Gemma stopped driving quite so cautiously once they were out of the city limits and on the highway; she was by then more familiar with the response of the car: the delicious, eager response of the low-slung, purring power of the car.
Her pulse was jumping erratically; her internal wolf was exhilarated, that half of her trembling on full alert, watching for and reacting to the obstacles which appeared in the headlights faster than she could think. Which was necessary at this speed.
Her heart was beating hard, insistently against her ribs, urging Faster! Faster!
For Bethan and Kate, this speed was necessary.
She heard a muffled, frustrated grunt from behind her, and a waft of amusement pulsed anew from Hakan, hulking beside her in the deep leather passenger seat, while he glanced back again at her other two guards.
"You just wait until we pick up the A," Erik growled vengefully at her chief bodyguard, the words barely audible around the kneecaps that were jammed against his face.
Hakan grinned.
Mac was right that the wolves couldn't drive - and they didn't know much about cars either. Erik had simply requested the fastest car that the garage had had, so long as it could fit four people in it. The result was that Gemma was now driving the most sleek, responsive car that she'd ever been in, while trying to see past the thicket of wide knees wedged against the ceiling that were obscuring the view out of the back window. The hire car representative had initially looked relieved when Gemma had appeared at the desk to pick up the keys; later his eyes had widened incredulously and jaw dropped when the tiny woman had stood hopping about with impatience while two of the huge hulks accompanying her had tried to cram themselves into the tiny back space misleadingly advertised as twin seats.
"Uh - we have a larger model," he'd begun, blinking at the curvaceous little brunette now checking that she'd be able to reach the pedals if she adjusted the driver's seat as far forward as it would go. "Maybe -."
"No, no, this is great," the older, dark-haired powerful man on the passenger side had interrupted, shoving hard at a protruding leg to force it to bend into the back, ignoring the half-sworn yelp and slamming his own seat into place. "We need the speed, thanks."
That had been true, so Gemma had let Hakan get away with it. Her stomach was churning now as she repetitively gnawed and licked healed her bottom lip, worry seething through her while they streaked along the straight road North-West through the dark night. She overtook another car which barely seemed to be moving, distractedly thankful for her internal wolf, which found this speed as easy to deal with as her human self did her usual much gentler driving pace.
Naomi has lost his trail, Mac conveyed tersely. Grey's been picked up by a vehicle -a wolf vehicle - as I suspected.
Gemma floored the gas pedal, and the car leapt forwards like an eager racehorse.
Don't stop for me, her mate decided. The girls are driving so fast that I can probably intercept you where you're going to meet anyway, more-or-less.
Hakan kept flashing conveyance of any visible roadsigns to the Alpha, while he also held the handset to his Alfamme's ear. In the other car, Bethan was reading the roadsigns that she and Kate passed aloud to Gemma in a breathless voice, and the wereem conveyed them on. Luke was back at the house, keeping track on the map for them all, and apprising the wolves on their relative positions while Gemma kept a rolling update to her human friends of how close they were getting to each other.
Gemma's stomach was tightening in increasing hope as they got nearer.
Tightening muscles, black flecks jumping across her eyes: her internal wolf was also getting more jumpy, alert and angry, aching for a fight.
Luke began calculating which junction they would all have to exit at to meet up, but Bethan gasped when Gemma explained, and cried despairingly, "We haven't any money! We can't get off - we can't pay the toll!"
Gemma was swearing, claws clenching into the leather steering wheel while the wild, uncomprehending rage surged to overwhelm her reason. Words flickered through the black clouds in her head, a distant, indistinct murmur of Mac calmly suggesting that Gemma could pass the girls, come off and head back down after them, no trouble - her speed was so much faster, it would only add a moment to the journey. As the words sank in, her eyes slowly swam back into focus.
The wereem blinked away the last black blotches that were obscuring the red lights streaming past her vision, breathing deeply while she watched the black fingernails on the wheel slowly turning pink again. Well, except for those of Hakan's one hand, which were still human anyway. He had taken a light grip on the wheel and was casually dancing them around each pair of red lights which appeared ahead, uncaring whether under or overtaking, swooping from side to side of the road. It looked surreally like they were in the middle of one of her brother's PS3 games. It sounded like they were threading their way through a slow-moving, honking chorus of geese; the other drivers were loudly and indignantly expressing their opinion of his speed and steering.
The wereem took a harsh breath, and tapped the back of her bodyguard's beefy hand with a finger. "I'm OK," she said, "Let me steer - you're attracting too much attention."
Mac was murmuring something urgently in her head while she said it.
"What?" What?
"Next junction," repeated the wolf beside her tersely. "We will see them passing on the other side any minute and -."
"Eeeep!" a half-shriek, half-gasp, shrilled terrified from the phone directly into Gemma's ear, rasping painfully along her already vibrating nerves.
"THERE!" bellowed Erik simultaneously from the back seat. "That must be them! And right beside them - he's trying to get them! STOP!"
Twin sets of headlights, specks in the distance, were tearing down the opposite carriageway, locked much too closely together, swaying in unison in a deadly dance. Gemma's teeth clenched as the obliterating fury hit and she braked viciously, swerving straight towards the central reservation where a spray of grass rose as the front wheels hit the narrow strip separating the two carriageways.
Her head slammed painfully against the side door when they bounced off the crash barrier. Then the fury lifted abruptly as the pure clear mind of fighting for her life in a skid descended and she struggled instead to keep the wildly spinning vehicle from slewing back into the traffic. The four headlights on the opposite side flared closer at breakneck speed, appearing in patches in her spinning vision. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion.
From the corner of her eye she noticed the blur of Xavi's elbow in the reversing mirror, heard the splintering noise as the back window disintegrated under the sharp blow and then there was a swirl around her of damp grass, pieces of glass and mud, whipping around inside in a sudden stream of fresh air and exhaust. Before she could blink, the two wolves on the back seat had exploded from the vehicle, landing momentarily silhouetted on the crash barrier in the centre of the road before recoiling to fling themselves onto the dark green limo shrieking past on the opposite side, the car locked in an elbowing fight with the black Lincoln glued to its side.
"Go! Go! Go!" yelled Hakan to her, just as their car finally slammed to a halt, back to the barrier, still half on the grass. Her remaining guard swivelled so fast that his neck almost snapped, looking over his shoulder at his two packmates fighting to break into the racing cars on the opposite side. "Over the bridge and after them!" Then his fiery black eyes focussed on her and he snapped out Human! in her head.
Back in control, flashing a look over her shoulder at the oncoming traffic as she shifted shape, Gemma pressed hard on the pedal, hearing the wheels spin in a scream before tearing off the grass, and she swerved hazardously back through the slow-moving obstacles across to the almost parallel exit.
"Ma'am, I don't like the way you drive," rebuked the tall, thin man in the tollbooth, mouth pursed in accustomed lines, eyes scowling at Gemma when the werewolf slapped a bill down on the counter with her ticket, breathing heavily.
Gemma just managed to swallow the ferocious snarl which rose in answer, her face creasing at the effort, and instead growled with as much restraint as she could muster, "I don't care for your opinion." Her heart was racing down the highway with her human friends and wolf guards.
The disapproving lines on the man's face deepened, and his lips pressed more closely together.
"I have a duty to -," he began, then stopped at the sound of shrieking metal, turning his eyes forward, aghast.
Hakan was already out in the lane ahead of the booth, and had wrenched the barrier off its hinges. Go! he conveyed urgently.
Her bodyguard leaped onto the car roof and slid across the smooth metal while Gemma accelerated away with a screech of tyres. Then he swung gracefully back through his open door and slammed it behind him while they picked up speed.
"Keep the change!" the werewolf yelled over her shoulder cheerfully, trying to stifle an insane set of giggles at the official's face, and tore around over the bridge back onto the carriageway heading south. Luckily the bored operator on this side wasn't awake enough to have noticed anything untoward, and did nothing more than hand them a ticket.
The laughter suddenly left her as she accelerated again, the darkness streaking past the windows matching her mood. Blue lights were flashing in the distant darkness behind the car, but she couldn't see anything ahead.
Where the hell were they?
An almighty whipcrack like a gunshot sounded above the racing purr of the engine, mixed with the splintering sound of shattered glass as shards splattered around the car, tiny pinpricks of pain sparking on her face.
