bear it, how he was able to even string a sentence together for her amidst the tumult.
And now he had to make time to deal with her too, reassure her.
Damn.
Damn damn damn.
She was so useless to him.
"Just a distraction," she sighed.
I'll say, murmured an unknown male voice in her head, and suddenly she was swamped in his lust. Male rut doft: powerful, eager, demanding, pulling at her, pulling her tired mind adrift, sinking her in a whirl of heat.
An image of herself seen from behind burned into her brain; herself crouched in her four-legged form, head bent submissively, backside to him. She trembled as she fell to all fours, mind battering, missing something, lost in the lust of the heated images pouring over her. She felt the tingling burn of herself shifting.
Gemma whined uneasily as a second image scorched through her, of her tail lifting to the eager male behind her, unveiling her wet passage.
A second, heated order pounded into her skull, this time words, lift your tail. She could feel him quivering eagerly behind her, snorting in great breaths of her doft.
No no no. She didn't want.
Lift your tail.
The words rolled echoing around her skull, obliterating all else except the urge to obey. As her tail lifted and she felt the heavy paws of the wolf land on her shoulders, the wordless plea burned in anguish out from her heart. Mac.
Gemma felt her astonished, enraged mate come alert suddenly in her head, felt the supernova blast of furious conveyance roaring past her, the yelp of the wolf tumbling off her back lost under the echo of the fury beating through her head.
Her heart jolted at his anger. Mac. Apoplectic. And awash with power.
The male behind her was writhing on the ground in agony, his scent sour with urine, anguish and terror, while Gemma shuddered at the touch of the battle focus centred in Mac's mind. It was as though his pack was clutching him in panic, trying to pull him apart, thoughts and emotions yanking at him from all directions, unbearable, painful, tearing at the mind - eugh. Her mate was firmly holding the power together, focussing that colossal force of anger for an instant on the writhing wolf, fury drilling into him.
She couldn't bear this.
Stay close to Will or Rebecca.
Then she was cut loose again, but with a gentle brush of reassurance and love over her thoughts as he retreated, a small bubble of private communication. She was a wereem. She couldn't say no. But she had called to him for help, and he damn well could. Mac was proud of her.
Chill, cold knowledge began to shiver through her as soon as he'd departed.
She wasn't exactly proud of herself. It was true. She really couldn't say no.
Eugh.
Wretchedly, Gemma began to slink on her four unsteady feet towards the large marquee which held the physicians and their charges. Two angry, half-healed wolves stalked past her and yanked her would-be lover to his feet, growling impatiently as he cried out his pain from the backlash of Mac's fury cramping his limbs, muscles spasming in agony.