Pawn Among Wolves Ch. 09

How had he got here? Where from? So fast, so opportunely?

He kissed the top of the small lycan's black furry head and hugged the small, shuddering form to himself, swinging her up in his arms as he rose to his feet. Then Gemma's mate followed Jeremy through the open door of his old home with his burden, without even glancing her way.

It hurt.

What was going on? What was he doing here?

Dazedly, she followed.

Mac, human, was on the living room couch, where she'd seen him hundreds of times before, cradling the small half-Indian girl to his chest, rocking her soothingly, all his attention fixed on her. Jasmine was also back in human form, crying silently, breathlessly, occasional wracks of agony contorting her limbs while she writhed, crying out in pain.

Gemma was guiltily ashamed of the anger that washed through her again as she watched Mac holding Jasmine, and clenched a furious hold upon her emotions, yanking them back into line. Whatever this was, it wasn't a sensual embrace; more one of solace - was she really such an insecure little wimp that she begrudged her wolf friend some comfort, when it was obviously, desperately needed?

The bitter tableau went on for eons: Jasmine thrashing, arching in agony, choking on anguish, and Mac echoing the pain on his own face, his strong hands gentle, soothing as he wiped away the ceaseless tracks of salt streaming down the brown cheeks.

Then abruptly, the slight figure of the sjeste relaxed. The silence echoed with chill, a chill spreading from the motionless, slight figure lying across Mac's knees on the sofa. Then Jasmine heaved a deep breath, choked, and began to sob in earnest; heart-wrenching, broken gulps of despair, of loss, as she turned her face to press it into Mac's shoulder.

Gemma stood with the twins in the doorway, feeling like an intruder. Whatever this was, it was beyond her knowledge, her experience, her ability to help.

But not beyond Mac.

She could see the pain twisting his face as he soothed his hands gently over Jasmine's scalp, stroking, just sharing simple touch. The sobs were wracking the girl, shaking her frame, although the full contortions of deep physical agony had stopped. Jasmine jammed her face harder into Mac's shoulder, trying to blot out the world.

It was like being at the funeral of someone who had died suddenly, shockingly, Gemma realised, chilled; watching the immediate family trying to deal with the shock of the loss, when you were just a nodding acquaintance, someone who had barely known the deceased.

"How can you bear it?" Jasmine's voice was shrill, cracked with pain as she wailed into Mac's shirt.

He laid his hand on her shoulder, and the answering pain in his voice was echoing with steady, deep, controlled, unbearable feeling, "You have to. For him. If you break, so will he."

The Alpha repeated, firmly, implacably, "You have to."

Gemma heard a little intake of breath, and realised it was hers. They were not talking about someone who had died. What? Who?

Someone alive.

She felt a stirring in the air behind her and Gus and Jeremy quickly dragged her out of the way when the Marsh Alpha stalked into the living room, face etched with pain, chest heaving for air, and dropped onto the sofa beside Mac to drag his daughter into his own arms for a fierce, convulsive hug.

"We were following the vehicle, but he's out of my range. Out of even yours now, I guess. I'm so sorry, elske, I had no warning." The words tumbled from his mouth as he murmured into her sleek black hair, cheek resting sideways on her head, hands soothing over her. "They used a silver bullet, and he was beyond my con - when he fell, Tapio believed that he was dead. But they deployed enough troops to force a way through and grab him. Tapio realised then, contacted me, and we pursued, but couldn't catch them before they reached the vehicle. They dug the bullet out once they had him secured, broke him out of it, and now -." The Aster warlord stopped, pain and rage tightening his throat, while Jasmine yowled despairingly again, tightening her slim arms around her father's neck.

Her voice was high, desperate as she finished his sentence.

"Now they've got him. He was in a human vehicle. With humans. Smelly. Sick. Blindfolded. Chained. And they were painting him with something that burned into his skin. Then cutting and peeling back his pelt, and applying it underneath. They were laughing. Felt sick. Weak. Gasoline. Burning, sickening, scorching pain."

This was about Jasmine's natál, Gemma realised dazedly. Her twin Karim, the litter-brother, whom Gemma had never met.

"Elske, elske," Marsh tried to cut in, to stop the torrent, but Jasmine's anguished words continued.

"It burned so badly - and they enjoyed it, were laughing, telling him to wait and see what they had back at the den. That's when I lost him." Jasmine choked off again, gasping while she pressed herself back into her father's arms. They tightened fiercely around her.