Gemma's wide eyes flashed to a long, dark shape lying on the road ahead just seconds before the car ploughed sickeningly, bumpily over the yielding surface of the object, skidding out of control on two wheels. Simultaneously she shrieked in shock as a huge, furry grey body landed with a heavy thud on the windshield, and the car slammed back onto all four tyres on the roadway.
Hakan slumped against her heavily, unconscious, almost smothering her in her seat under the fierce G-force of the violently spinning car. Peering beyond his bulk, Gemma's eyes were caught by the black nails clamped to the frame of the passenger door, the hand of the stowaway clenched around the slight gap where the window was open at the top. Stunned, her eyes traced down from the nails of the wolf clinging on, the furry lycan figure plastered against the windscreen by the spin, over the gun clasped tight in his other hand, then were caught by the vicious grey eyes glaring at her through the glass.
Her heart lurched: Nicolas Grey.
The scent of Hakan's blood was burning in her nose.
Mac was swearing in her head, but the noise faded as her mind seemed to condense into the car, into now, while all Gemma's could do was cling to the wheel of the spinning vehicle. Then a wild flare of thought nudged her to spare a reckless hand for a second, and slam a finger down on the switch to close the electric window.
The glass hummed closed as the tyres screeched sideways on the asphalt. Grey dropped the gun clenched in his right hand, and speared his claws through the metal roof of the car just in time so that he could snatch his left fingers out of the closing gap. Their violent trajectory across the wide lanes was losing momentum, and the wereem watched through the glass, eyes caught by the aggressive glare, while in seeming slow motion Grey drew back his free hand, brought it up to flex those long, deadly claws at her, then raked a painfully screeching cacophony through the remaining glass of the windshield, so that it splintered into thousands of tiny squares, like a cobweb.
Through the broken lines, eyes huge, Gemma saw the fist raised again to smash the shattered glass out of his way.
She slammed her foot on the brake.
Her chest hit the steering wheel painfully, and violent cursing echoed distantly in her ears from the powerful body that flew off the windscreen, swinging in a wild circle around the fist clenched in the roof. Grey used his momentum to smash his arm through the passenger window instead and clench his free claws deep into the leather upholstered headrest just as the thin sheet of metal in his right hand ripped clear. He swung back on the new grip to smash heavily into the side door and panel. Damn him for clinging on.
The vehicle finally skidded to a halt. Their eyes met through the rear side window, the deep longing to inflict maximum pain clear in the Grey wolf's eyes, and Nick's other hand shot in through the passenger window to claw into the gleaming dashboard while his shoulders hunched to haul himself inside.
Gemma slammed the stick into first and floored the accelerator. Above the screeching of the tyres and the stench of the rubber, she could hear the Grey wolf cursing again while he tried to heave himself inside despite the drag of his calves on the ground. A harsh metallic screech, and his rear claws were stabbed into the body of the rear of the car to give him leverage to push harder, force himself inside the window. He swiped with a handful of open claws, swinging them wildly, trying to get hold of her, get her out.
Even in his coma, Hakan was helping; Gemma felt sickened when those vicious claws swiped just short of her and raked instead through the slumped blanket of her bleeding guard, lying half across her. Grey swiped for her a second time. Desperately the werewolf began slewing the car from side to side, trying to shake Nick off, trying to make him sicker, or just trying to make it more difficult for him to get his claws into her and hook her out of the vehicle. However, despite her best efforts, Nick's snarling face was getting closer to her, he was slowly, inexorably clawing his way in.
But even in her splintering terror, the analytical corner of Gemma's mind noted that Grey's face was looking a little clammy, pale.
Sick. Motion sick. From the movement and the stench of the fuel.
Gemma heart jumped in terror and fury as she met those bestial eyes again, too close, and she slammed on the brakes automatically, spinning the wheel to create another sickening counter-skid. The car screeched sideways on a stench of melting tyre, the force yanking Grey back to full arm stretch from his hands clamped in the dashboard and the headrest, his legs flying out behind the vehicle. The slow moving rear lights of a truck ahead were noted by Gemma's jumping brain, and she straightened the wheel towards it, flooring the gas pedal, burning with the angry, vengeful urge to scrape the car along the side of the monster vehicle they were rapidly closing on, crush the vile predator hanging out of the window between a rock and a hard place.
A pulse of anguished fear shattered through the otherwise silent, faint link with her mate, strangled words yanked back before they could manifest; terror smothered instantly. But the shot of stark, involuntary emotion reminded her: she couldn't kill Grey: Natasha would die too.
Shocked by the heart-crushing blink of sensation from her wolfmate, cold rushing through her, Gemma braked as hard as she could, instinctively, straightening the wheel and blinking tears through a rush of pain, suddenly unaware of her surroundings. Her heart was keening: he cared that much? She barely noticed as the car, skipping on the road surface as the tyres locked, screeched in behind the rumbling truck, just managing to slow down enough not to hit it. A cough of thick, nauseating diesel fumes spewed through the semi-shattered windshield from the rear of the metal monster inches ahead, the reek churning Gemma's stomach further, reflecting her bleak mood.
Then a second, even stronger raw pulse of emotion crashed into her from Mac: wordless, the feeling of his terror and boiling fury swamped her and she almost whimpered in guilt at the jangle of raw emotions. Love, exasperation, fear: Grey was two feet away from his mate and she wasn't bloody well paying attention to staying alive - will you just fucking trust me? Shuddering, mind zooming back into sharp here-and-now clarity, Gemma was already moving to whisk out from behind the truck.
Of course he cared that much: Tasha was his little sister, she rebuked herself fiercely.
Suddenly a thought occurred, why hadn't the damn malevolent wolf taken advantage? She jerked her head around and peered over at the limp figure hanging half out of the passenger window, arms straight, head just visible above the doorframe. Nick was hanging heavily, sweat standing out on his nose, mouth slightly agape. His face was also sagging, eyes dull and only half focussed on her.
Ah.
Stomach churning, mind on fire, shivering at the proximity of those clenched, blood-stained claws, Gemma drifted the car sideways carefully and settled down to mirror the pace of the juggernaut, purring along just where the exhaust pipe was level with her enemy's face. His features seemed to melt further, head sinking deeper between his slack shoulders.
The wereem smiled a little vicious half-smile, and hung on in the fume-rank wake of the truck, taking deep, long breaths of the foul air through her nose, swallowing rapidly, repeatedly, and staring out past the huge wheels to calm her roiling stomach. A little ironic gleam of pride lit her eyes: this was the benefit of being ex-human. She had learned to battle this nausea during her childhood, when she'd never been able to resist reading on the back seat, despite the consequences.
Her wolf senses were becoming sluggish, hard to hear while her stomach churned and a ringing sound was growing louder in her ears. The black spots were dancing in her head, the wolf within jumpy through fear, but somewhere in the distance she could hear the soothing ripple of pride from her mate: I love you I love you I love you. The calm anchor of Mac held a stable core within her growing, seething tension. Gemma clung to him, fighting the rising, desperate urge to just leap out and run, trying to keep an ear and nauseated nose out for any aggressive move from Nicolas.
The rage hovered.
Hovered closer.
Closer, the very brink.
Just one moment longer.
Soundlessly, smoothly, the claws clamped inside the dashboard and passenger headrest relaxed and slid loose. Gemma's dazed eyes jerked up to the reversing mirror and she saw the heap of grey fur rolling along in her wake, the pink mouth gasping as Grey dry retched into the roadway. Instantly she pulled out into the fresh air to the left of the truck and began to gulp, blinking hard to clear the black spots from her vision, senses reviving.
A brushing touch like a kiss nudged at her mind, almost unbearable relief swamping through the bond. In contrast, her mind snapped back into sharp alert, awareness of her wider surroundings, fear shooting through her.
Bethan and Kate? she conveyed the question urgently to Mac, Erik and Xavi. Then as her mind cleared from the tension of fighting Grey, she realised - that squashy lump she had driven over - Erik. Ugh. He was hurting.
