Pawn Among Wolves Ch. 06

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finally!!

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

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

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

> Thank god, Gem. You OK?

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

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

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

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

> Make that 5 minutes ago.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

> I'm coming as fast as I can.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What?

> GO.

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

> Please, Gem. GO.

At least he'd learned to say please.

> I hear and obey, bwana.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.

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

Shut it. Shut it. Shut UP.

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

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

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

No way.

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

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

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

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

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

Yes, she thought faintly.

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

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

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

Her rights.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No.

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

Oh-oh.

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

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

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

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

No. Only Mac. Dammit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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