Mac laid a hand on the Jasmine's shoulder again in sympathy, but this time she shrugged it off, furious, and turned snarling on the tawny Alpha.

"You wouldn't let me go help. I could have tailed them. Found him."

"Elske," Marsh barked the word warningly. "From what Mac has been telling us, Nick wants Alfamme sjeste most of all. There would have been a trap. This whole setup probably is a trap, using Karim as bait to capture his natalí. Grey would have been delighted had you pursued him."

From what Mac tells us, Nick wants Alfamme sjeste most of all. Gemma felt the bile and horror rising in her throat. Natasha Vanilchov? Was it true? No.

"They wouldn't have caught me," the half-Indian girl retorted stubbornly, fiercely. "I'm the best at evasion. And I could have found the Grey lair."

"No, you couldn't," Mac replied tersely. "Believe me, I've tried every feasible way to find that damn lair, with my best damn trackers."

Maybe it was true, reeled Gemma faintly. Maybe he had been hunting the damn lair to find his betrothed. True?

Maybe. But Mac loved her. She knew this.

However, he hadn't so much as glanced at her now. 'His people had enough to worry them without fear that their Alpha was about to run off with a human again'. She felt the sadness rising through her. His people were losing, she reminded herself; their friends, their homes, family. He was right to protect his pack. He himself must be losing wolves he loved daily. It would be torture to him, watching his people fighting, losing, dying around him, unable to stop it. Unable to protect them. He had lost almost a quarter of his pack in two months, most of them in the last three weeks as the attacks had intensified. The pain must be stupendous, unimaginable to her. He couldn't add to their worry.

She felt her heart melting in aching sadness. She was just wrong for him.

And on top of trying not to worry his pack, if the Russian wolves suspected him of being attached to someone other than Natasha Vanilchov, they might withdraw their troops, leaving the Aster in general, and Mackelds in particular, in a worse mess than they were in already.

Sadness. steeping through her. He looked so tired, drained, despite the flecks of fire in his eyes as he argued. Red-rimmed eyes; the shimmer of power was still radiating from him, but it was banked, as was that of Marsh. The Alpha's were having to conserve their energy.

In contrast to the strain of Mac's life, Gemma slightly guiltily considered her own. She was in a safe little suburb in her cozy flat with a good job, beloved family, and her biggest worry was that her boyfriend, lover - love, hadn't acknowledged her when he had sprinted over this evening to sort out one mess in this huge big mess.

Actually, she thought her biggest worry was that his betrothed really was being tortured by Nicolas Grey. Mac must know this, if it were true. The bile roiled in her stomach.

There had to be some reason for all this, some explanation. Her Mac would not leave his betrothed in Nick's clutches, indifferent. He couldn't. So if he really believed that Natsha Vanilchov was held by Nicolas he would have been fighting to free her all these years, not calmly accepting exile. It didn't make sense.

Trying to argue herself into reason didn't counteract the sadness. In fact, it grew worse. Gemma was willing him to simply glance at her, her skin keening for one look. One little look wouldn't hurt the alliance. She needed something, a little warmth, while this doubt reverberated through her. She felt guilty for doubting him. Fear for the trouble she caused him. And angry that he wouldn't look at her, when clearly something major was going on which he hadn't told her about. Natasha?

But - Vanil believed that his natalí was on walkabout, runaround - whatever it was called. Jasmine had said that he'd got a postcard.

Natál. Natalí. She should have got it earlier. A natál was a litter-brother, a natalí a litter-sister. Gus and Jeremy. Jasmine and Karim, and Vanil and Natasha. Were they all as close as the twins? Evidently Jasmine and Karim were so connected through the shared bond that they could convey over long distances.

But Mac - hadn't he implied that he could also convey with someone held, tortured by Nicolas Grey? Someone who would break in captivity, if he didn't stand firm. Another bond? A strong bond?

If you break, so will he.

Or she.

No, she thought sadly. He had just been telling Jasmine to stand firm. She thought.

He loved his picchu. He had had no reason to say so, unless it was true. It was true. She knew it, in her bones. But what was this?

Look at me, Mac.

Nothing. No sign. He was too intent on fiercely arguing Jasmine out of hunting for the Grey lair.