He'll be OK, her mate replied, he wasn't hit by silver and you didn't crush anything that won't regenerate. Simultaneously, she received a flashed image from Xavi, as though seen through his eyes beneath a canopy of trees, from a distance. A scene of two mangled, entwined cars in the ditch at the roadside, lit by a surrounding mix of police headlights and blue flashing lights, which were also strobing on a small group of people huddled around the vehicles - she must have skidded past the crash without noticing while Grey had been trying to invade her car, because she could also see those lights in her reversing mirror.
Through Xavi, she could make out Bethan and Kate sitting together on the hood of one of the cars, grey blankets around their shoulders, talking to the cops surrounding them, who were nodding seriously and taking notes, speaking into radios. Her friends looked shaken, pale, teary. They were shivering. But they were ok. They were OK. Gemma's heart was burning in relief. She needed to see them.
The wereem gulped and switched off all of her car lights, swerving in a cautious U-turn around right back on herself, sneaking the car in to the side of the currently empty road. She began to creep the wrong way up the carriageway, keeping to the very edge, purring back up towards those distant lights. She could dodge into the trees if necessary.
Grey is not dead, Gemma, Mac's mind blasted hers. Don't come back. Take Hakan home and get that bullet out so that he can stop bleeding. The girls are OK, and they will be safe with the cops - four of the officers here are of Johnson Pack, they're not going to let anything happen to them.
Damn you, I want to see them, she swore back at him, heart burning, fiery senses fighting the order; she needed to see them. But a renewed flutter of fear was also churning through her and her hands were slightly clammy on the wheel she was already obediently turning, despite the fury echoing in her head at the order. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a blur of movement and terror clawed into her skin, breaking her out of the rising rage, just as her Alpha's voice added, I've sent Xavi back with the package; he should reach you any minute; then get going back home. Bethan and Kate are safe.
It was Xavi, she could see it was him now that she thought about it, and Gemma trembled in relief as the dark wolf shot down the slight bank at the roadside and leapt back through the shattered rear window, turning human in mid-air so that his teeth flashed white in the darkness with his wide grin while he landed with a bounce on the sprinkling of grass and glass on the back seat.
"Nice driving," he commended, eyes sparkling.
She managed a half a smile back at him, and pressed the gas pedal tentatively to pick up speed, the thought of Grey recovering somewhere in the darkness here crawling up her spine. But still.
I want to see them, talk to them, she hissed at her mate, the anger burning higher inside her. Rational anger: he was her mate, not her keeper. She tried to bury the fear and the tiny, private admission that what he said made sense. This wasn't about being rational. She needed to see Kate and Bethan. And Grey wasn't such a big deal. Really.
Pick up the phone, responded her wolf tiredly. They are OK. But Hakan is reacting badly to the silver, and you may get attacked again or at least arrested for dangerous driving if you come back - the cops the other drivers called are human. I promise you will see Bethan and Kate tomorrow. But please, Gemma, take Hakan home.
Hmmm. Her Alpha at least appeared to have learned to say please.
Her heart also softened in sadness. Mac's exhaustion had leaked through in that last sentence; she could probably win if she pushed, he was so tired.
While she had argued, on the back seat Xavi had yanked his shirt off, ripped it in two and was now leaning forward in the almost non-existent gap to slide his hand down and press the makeshift pad hard against the still seeping wound on Hakan's lower torso.
"C'mon, Mr. B," he murmured softly. "Hold it together now, we're taking you home to Penny and the cubs." Her sole remaining guard also silently lifted the phone from the floor and pressed redial then loudspeaker, holding the handset a short distance from his Alfamme's head while the calling tone buzzed loudly. He did so distractedly; Xavi's focus was on stopping the sluggish flow of blood from the hole in Hakan's stomach, and he was also angling his head to try to lick sealed the deep, scored scratches raked through his packmate's chest and arm.
Damn you for always being right, Gemma snarled at her Alpha, pressing on the pedal lightly to pick up speed. Heart aching. She so wanted to see her friends.
Lights, suggested Mac, his mind lightening in relief. I'm sorry, picchu, but you need to stay away for now, stay ahead of the other cops - the Johnsons will remain here at the incident, so they can watch over the girls and take Erik somewhere safe to get their phys to reset his bones. But the human cops might not be quite so understanding. Hakan is fading, you need to get him back quickly and get that silver bullet out, not spend time explaining your driving.
I can get the bullet out here! exclaimed Gemma, snapping the lights back on. Bossyboots.
No, neither of you can touch it - and you have no probes or tweezers, Mac replied. Much better to get back to the lab and not cut him up any further with field surgery. Some wolves find it nearly impossible to heal anything with even a trace of silver in the system.
Unlike him.
A teeny corner of her brain noted that one separate blue flashing light behind her was now getting closer. Fast. Headlights were blaring towards her, rapidly overhauling her slow purr.
Her pulse jumped. Maybe she was going to get arrested. Maybe she already had a record. Stealing motorbikes. Speeding. Seriously dangerous driving, breaking toll barriers and now evading arrest. These wolves were a bad influence.
Gemma pushed her foot down on the gas pedal again, and the eager car sprinted off, wind whistling through holes in the cobweb windshield pulling tears from her eyes.
Tell them I love them; that was so inadequate. The tears weren't only from the wind.
He replied softly: They know you love them, picchu. I told them that we brought Xavi and Erik and Hakan as backup, but Hakan's been shot and you have to -."
Mac was interrupted as the phone clicked in, and Kate's incredulous words suddenly echoed around the car: "Well damn, girl: how many hot macho new friends have you got?"
Bethan's voice could be heard calling urgently in the background: "I want an invite!"
Gemma dissolved into tearful laughter.
*
Three hours later, Mac swayed slowly up the street towards home, his shoulders hunched, defeated weariness seeping through him. He had no idea whether the nauseous Grey had suspected that he was being tailed; maybe the damn cunning wolf habitually left a guard on that bridge to delay any pursuit.
Tonight's guard had been powerful, cunning, and desperate.
So desperate.
The Mackeld shuddered as he remembered the shock of the realisation when his adversary had tumbled over the parapet. He had suspected on previous attempted pursuits that the ex-Greys he or his Whites had been sight-tailing had been ordered to die once their tracker was detected - probably detected by another damn invisible, scentless Grey wolf lurking en route. However, tonight he had had clear proof that the strong Grey wolf he had been fighting his way past had preferred - welcomed the splintering freedom of falling in front of a truck on the highway, instead of returning to his hated leader. It had been his choice.
In his last moment, the falling wolf had sent a wild pulse of thanks to the Alpha for fighting him to this freedom, conveying during that split second of free thought when Grey released him before the truck cannoned sickeningly into his falling body and then churned over him. Wild relief at the freedom of death.
Poor human drivers - it had even been in their news, the rash of deaths of timber wolves on the roads upstate over the beginning of the fall.
Mac's heart was dull, drained. He should have fought the burly wolf to a standstill and made him circle, not wasted more time trying to pass him to follow Grey, who had once more disappeared. Another wasted life. He let out a rough hiss of anger as he put his foot on the bottom doorstep, guilt twisting inside him.
Then suddenly his nose twitched, the fine hairs along his skin raised and he lifted his head, eyes alert.
Luke and Xavi stepped out of the front door to greet him, and he could sense the buried amusement in both koiru. Hakan was back at his home, with Penny and their cubs, sleeping into health. Erik, Bethan and Kate were up in Redfield with the Johnsons; the humans held overnight for medical observation.
But Gemma was home.
Mac's skin shuddered, a tremor easing his tension. His eyes began to gleam, and a light tingle stroked along his spine while he absorbed the faint scent of his favourite food wafting from the house with his mate's guards. Luke closed the door and made the all clear sign. The lean young warrior was trying to keep a straight face.
What was his little picchu up to? The Alpha's frown lightened as his mind reached out, diverted.
Both his warriors jumped down the steps past him to head to their own dens, laughing together and shooting him pleased little glances from the corners of their eyes. Mac nodded acknowledgement to them, soothed by the relaxed approval, the companionship in their scent. He could feel the weary wolf inside him shaking out the sadness, the stiffness, limbering up and stretching, pleased.
His mate had set up a special welcome for him.
He was exhausted; his mind was reeling with the need to eat and collapse and grab what little sleep he could. But the wolf was rising in excitement. This might be just what he needed to relax.
The green sparkles began to dance in his eyes.
Mac stepped into the hallway, and closed the front door behind him, eyes sweeping around while his mood lightened further.
The food scent was much stronger here. And there was also the soft scent of wax - the house was lit only by candles, multitudes of little flickering tea-lights dancing shadows against the walls, teasing at the darkness, warming the air.
Best of all was the scent of his mate. He could taste the tentative playfulness perfuming the air.
The brightening green eyes zoomed in on the lightly steaming cube of marinated roast chicken sitting on a folded piece of kitchen paper on the wide oak bannister post at the foot of the stairs, beside a little saucer of satay sauce. Mac's lips twitched, mouth watering, and he relaxed into the wolf.
His nose quivered as he absorbed the scent of hundreds of the succulent cubes, scattered around this floor, the fragrance of meat and sauce pervading every room, every corner. Disguising other scents. Muffling her scent.
Hah. He had had a lot of practice in hunting wolves with indistinct scent recently. His fur ruffled to alertness, pleasure stroking down his spine and his limbs shuddered lightly in releasing tension.
Silently, Mac prowled forwards, his blood beginning to purr, keeping ears, eyes and nose out for an ambush. Not that he would mind.
He pronged the cube with a claw, twirled it in the sauce and savoured it melting on his tongue. Delicious. He tried to pinpoint where her latest trail led, underneath the pervasive peanut fragrance, but she'd obviously sprinted repeatedly all over the house just before he returned. Cunning little mate.
His nose twitched again.
There was another piece of his starter upstairs, sitting on the post where the bannister curved around the corner.
And one downstairs, on the bottom step.
Cautiously, he sent out a brief thought to see if he could glimpse where she was, but she was solidly shielded. Hiding from him. He could feel the instinctive call to find his mate beginning to stir his blood.
A feral little smile lit his lips, and Mac bounded silently up the stairs to his second piece of chicken, enjoying the rich taste on his tongue as he breathed in deeply, assessing, trying to get a hint of her whereabouts. His whole body was quivering in anticipation, arousal tingling through him, feeling the wolf's pleasure in the little hunt.
He would have to remember to thank her for this properly.
In his own way.
A whispering click of a small object bouncing down the steps to the basement made his ears twitch and he smiled, but he was too old a hand to be caught by a trick like that; he had heard the faint whisper of the pebble rolling along something else above his head, some chute channelling it to reach the centre of the stairwell before it fell.
Quietly, quietly, he began to ghost the rest of his way upstairs, avoiding the three steps which creaked.
Stepping over one of the weak steps, underneath the pervasive scent of meat, peanut and spices, his nose caught a whiff of balloon just as his descending foot touched something soft, inflated; he held his breath as he froze. Gently, trembling, straining to hold his weight steady across the gap, Mac extended the claws of his suspended foot into the wooden stair rise, and just managed to adjust his weight and remove his limb without allowing any weight to press on the object. It was too large and flat to be a balloon - must be one of those human trick things that farted when you sat on it. He laughed silently. He would really have to trail-train his picchu; she would enjoy it, and she was inventive.
This also probably meant he was on the right track.
There were a lot of other dishes perfuming the first floor; at least one in every room. Mac felt his stomach tighten in recognition, his mouth moistening further.
All of his favourites; mmm. His heart melted beating slightly faster as he absorbed the scents, and he felt a rush of feeling aching through him, lifting the fur across his shoulders, pounding through his blood.
He loved her too.
Silently, carefully, he stole out onto the landing, lifting up the spring roll perched next to a different sauce on the bannister rail up to the attic, savouring the rich taste. There were a lot of mouth-watering scents emanating from upstairs also.
In fact, she'd filled the house with them.
Good girl.
Lying curled on top of the wardrobe in their bedroom, Gemma watched in glee, breathing as quietly as she could while Mac, after a brief glance around the door, turned and prowled silently on up the stairs.
Her Mac. His eyes had been clear, and glowing, alight with pleasure shining through the tiredness. Her internal wolf had been right, however ridiculous she had thought the wild urge: even after the day he'd had, maybe because of the day he'd had, her wolfmate needed to play, to relax before bed.
She waited, barely breathing, until he turned at the bend in the steps, then silently reached to heave herself up by his pull-up bar above the door and lower herself until her toes touched the stool she'd left just to the side inside the doorway. Her arms ached. Dammit. Better add pull-ups to her daily routine if she was so feeble.
Trying to keep her breathing steady, the excited wereem slid onto her back on the white bedcover, easily visible from the door, and reached for the wrapped present she'd left on the bedside table, resting it gently on her taut, naked stomach.
She flipped over the large cardboard label so that the message would be visible to anyone approaching, a little smile playing on her lips. Then, heart jumping in excitement, she inserted her feet into the soft slip-knot scarves she'd tied to the lower bedposts, and pulled them tight, securing her ankles.
She got to play too.
Her breath was short little pants of excitement as she carefully fed her wrists into the second set of loops above her head, and she felt a rush of lust moisten her tight inner passage. She was finally going to do this, Mr Wolf. All he needed was the right encouragement.
She pulled the slip knots tight, a smug little smile on her face.
Then she tugged at the bonds about her wrists, checking their security. The wash of smug lust was suddenly overwhelmed by a crash of splintering claustrophobia, and she gasped open her mouth, a choked whimper of a gulp escaping from a throat suddenly taut with terror, the inner wolf scrambling for control and yanking, hauling at the bonds in desperation, feeling the panic rocketing out of control.
The black fog swept over just as a terrified yelp escaped and she silently shouted a frantic Mac!, eyes turned piteously toward the doorway, begging him to appear. Simultaneously, she felt a breath of air on her naked skin, the bonds at her wrists parted with a flash of claws in the dancing candlelight, and she almost screamed in fear and relief, crashing back into herself realising that her wolf had landed beside her through the open window opposite the doorway. He had known where she was all along. His outline blurred with the speed at which he folded himself around her on the bed, slashing apart the scarves binding her ankles with his feet while he pulled her violently trembling form into a warm hug on top of him.
Don't do that again.
The order was blistering. Gemma shook her head in frantic agreement, fingers clutching at him, pressing her face hard into his chest, shivering uncontrollably, the dread still draining through her limbs.
He rolled them over and twisted her straight underneath him, hands clasped either side of her face as he plastered her to the mattress with his hard, quivering frame and tilted her head to make her look up into those scorching black eyes, angry scent burning her throat.
Do you hear me? Mac demanded caustically.
"I'm sorry," whispered Gemma, still trembling in the aftermath of the terror, rocked by how deep, unstoppable it had been. "I won't."
"That was such a stupid thing to do," he cursed.
"I'm sorry," she murmured again.
Mac grimaced, angry black eyes shooting sparks. "Did you not believe what I told you?" he snapped.
Gemma felt her already pounding blood lifting in a light shimmer of irritation. She had said sorry; he didn't need to belabour the point. Trying to hang on to a thread of diplomacy, she licked her lips. "I have known me a lot longer than you have," she rumbled back.
Mac wasn't bothering with his wording, "I've known wolves a hell of a lot longer than you have, Gemma. That was just plain idiocy. I told you."
Her eyes narrowed up at him. "Yeah, well, maybe I get tired of being told what to do all the time," she growled.
Her mate just glared down at her, swirling eyes unreadable, but she could feel, smell the heat of anger beating higher off him. And then she recognised the fear underneath it.
Oops.
"I fantasise all the time about you tying me up," Gemma's voice softened, becoming a little faint, hoarse, as she tried to explain. "Being at your mercy." Then she growled exasperatedly into the seething silence, "And I love it when you hold me down - why don't I panic when you do that?"
A little green swirl shot through the black, and Mac's expression became slightly less forbidding.
"Because the wolf side trusts me," he replied brusquely.
Then he rolled away and pulled himself wearily to his feet beside the bed, standing with his back to her as he stared out into the night, shoulders drooping tiredly; he massaged his fingers across his scalp, down his forehead, pinching the bridge of his nose. Mac looked so tired.
Gemma's heart melted, sorrow rushing through her, dissolving the burgeoning anger. She'd wanted to lift that bone-deep weariness, lift the burdens for a while. Instead she'd added to them.
Tears sprang into her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Mac. I promise I won't do that again," she said sadly, and sighed, closing her eyes on more tears. "Talk about killing a mood."