"Jasmine," growled her father, warning in his tone. "Listen to Mac. He knows."

He knows.

Abruptly, Mac surged to his feet, face creased in pain, and said brusquely, "I have to get back."

The older Alpha nodded to him, formally, the deep, intent gaze of the Aster Warlord catching and holding Mac's, sharing something. The Mackeld's eyes flickered. After an infinitesimal pause, he nodded back in acknowledgement, and turned to stride impatiently to the door. The twins moved back hastily, but Gemma ignored their hands plucking at her elbows, standing unmoving in the doorway and staring stubbornly, questioningly up at her mate as he paced across the room.

Mac halted, and looked down at her, his eyes softening, but distant. Distracting, pained thoughts were shading the back of the green depths.

"Gemma. You are well?"

Am I well? Am I well? Dumbfounded, she glared up at him. What am I, a distant acquaintance you have to be polite to at chance meetings?

The bitterness of his impassive front welled up inside her and she bit tersely, "Is Natasha?" For a split second saw a pulse of raw, bitter agony rasp across his face, followed by a flash of rage, before it blanked and he was gone, the air of his passing brushing his absence against her tingling skin. She drew in a sharp breath, as though someone had stabbed her in the back, and felt herself steadied with Gus's gentle hand at her elbow.

It felt like she'd stabbed herself, seeing that pain, hurting her wolf that badly. And - he had just gone. Left.

You deserved it.

What was going on?

Gemma shook free of Gus and turned and stumbled dazedly off down the corridor to the kitchen, pushing the kettle under the tap under autopilot. The tears were frozen in her eyes with shock, and anger. But part of the anger was the flicker of memory of the huddled heap of misery of Jasmine across her father's knees. Yes, she needed to talk to Mac. But not now. There are other important things in life.

Do something. Jasmine would need a cup of tea. Comfort. Indian tea. Inadequate. Inadequate. Useless.

No. She couldn't clear the questions from her mind.

What was wrong? It was so unlike him. But if his betrothed really was being tortured regularly by Nick - and Mac knew this, but could do nothing about it, couldn't find her, couldn't kill Grey without killing Natasha also - she couldn't imagine a worse torture for her wolf.

But if so, why the hell wasn't he still hunting for her? Why hadn't he been hunting her all these years?

No wonder he had been struggling to steer clear of his picchu, despite the attraction. Gemma was suddenly bitterly angry with herself - look at the mess she'd dragged him into with that one damn kiss. Fiercely, she hoped that Natasha Vanilchov didn't know about her, didn't believe a word of the rumours of Mac being too attached to a human. She shivered at the idea of being in the power of the vile, sadistic predatory Grey. Natasha needed all the help she could get.

If it were true. She still couldn't quite believe it.

But.

Mac had looked - haunted, drained, a tortured shadow of his usual buoyant self. And then that look when she'd asked him about Tasha. Raw pain. And the shadow of quiet, constant suffering.

Mac hid within himself a deeply etched copy of the numb, pained look which was draining Jasmine's animation, where she lay limply on the sofa. The sadness that Gemma had always known was within Mac.

The Marsh sjeste had just experienced her twin brother being tortured.

Gemma shivered, shame dragging her out of her self-absorbed thoughts, and forced her mind back into focus, replacing the kettle on its stand and turning it on.

Marsh had to leave shortly after she returned to the living room with the steaming mugs, head shooting up as he heard a call, teeth baring in a snarl. Jasmine had caught the conveyance also, a spark hit her dulled eyes, and she rolled to her feet to allow her father to his, spinning to face him.

"I will come with you," she announced fiercely.

"You will not," returned the Marsh Alpha clearly. "You will stay here and continue to guard the Fealden Wolf-friend as she works to aid us."

Fierce black eyes glittered into power-flecked brown. Father and daughter faced each other in silence, a feeling of silent clashing growing in the air, shimmering in the room, seeming to heat the air. The smouldering increased until Gemma thought that the carpet would scorch alight in the heat roaring off the pair, then Jasmine abruptly shuddered and dropped her gaze, glaring at her feet, and nodded her head, bitterness in her face.

Her father tilted her defiant chin up with a finger, and his tone was gentle as he looked into her clouded black eyes, "There will be Greys enough to kill before this is over, elske."