Silence.
But - a moment later, bewildered, pulled by the tang of pleasure which had shot into his scent, Gemma's eyelids lifted and she stared questioningly up at her mate. He had turned and was looking back down at her on the bed, standing over her, fierce eyes roving over her scantily clad form. The light green sparkles were back, swirling in the black. Mac rested his gaze appreciatively, speculatively on the soft purple-and-crimson flowered bra framing and accentuating her lush, heaving breasts. She was wearing the new set of underwear that Jasmine had sent, tucked in with his present in the package she'd received today. Gemma's breath quickened, and Mac's smile grew, eyes hooding over as he stood over his mate and watched her breasts heave.
Her skin was gleaming, warm and dusky in the candlelight, and the fierce green-black eyes dropped, gaze gliding over the soft curve of her hip, admiring the decoration of the line of stitched flowers crossing the smooth skin, the flower chain waist of the matching briefs holding up a scrap of patterned lace that was cupping and almost concealing the trim mound of her pussy. Shorn to a neat little landing strip. For him. Gentle fingers reached to smooth along the delicate, opaque band of the third piece: the semi-transparent suspender belt girdling her waist, and he tucked a fingertip under one strap and followed it down to trace along the lacy top of her black stockings. Mac's smile was predatory, but there was also a tingle of anger still heating the depths.
Maybe he could come up with something to reinforce the message to listen to him. He remembered Jon complaining about this once, when Shilpa had still been alive - every other wolf at least considered that the Alpha might have some idea what he was talking about, but never his mate.
Mac's lips twisted, and he listened silently to his heart thumping in joy, feeling his blood simmering with content. His mate had been jumping between anger and fear for so long, but over the last week or so she had begun to smell more like herself all the time, not just in occasional splashes. Argumentative. Rational. More certain, and no longer so scared of getting angry. Now that his fear had been allayed by her promise not to repeat tonight's idiocy, Mac was secretly delighted that his little picchu was getting confident enough to start pushing the boundaries and arguing with him more; to be fully his mate.
But he wasn't going to tell her that. Yet. She had wanted to play.
"Your guards had better not have seen you like this, Gemma," he warned softly, gazing down at the dusky shadow of her cleft just visible through the lace front of her briefs. Mac felt a surge of excitement, wolf rising in glee.
Gemma sighed and shook her head from side to side against the mattress, a little warmth fluttering in her stomach as the anger in his scent sank beneath happiness. And lust. She melted in the reminder that her wolf did not share. At all.
"Only for you," she promised on a whisper, looking up into those dark, sparkling eyes.
Mac smiled.
"I know," he grunted in return, sounding slightly mollified.
The wolf was looking out at her, possessively. Her own wolf was quivering in pleasure, shivering lightly. Mac was looking decidedly predatory.
He stretched out full length on the bed beside her, lying on one side, looking down at her semi-naked form lying flat on her back beside him. She shivered lightly. His head was propped on his bent arm, that hooded, smiling look of anticipation on his face
"As your correction, for disobeying your Alpha and putting his mate at risk," the Alpha began.
"You never said I couldn't tie myself up," Gemma objected automatically, then she broke off at the flash in his eyes, and blinked her own gaze closed, startled, heart thudding in sudden edginess at the scent in the air.
Talk about side-blasted by power. But OK, he did understand the wolf better than she did; it had been a stupid thing to do. She could admit it. Just. She re-opened her eyes.
"I'm sorry," she murmured yet again, grudgingly, sighing. "OK, you're right, I knew what I was doing - what you'd think of such an idea."
"So will you accept your punishment?" her Alpha demanded softly.
"What is it?" she countered.
Silence.
"Do you trust me to administer a fitting punishment? Something from which you will learn?" Mac amended his question, voice dropping, silky with danger.
Gemma stared up at him. He looked straight back at her, black eyes unreadable.
Her heart was in her mouth. Something about that look was daunting.
But.
"Yes," she whispered. He was right: she did trust him. But she was quivering.
"And will you accept your punishment, and learn from it?" he pressed softly.
She was not sure she agreed about the Alpha's right to punish the Alfamme. They were equals. But her lips parted, excitement curling in her stomach. What would he do? This was what she wanted, wasn't it?
Mac enjoyed the wild edge of almost fear in his mate's eyes. She had scared him.
"Yes," she breathed.
He enjoyed her answer too, for a different reason, and smiled slowly, watching her tremble grow as she absorbed his expression.
"I'll teach you," he promised. Unnervingly quietly. "But you are the one who has to make the effort to learn. So: will you promise me, Gemma, that from now until midnight tomorrow you will do exactly as I say?"
Her eyes widened and she stared at him.
She suppressed the large bubble of laughter which almost choked her as she thought of the secret drug downstairs in the lab. The seething want she had had to suppress, as soon as she'd scented him coming up the street, to test it out again just for fun.
This was what he called punishment?
"Yes," breathed Gemma. Then instantly she felt a tingle of doubt.
"This is not a light promise, Gem: you don't argue, you don't hesitate," warned her wolf. "It doesn't matter whether you like the order or not. What it boils down to is trusting me not to mess you around. Can I trust you to trust me?"
Ouch.
But.
"Do you trust me?" she murmured hoarsely in reply. "I know you can't tell me more about your link with Tasha in case Grey's son gets close enough to read me, but what about Will? Can't you tell me what he came for?" she challenged edgily.
Mac blinked. The gleam grew in his eyes as he met the straight look in hers.
"I will tell you if you manage to keep your promise, OK?"
Gemma's heart bounded.
She wanted to promise. But.
"Mac," she whispered uncertainly, looking up into those swirling black eyes, feeling the burn of the power along her skin, lifting the small hairs. "I'm not sure I could obey you against my better judgement." The happy smile of Rowan was dancing in her head. He was not always right. Except he had been right too: it had been a trap. And having two packs was tearing him apart; maybe that had been part of the plan, if the trap failed? She sighed. Why was life never black and white?
For some reason the smile in his eyes deepened.
"Thank-you, picchu," he replied softly. "For taking this seriously. But I wouldn't expect you to obey me in a crisis - I doubt that one will arise over the next day, but if it does, you must do as you feel fit, rather than as I say. I trust you to judge whether the situation warrants breaking your promise."
Pointed.
She looked up steadily into his deep, loving eyes. He was right. This was about whether she would trust him, "I promise," she whispered, voice low. She would: to banish that last lingering smidgeon of angry fear at the back of his scent.
Mac blinked at her, considering her soberly.
Then a beautiful smile warmed his face, and his frame relaxed completely.
"Good," her mate murmured, sitting up and hauling himself back to rest against the headboard, propping pillows behind his back and sinking back with a sigh, closing his eyes. "Go and collect all the food and bring it back here; get me something to drink as well, would you love?"
Was that all? Gemma was pouting a little as she began to scramble off the bed.
"But kiss me before you go," he added.
She turned back with a smile.
*
Later, she felt a bit guilty, adding to his already indefatigable smugness.
But this was so much fun. Decadent. She could feel her mate sinking in growing relaxation, steeping himself deeper and deeper in enjoyment.
Gemma was kneeling on the bed beside Mac as he lounged back against the stacked pillows, leaning towards him in the slave-girl pose he liked, shoulders back, hands behind her back, delicately offering him another piece of the pear she'd peeled and cut up for his desert.
The remains of their midnight feast were scattered around them, crumbs and sauce covering small dishes and plates on the thick coverlet and bedside cabinets, the fragrance of spices and flavours and rich meats perfuming the air. Also perfuming her; her mate had enjoyed licking her skin clean, after use.
In addition, the tastes teased at the corners of her mouth, lingering from the pieces he had fed to her by hand, and from the many she had offered to him, lip to lip, morsel by morsel, under his softly murmured instruction.
Mac turned his head lazily now, eyes gleaming through the narrow slit of his lids as they focussed on her breasts again, lingering on the peaks as they tingled in hard want, the lust pulsing between her thighs.
"Closer," he said softly, and then turned his head when she leaned carefully forwards, stretching her hands back for balance, accentuating the curve of her breasts. Mac brushed his lips against her cheekbone before closing his teeth over the slippery piece of pear held carefully in hers, sucking it from her as she released it.
One of his hands came up to fondle gently over the swinging globes while he chewed and swallowed, licking his lips, then running his tongue carefully over hers. His fingers were gliding inside the pretty stitched lace flowers, brushing over her skin, pulling one cup gently down until her nipple was exposed, poking hard forwards, aching with erect tension. Mac sighed in gentle pleasure at the sight, and pulled the material further down, back, pushing it under the mound to hold it upright and poking forwards.
Gemma's belly was fluttering in anticipation.
"I think I'm done eating, picchu," he said softly, concentrating on the fingertip he was circling, circling oh-so-featherlight over that straining peak. A bud of moisture shot down her passage. "Why don't you clear up before we get crumbs on the covers, mmm?"
Her blood jumped in excitement.
*
It was so strange, walking around with one breast exposed, lifted, poking out, and the other still cupped snuggly within her bra. It made her so conscious of the bared, stretching peak while she lightly waltzed around, smiling, moving the dishes to the top of the chest of drawers beside the door. Little wriggles of excitement and anticipation were dancing up and down her spine, knowing those gleaming eyes were watching her, and moisture was beginning to coat her panties.
As she piled the last set of finger bowls on the surface and lifted her index finger to suck a small drop of satay from the tip, she heard the sharp, steady sound of scissors snipping through paper behind her. Spun.
Not scissors.
Mac, lounging on the bed, had a little smile on his face as he slowly continued to slice the colourful paper off the small, wrapped box with a claw. His present from her. His nostrils were flaring. Her stomach twisted, then clenched, tightening in want. No doubt he could smell what was inside, what it was made of at least. He was speculating. No, he knew.
She was salivating.
The cardboard box underneath the paper revealed, her mate looked up at her out of the top of his eyes, smiling, and said softly, "Come here." His eyes flicked sideways, to the space among the pillows to the left of him.
Gemma swallowed nipples hardening, then put her hands behind her head before she sauntered around the foot of the mattress under his lustful gaze, sashaying her hips, lifting her chin and her chest proudly as she had been told.
Oh, she liked this.
She paused at the edge opposite the windows, blew him an air kiss, and crawled sensuously onto the bed beside him, tilting her head down to press her lips briefly to his shoulder.
"On your knees."
She so liked this. Knelt, knees slightly apart, facing him.
"Hands behind your head."
She obeyed. The nipple that was still inside the cloth tingled as it brushed against the fabric while her breasts poked forward. The twin ached, the bud fiercely hard in the slightly cooler air, wanting, and she could feel the tremble inside herself growing at the scent of him.
"Open your mouth, Gem."
She blinked, surprised. Then remembered: no hesitation. She opened her mouth. What was he going to do?
A thick, blunt finger traced over her lower lip then pressed inside, drew lightly over the tip of one tooth, and lifted clear. Mac looked at the small drop of blood on his finger, then smiled into her eyes as he lifted it up to his own mouth, licking it healed.
He did know.
Her heart was jumping; blood swirling, pussy tightening in lust, breath beginning to come faster. Her lips were closer together with the pants, and he reminded her gently, "Keep your mouth open, picchu," while he lifted the cardboard box in his other hand to her lips.
Bewildered, she did so.
The cardboard of the top corner of one short side of the box was speared on her lower incisors, and he pulled it smoothly sideways, slicing cleanly through the top of the box.
Her breath started coming faster, saliva pooling in her mouth as her stomach tightened further.
He turned the box ninety degrees, and carefully drew the second side across her teeth, shearing a second neat line a few millimetres from the top.
Ow, her heart was pounding so hard against her ribcage, and she could feel a bud of moisture pulse out onto the sheer material between her legs.
His nostrils flared, and gleaming eyes met hers, a shot of his enjoyment thickening the ait. He smiled, glancing down at the little box.
Would he hurry up already? Gemma was panting hard now.
Mac watched her chest heaving, the smile on his face growing, and a finger stroked down to pull her second bra cup below her nipple, gently, casually putting the box aside to that he could use both hands to exposing her full breast to his sight. Then he cupped one palm underneath the weight and with the other delicately teased the nipple to full erection, twisting the tip, smiling as her shuddering grew, and Gemma swallowed hard again against the lust.
Eventually pleased with his work, Mac lifted the box again, and his sparkling eyes burned into hers while he pulled the third side slowly, casually along her razor teeth also.
The scent of the synthetic rubber inside was strong in her nostrils, making her skin shudder in anticipation.
He lifted the gift box clear, setting it on her folded knees, and traced his finger delicately over her soft lips again.
"Do you like keeping your mouth open, Gem?"
His eyes were laughing, warm. Lustful, and his aroused scent was melting through her limbs.
Her heart jumped. She breathed swiftly: two short, quick gulps of air.
A little flush of colour was rising in her cheeks. "For you, yes," she smiled against her blush as she whispered her reply.
He knew. His eyes were flaring with lust at her thickening scent in the air.
"Go and wash this then," he said quietly, tapping a finger on the box.
Gemma let out a soft sigh of disappointment. Why wait? It didn't matter what it tasted like!
Her heart jolted differently as she caught the slightly ironic gleam in the depths of his eyes: disobedient already?
With a second sigh she lifted the box and turned to slide off the bed again.
"But kiss me before you go," Mac said.
Her smile was impish as she turned back.
Tease.
*
Three minutes later she danced back out of the bathroom with the double string of damp tooth-caps dangling from one finger, slightly flushed, and her blood throbbing in anticipation.
Sparkling, naughty eyes landed on her wolf, and she halted suddenly.
Mac was stretched out on his back upon the bed, the long, sculpted limbs relaxed, totally still, one arm flung across his face. His breathing was deep, slow.
Her heart jumped and began to hammer, a rush of mingled disappointment and amusement flooding through her veins.
Yeah, right.
He was faking it.
She could smell his arousal.
She prowled silently around to his side of the bed to look down at him, watching the slow, rhythmic breathing. As her scent curled around him, telling him of her proximity, a low, contented wuffle escaped his lips, and Mac rolled slightly towards her onto his side, a lazy hand sliding off the edge of the mattress towards her.
Her lustful, simmering blood boiled, a flash of frustrated temper shooting through her as she realised.
He wasn't faking it.
One of her hands had lifted automatically to cup lightly around one muscular shoulder and halt his movement, prevent him rolling onto the floor, and a different flush of warmth washed through her at the contented hum of the power emanating gently off him, even in sleep. Her mate was relaxed.
It slowly sank in, melting through her. Not just asleep: relaxed.
Totally, utterly at peace. No shimmer under the skin, none of the strain of the overtired muscles, the coil of buried tension he had been carrying for days. Even his face had lost the stiff, aching look; instead a little smile was curving the corners of his lips, even in sleep.
Looking down into his contented features, Gemma felt her heart swelling, scorching blood through her veins so fiercely that her limbs melted and she simply sank cross-legged onto the carpet where she was. She kept a light touch on his shoulder, tears aching behind her eyes up as she just looked at him. Eyes drinking in the beautiful, softened features. So close. So peaceful. She thought her heart would burst.
A similar smile to his was wavering on her own lips, and her tears glistened in the soft light of the bedside lamp.
Despite the deep, aching frustration churning in her blood, between her thighs, she had never been so happy in her whole life.
After a few minutes she got up and padded around the foot of the bed, draping her last clothes over the back of a chair. She stood for a moment, breathing lightly, looking down at her sole remaining adornment, the simple circle of smooth gold on her left wrist. The little smile was still glowing in her eyes.
She'd thought that she'd concealed her secret despondency about not being able to wear her engagement ring from Mac. After all she understood intellectually why she couldn't.
Although she was much more controlled now, she still couldn't guarantee anything, and she would still have to remove it before she could shift lycan, or it would cut off the blood-flow to her brawnier finger, possibly shearing the digit if it was stressed sideways. That was unless she could fur it. And she wasn't exactly reliable at that yet. At all.
A lesser worry to her mate, although not to her, was that every time she shifted loup it would fall off, until it would eventually get lost.
However, lycan and human wrists were much the same size, and the fit of the bracelet loose enough to accommodate both. "A larger ring," her mate had told her softly when he had threaded it carefully over her left hand, gently kissing her. "But with the same meaning."