Jasmine eyed him silently, bitterly for a moment, her own eyes bleak but calm, then her expression softened on a thought and she stepped in to reach up to pull down that proud head and kiss him gently on the cheek. "May your hunt be successful, Ap," she murmured as she stepped back, speaking silently to him as she looked straight up into those powerful, shimmering brown eyes.

Marsh cupped his daughter's head and drew her forward to kiss her forehead in reply, responding softly with a gruff, "May your home be at peace," before he disappeared soundlessly through the open doorway on a brush of air.

Gemma choked down the lump in her throat, a pang shooting through her as she recognised the feelings, the knowledge which had forced the Marsh sjeste to set aside her bitterness. What if even Mac didn't survive the next battle? What if that accusatory phrase turned out to be the last thing she ever had a chance to say to him?

Her stomach churned with the sick knots tightening, tightening.

As soon as Marsh left, the fire in Jasmine dissolved and she slumped back onto the sofa, staring bleakly at the wall, knocking her untouched tea into the carpet with unwonted clumsiness. As Gus galloped off to get a cloth and Jeremy began to pace angrily, Gemma stood frozen in the centre of the room, the bitter frustration welling. She couldn't do anything. Couldn't help. She sank down beside her friend, slipping a hand into the cold one curled lifeless on Jasmine's knee. What could she do? She had tried everything.

Gemma was in a bleak mood the next day, her thoughts still seething helplessly, uselessly, after a night of no sleep. Anger, sadness, pain, confusion, worry.

None of them had gotten any sleep. But she had hatched a plan. Even if she doubted that it would meet with Mac's approval. So? She wasn't planning on seeking it.

It wasn't as though he told her everything either.

And she was sick of being a useless pawn in this.

One of the litanies that her Marsh friend had used while giving Gemma her brief, long-ago crash course in how to avoid lustful males on the rut had been that wolves tracked by scent, sound and sight. But principally by scent. Jasmine, the Mackelds, none of the Aster could track the Grey wolves because their enemies could scent the trackers long before they were close enough to be identified by sight, and disappear.

But humans could smell the Grey wolves. Humans were not a threat for a wolf to hide from. Gemma could find a Grey.

It took hours to bully Jasmine into agreeing to try, but after repeated, exasperated promises not to do anything rash, or without a guard, the Marsh had eventually agreed a Gemma-safe plan so that her human friend could try to identify a Grey wolf for her to sight-track.

The girls had suddenly become interested in keeping fit - Gemma growled at the boys' amusement and hissed at them that she was dragging Jasmine out for a run to keep her from constantly brooding, which sobered them rapidly. It was a slightly slanted version of the truth.

She could do with a little respite from brooding herself.

That lunchtime, Gemma and Jasmine circled on a slow, thorough lope around the campus, and came across a total of three different hiding places from which the rank scent emanated; each, unsettlingly, a vantage point overlooking her soil science building. The first two spots emptied rapidly at the approaching scent of Gemma's companion, but the third was too far upwind to scent them.

After pausing at a safe distance to make a phone call behind the concealing trunk of a nearby tree, Gemma and Jasmine returned the way they had come. But as they disappeared back towards the centre of the campus, Kate and Bethan sauntered over from the opposite direction with their friend Emma, to settle down and study and picnic in the shade of the tree for the afternoon.

Gemma had felt a tinge of unease that her human girlfriends were now involved in this, but after Gemma had requested a sleepover that night and explained that Jasmine needed to stalk an elusive stalker who they suspected of hanging around the campus, her human friends had indignantly insisted on doing more, and keeping their eye on him for the afternoon once Gemma and Jasmine had sussed out his hiding place. They'd be safe as a threesome.

Jasmine assured her that they would be safe as humans, in public - only an insane, suicidal wolf would incite the wrath of the global senshal by attacking three humans, in plain view of hundreds of other sunbathing students, in broad daylight.

Gus and Jeremy accepted the absence of Jasmine for the return journey to Gemma's flat that evening, with the plausible explanation that Kate and Bethan had dragged the sjeste off shopping in an attempt to cheer her up, and that all three girls were going to go straight back Kate and Bethan's flat to start up the party, and meet Gemma there later that evening. They were having a girls-only pampering night to solace Jasmine. The twins even reluctantly agreed to leave Gemma in the Marsh sjeste's sole care for the night, although from the stubborn looks on their faces, they'd be standing guard outside Kate and Bethan's flat anyway.