She stood twisting it on her wrist now, stroking the gleaming, seamless band with a fingertip. The inner glow of happiness welled inside her as she re-read the simple engraving.
'To my Gemma, with my love: endless'
Then with her own contented sigh, she slid gently across the sheets to snuggle up to his back.
As she relaxed, Gemma's mind suddenly tensed against a melee of disturbing flashes of imagery from today. However, before they could fully surface the wolf within her surged up and pushed them back, hard, slamming a lid down on them: they needed to sleep first. Her mate needed to sleep.
His peaceful scent curled into her, melting through her.
Mac.
*
It was still dark when the cosy peace suddenly exploded. A peppering of conflicting sensations and images wrenched Gemma out of her dreams and she found herself springing to her feet in loup form before she was even awake, instinct pulling her in rage to leap across above the sluggishly stirring form of her mate, blood exploding to the boil before he surfaced.
Three unknown wolves, the leading edge of a much larger group, were diving silently from the open window to ambush her exhausted, sleeping wolfmate unawares. The first of his attackers swerved to avoid her, startled by the werewolf's sudden appearance from behind the bulk of the Mackeld, but the second merely twitched and altered course straight for her throat, clashing violently with her in mid-air, while a third swerved past the pair of them, teeth bared and angling for Mac's jugular.
The wolf within took control, and Gemma made no attempt to intervene. It seemed as though a fire was in her veins, guiding her with eerie fluency to feint, dodge and block her deadly attacker for much longer than she thought possible. However, she was bewilderingly aware of what she was doing; what the wolf within her was doing with her limbs. Their limbs. It hadn't blanked her out.
She felt oddly detached, as though she was just watching the wereem spinning desperately around the room, dancing again and again out of reach of the deadly claws and teeth, watching an actor in a fascinating film. She didn't know she could do this. Her attacker was far more skilled, she was slowly losing blood from the heavy tears he made in her limbs, losing speed. She could feel the fire of the wounds distantly through a cloud of detachment while again and again she managed to evade or deflect that killing strike. But it was a distant pain.
She knew she couldn't keep this up much longer; her breath was heaving in pants, limbs slowing in pain and bloodloss.
However, her heart was beating calmly to the orchestra of snarls resounding from the bed, warmed by the faint speck of awareness of Mac in her mind. Despite being pounced on while down, despite the never-ending stream of wolves cascading in through the window, her mate was not out.
No great surprise.
She swerved too late backwards, feeling pain explode in her head as claws speared into her neck, holding her, lifting her. She saw the vicious teeth descending lightening fast to tear out her throat, then blinked as her attacker suddenly wrenched his gaze downward on a furious growl, slashing his other claw below her vision, and ripping up into her sight a small brown mongrel, before he drop-kicked the dog vindictively across the room.
Her enemy then spun back to Gemma, still held suspended in the air by the throttling, searing grip in her throat. She raked her back claws at him just as Hakan burst through the door. Her bodyguard crashed into her attacker while the lycan spun to meet him, flinging the wereem clear, and the warriors rolled together in a deadly, unchecked battle across the carpet, slamming into the wardrobe.
Gemma blinked at the two wolves engaging, a momentary lifting of her concentration bringing a flash of awareness of the flurry of snarls around the house, recognition of the newly arriving Whites leaping on further enemy wolves both in and outside, down and upstairs. The deluge of attackers through the window had stopped.
Meanwhile her own internal wolf twisted without thought and clamped her jaws around the ankle of one of the flurry of attackers piling against the bed, surrounding and trying to overwhelm her mate.
The enemy wolf spun impossibly fast, and he clamped his left claw deeply into her already painful neck and shoulder to twist her grip loose effortlessly. He lifted one leg to rake his sharp claws across her torso and she fell onto her back, trying desperately to pull him down with her slight weight, arms protectively around her head but refusing to release the grip of her jaws on his ankle while his teeth ripped agonisingly through her arm in a painful counterattack.
Suddenly the limb in her mouth flopped as a dead weight, and the bulk of her opponent crashed to the carpet beside her. Blinking the blood out of her eyes, licking it off her nose, Gemma lay still against the body, breath heaving, watching her mate through the fur of the lycan he had just killed for her. She coughed the hairs out of her mouth disgustedly, the deep bites and claw-marks in her limbs flaming into searing pain as that eerie detachment subsided again.
Mac didn't need any assistance. Gemma felt a little shimmer of awe warming her, despite the pain of her wounds, as she watched the tawny figure cutting a deadly swathe through the score of lycans who were desperately trying to down him. He was so graceful.
Well, when she had first looked there had been about twenty enemies left around him. There were less than ten, no, seven or so still moving now. No, five. Four.
Then Mac winced above her, panting harshly, eyes seeming to briefly lose focus. A split second later the black gaze flared and he spun and tore down another opponent, flinging the body across the room even as he shuddered to a halt a second time. Gemma lay panting, watching his flaming, distant eyes as he twisted again on a jerk to face his last three attackers.
She winced herself, hearing a distant howl resonating inside her mate's head, hearing the sounds of battle throughout the house, seeing him hesitate, his mind pulsing with a searing pain as he halted again. The three leapt on him, and Gemma was back on her feet, the wolf within firing back to the front of her mind.
But Mac, even on autopilot, was unstoppable. His mind was a burst of searing pain, she could feel the Mackelds pulling at him - why now? -hauling from the opposite direction to the White meld he was already locked in. He had braced himself, holding himself back and just communicating with his distant pack when suddenly that second, all-out call had slammed through him and he was now being torn apart by the seething, opposing forces of both melds. The Mackelds were under full attack.
She had never felt this edge of pain, desperation almost raging through him as thoughts pulled from all directions and he swayed, fighting to keep his mind clear enough to also defend himself while still maintaining the links with both packs enough to sustain his wolves.
Mac' eyes snapped back to dull semi-focus as the three enemy fighters descended on him and he raked a clawed fist across the throat of one of his attackers, killing her instantly while he spun to dodge the two others, without thought.
His mind was swiftly reburied under an avalanche of desperate calls from all directions, even as he spun. Gemma was shaking just in the edge of the torrent of conveyance bombarding her mate. She tried to field some, tried to answer the cries from the beleaguered, battling Whites but half the time their thoughts flickered past faster than she could catch, and those she did catch were sickening, bewildering mid-attack alerts and awarenesses she didn't understand, or couldn't react to fast enough. She hesitated, and Mac pushed her urgently out of the way with his mind, snapping at her to stay out of it.
Blood in her mouth. Her teeth were clenched into the shoulder of the wolf who was diving past her to kill her beleaguered mate, slowing his trajectory, and the next second the attacker was lying dead across her while Mac wrenched his teeth back out of his neck. Gemma shrugged the body aside and crouched at her mate's feet, chest heaving, lungs panting for breath after that mad, unthinking leap while her Alpha trembled above her, eyes again unfocused. Her wolf within had reacted again without thought, engaging her mate's attacker while he was focused elsewhere, giving him that split second he needed to return to himself.
She could do this.
Gemma kept a steady eye on the final, huge opponent. His proud face was unreadable, but she thought that she could read in his stance, in his hesitation, wary reluctance to approach closer, despite the glazed look in the eyes of the shuddering Alpha.
Then suddenly another, different scream wracked Mac's mind, the cry rebounding on her also just as the attacker pounced, succeeding in clamping his jaws around the neck of the Mackeld from the side while Mac faltered in the shattering pain, and Gemma leapt too late to intercept.
Natasha. She could feel the agony tearing at her mate, leaching him with unbearable loss, sucking him dry, but it was internal pain, and she impatiently speared through his connection with her own mind, driven by rocketing fury and indignation that this was so unfair, grabbed, yanked it off him and wrapped it tightly inside her own thoughts, slamming down a resolute, rock-solid barrier to block it off from her overstressed mate. Taking it on herself.
Her mind seemed to explode in pain. Searing, swelling, unbearable.
It was hauling at her, hauling her slowly, inexorably toward the end. To let go. Let go of this unbearable, unstoppable excruciating drag. Dragging her to the end of feeling. The edge of life. Blessed oblivion. This was too much. Let it end. Let it end. The pleading to just let go echoed strangely, pleading from the tortured wolf she was distantly, desperately clinging to, pleading bloated by the pain.
But the searing pain was punctured briefly with a faint, fiery echo ricocheting past the anguish to spear her with an adamant, burning spark of defiance, also from the tortured wolf. Don't let him win. If she let go, he had won. The pain could not win. Gemma braced with all her might, agony redoubling at the effort, straining to prevent the drag but she was dissolving in the pain, losing way, losing strength, resolve.
And then Mac lifted it off her, nipping the connection out of her reach with a power she had no hope of counteracting, slamming an echo of fierce strength from the pack meld back along the line of pain. Trembling, almost retching sobs, Gemma collapsed against his shuddering form and felt it all stop as a soft shield cradled her mind.
Mac's limbs heaved as he shoved the last of the bodies off the bed, and he folded down to lie beside her, around her, lifting her off the sticky mattress, cuddling her against his chest, panting harsh breaths in time with her sobs.
The night was still.
Mac was still, his mind calm. No Mackelds; no Whites; no Natasha. What had happened?
"Don't do that again, picchu," he said softly. She knew he meant the last, helping his adopted little sister. Unceasing tears swam from Gemma's eyes at the rawness of his betrothed's pain, it was burned into her mind. Together with the indomitability of the exhausted, embattled sjeste's enduring defiance of Grey. Still. After all this time. More tears flowed as she recognised the long, solidary fight, respect steeping through her reluctant heart.
"It is too much for you yet," her mate added, his tongue licking gently over the deep, sore bite on her muzzle, healing her, and she felt him snuffle a little kiss on the tip of her nose when she shifted human to a nudge of his mind.
He rolled over to sit up cross-legged, pulling her onto his lap to allow him access to her other wounds, tongue brushing lightly, lovingly.
Gemma drooped in a huddle across his folded legs, the tears still running silently down her cheeks, her throat choked. Natasha Vanilchov - it was too much for her either. Too much for anyone, solo. So much pain. Her heart was keening inside her. Natasha needed Mac.
Mackeld, she heard the Wolflord call her mate peremptorily, voice harsh with power, and Mac stiffened, lifting his head, his eyes abruptly losing focus again.
Gemma opened her own wet eyes and sat up to keep guard over him. But her brain caught up with her nose just as she did so. It was unnecessary.
They were surrounded by the rest of the Whites, wolves packed densely around the room, more stretching out of sight in the corridor, on the stairs, the other floors. Her heart skipped a beat as her mind pulsed with the awareness - there were so many of them. She never saw them all together, but now that they were here, they barely fitted into the house. This was not a small pack any longer.
The Alpha had been busy.
Her eyes travelled over the senior wolves, the ones who she knew best, who were ringing the bed. Their flanks were still heaving from their mad sprint back through the city to aid their Alpha and Alfamme, and the subsequent brief, vicious fight in and around the house. The ring of eyes were shining back at her, staring in disbelieving awe at the mounded heaps of torn wolf bodies strewn around the bed. Gleaming eyes were flickering back and forth between the dead and their Alphas, counting the numbers in increasing, amazed pride.
Don't blame me, thought Gemma faintly, incredulously, as she avoided meeting the stunned looks from around the room. She looked down instead and scratched at the itching patch on her human wrist. All I did was to distract a couple of them to give Mac a few extra seconds.
A smile warmed Hakan's face, and he shook his head, pausing in licking clean a new, healing tear on his forearm. His only other visible wound was the small, round hole on his abdomen where Grey's silver bullet had burned an entry into him last night.
"Idiot," he snorted. "You can't take on a fully trained koiru yet." But his fingers flickered, heart to lips, in the fleeting, reverent salute of wolf to Alpha as his eyes met hers, while Soledad handed her Mac's discarded shirt.
What a surprise - she was naked.
"I can take one on," retorted Gemma, her face hidden in the brushed cotton she had pulled over her head. Her stomach was squirming at the undeserved sign of respect, and her cheeks a little red. "Just so long as someone else takes him off me again, quickly."
She wrinkled her nose at her chief bodyguard as she emerged, smiling, and added, "Thanks."
A chuckled rolled around the watching pack.
Mac was shuddering, head down, and Gemma could feel him communicating with several others at a distance, a kind of council. She looked up at him, the little bubble of contentment purring despite her burning, healing limbs. Her mate looked - refreshed. Alert, angry, covered in blood and sweat, but fully energized. The burn off his skin was exhilarating.
Then she paused as her eyes travelled around the room again and lighted on the brown fur of the small dead dog lying in an ungainly heap hanging half-off the chest-of-drawers, sprawled amid a shattered mash of small dishes. A puzzled, distressed expression creased between her eyebrows.
"The dogs defended the house as best they could, until we arrived," Hakan explained softly, following her gaze past his packmates to the small brown scrap. "This one must have been small enough to hitch a ride in through the window with one of the attackers." His fingers flickered, tapping his heart and then holding his palm out to the small, deflated scrap of fur.
"Bravely done," he added softly, "They are as loyal as we - more loyal than some. She died defending her Alfamme." A respectful murmur rang through the ring of powerful wolves.
Gemma's head sank, and she stared at the carpet, eyes burning. But the crumpled body by the door was etched into her mind, and the tears welled. Whenever she tried to help, whenever she interfered, she made things worse.
After a long, silent pause Mac raised his head, eyes on fire and lip lifting to the words in his head. The ring of Whites now waited silently, some still licking or wiping an astringent liquid over wounds, while Hakan took a silent poll of injuries, and enemies killed. Eyebrows climbed around the room with the increasing tally: whoever the attackers were, they had been determined not to underestimate the deadly skill of the Mackeld.
Yet they had. The fierce pride in the room was almost tangible.
Finally the Alpha drew in a long breath, eyes refocusing, and he straightened where he sat, surveying his wolves. His audience stilled completely, facing him in alert silence.
"This was a coordinated assault," Mac began abruptly, softly. "I was not the only Alpha attacked by scentless wolves tonight." His eyes flickered towards Gemma, there was something in them that she couldn't interpret. "We have lost three."
The ring of listeners held their breath.
"O'Connell was overwhelmed while hunting his own range." An unsteady breath was drawn in, but the stance of the watchers remained alert, quivering as they waited for the rest.
Mac's voice grew softer, "Johnson, Silback, Evans, Kohn and Vanilchov were all attacked but fought off their aggressors." He drew a breath and continued steadily, "And the Wolflord was set upon by overwhelming numbers within Fort Amicable." An almost inaudible gasp rang through the small pack, Gemma could feel the sudden increase in tension as her own heart bounded. What?
But the Wolflord had called him just now, hadn't he?
Mac's body was trembling lightly as he continued, his voice harsh, but even, "Fealden was ambushed by guests within his own stronghold. They had masked their scent, and attacked him while he was grieving for his grandson." His voice wavered slightly as he continued softly, "Marsh and N'gula were killed defending him, before the majority of the attackers were torn to pieces."
Marsh? Gemma shuddered, feeling the pain in her mate. Marsh and Nigel. His old tutors.
"Who were they?" snarled one grizzled wolf, while Ada called, "And Fealden Wolflord?"
"The Wolflord lives," Mac answered, his voice ringing with a soft, implacable note. "Despite this cowardly, unprovoked, unlawful attack by Warlord Tzo and the Senshal Kiang-Lu with their retinues; despite his age, and his grief, the Fealden has once again confounded his attackers." His voice hardened, rising above the collective murmur of relief, outrage and shock, a ringing challenge to his next words, "While Lu was killed, Tzo escaped."
The Alpha paused, and his voice was grim: "This is no longer a territory dispute: we are at war. The Wolflord has dismissed the senshal, lifted the unjust DeadWolf from my mate, and he now calls all his wolves: Aster, Green and Southern."
Gemma was stunned. Can he do that?
We are now under military law. He can do as he wishes, on this continent.
The Alpha held up a hand, palm out, to quiet the discordant, howling note that circled the room from the pack.
His voice had softened again, slowed, and the wolves stilled to catch his explanation.
"A number of oddities are beginning to add up. The Mackeld and the Marsh packs have been reporting the thinning of numbers of Tzo's troops outside the Aster front line over the last month; we thought they had leave to return home while Tzo was under investigation," he explained, a finger from his left hand coming to point at the tip of the little finger of his right palm, which he held open, facing the pack.