Pawn Among Wolves Ch. 09

So Jasmine would have to be extra cautious when she returned from her hunt.

Gemma had to smother the urge to giggle when the boys, having escorted her around to Kate and Bethan's, didn't realise that the 'Jasmine' they were just able to glimpse having her nails painted by Bethan in the living room was actually Emma in one of Bethan's wigs. Kate was impatiently shooing the twins back out with a coy "We'll be happy to give you two massages another day." Jasmine had assured Gemma that so long as the person who answered the door's nails had just been painted, the boys wouldn't be able to scent anything else, and it looked like she'd been right.

It had worked. Shockingly, bizarrely, the whole plan had so far gone without a hitch.

So with any luck, that Grey wolf had had a chocolate-and-honey coloured shadow tailing him when he had finally abandoned his post that evening.

With any luck, Jasmine would be able to follow him back to the Grey lair.

Gemma turned over in her sleep, snuggling face-down on the sofa bed in Kate and Bethan's living room.

Uh? Dimly, she became aware that her cheek was squashed against something smooth that shouldn't be in her bed. Slowly her mind started to surface. Then it sighed contentedly and started to fade again, not really bothered. Too comfortable, warm, cocooned.

It wasn't a threat, there wouldn't be a threat, not with this scent snuggled around her, the muscular arms cuddling her close against the warm chest, the long powerful legs twined around hers.

Mmmmm. A dream? She had plenty of dreams of Mac. Although usually his erection was slightly more eager than - oop, there it went.

She smiled into the cover, and felt her cheek wrinkle against the smooth, yielding, faintly hollow-feeling surface under it. What on earth?

Questions dragging her more fully out of sleep, Gemma felt the amused, mock-indignant rumble growl through the warm chest against her back and tickle in her ear at the same time as she realised that the thing her face was plastered against was a thin cardboard box.

"Filling a hole?" Mac kept his voice low, the tone ironic.

Her stomach jumped. He was here.

"What bona fide catering company would really trade under the name 'Filling a Hole'?!?" he queried sarcastically.

Gemma couldn't help it. Despite the anger, worry, upset and thousand questions shrieking into her mind, she swiftly turned her face to press it into her mate's bicep and smother her giggles.

He'd liked the wrapping then. She and Kate had spent a lot of thought and effort designing this box for the Duck a l'Orange delivery. It was nice to know that it hadn't been wasted.

He hugged her to him, his chest also reverberating. "You are atrocious, my little mate." Then she felt him fall still, and his voice changed.

"So, Picchu." There was anger in the velvet voice. "What the hell are you doing here, with no guards?"

He was angry with her?

Gemma sat up with a jerk, heart bounding painfully in her chest, and a rage took her, much stronger than the one she could hear as she glared back down at the wolf lying in her bed.

"I think you owe me a few more explanations that I owe you," she bit out.

He rolled her over rapidly, pinning her spread-eagled underneath him. She ignored the wanton writhing in her stomach and stared angrily back up into those black-flecked green eyes, barely visible in the dark room, but the warmth in the depths of them cut through the anger and she could feel the longing on her skin, in her heart. He was here.

Then suddenly he simply bent and nudged her head sideways with his, and despite her indignant squirming began to lightly smother kiss after kiss after kiss along the join of her neck, the line of her collarbone, the round of her shoulder.

Indignant. Indignant. Come on, remember, indignant.

"I owe you," he murmured between kisses. "Let's see. Duck a l'orange."

She continued to struggle against the confining arms. Struggling was making the heavy, throbbing bulge pressed against her thigh grow longer, harder.

Harder to ignore.

Down, girl.

No, keep squirming. But not like that, like this, see?

I said DOWN.

"Mac! Get off."

He ignored the breathless squeak of protest, rumbling through the tick-list of her gifts for him, "Big White in my old pirate eye-patch. That atrocious poem. The picture."

God, even as furious with him as she was now, it was nearly impossible to hold onto it as he kissed his way up her neck to under her ear. She was now trying to stop herself from squirming up against his hard, aroused form. Control. Control. That little brush of her hips didn't count as a squirm. Or that one. Not really.

Cross, here, her mind cut in. Really fuming. Need answers. Remember?

"Fake plane tickets to Paris."

He breathed the last heavily into her ear, and swirled his tongue inside, so that a shiver unhinge her spine and she melted underneath him.

Oh what the hell. Seize the moment. You can talk later.

Her mate sank down, so he was lying fully, heavily on top of her, that delicious, impatient bulge throbbing against the crease of one hip, and he held her head still with his hands cupped behind her ears, staring deeply down into her eyes, his nose millimetres from hers.

"And an apology."

Her heart was hammering so hard in her chest as she stared into those deep, deep, oh-so-warm green eyes. Sad, happy. Loving.

Her face puckered.

"You looked so sad, hurt," she wailed. And was instantly annoyed with herself - she couldn't believe she'd said that. He'd been the one who walked out on her, after practically ignoring her, for crying out loud.

Mac's voice was very carefully level, low. "Picchu, do you expect me to be happy about what is happening to Natasha?"

"Your betrothed," she snarled quietly, jealous rage flaring unstoppably through her. "Why the hell didn't you mention that she was being held, tortured by Nicolas Grey? Slipped your mind?"

A spasm of searing pain flashed across Mac's features, and then black obliterated the green warmth in his eyes as they lit instantly into fury stronger than her own; she could see the enraged wolf glaring out through the eerie back-light.

"You think I didn't remember? You think I ever forgot?" The rage was towering through him, fuelled by intense, deep-seated anguish and fury at her unjust accusation. The words were slightly distorted, and Mac forced his lengthening jaw back to human shape while he hissed down at her, "I was officially exiled by the council for unlawful raids into Grey territory."

A tortured breath rasped in. A second, as he struggled with his control, while Gemma stared quietly into the pain-fired fury in his glowing wolf eyes.

"But I accepted the damn exile because Grey promised me, and demonstrated, that the torture he inflicted on Tasha would increase twenty-fold if I remained within my pack, within raiding distance of his Range. It was the best we could do for her. We couldn't find her."

Gemma's heart burned, relief and anguish ripping through her. He did care. Thank god. She knew - he cared about his people.

But - no, oh no - he did care. About Tasha.

Then she was lying alone on the bed as tears trickled out of the corners of her eyes. Her heart was burning in anger and distress.

She'd hurt him. Again. Really, really hurt.

Sitting back up, she called urgently, softly, "Mac."

The shadow at the window rumbled back over his shoulder, "I'm not going anywhere, Gemma. I just - do you really think I could just forget what he's doing to her?" There was deep pain in the soft whisper.

Ouch. But her sore heart eased slightly. What seemed to hurt him most was her lack of trust in him.

"No," she murmured simply. "I never did. I'm sorry, Mac, I - have been - confused, and angry, hurt that you first ignored me then just walked out on me on Wednesday, so I - hit out at you."

She sighed, softly voice hitching on the held-back tears, "About the thing I'm most certain of is that you would never just leave her, anyone in that mess, not care."

There was a long pause, a sigh, and she could see the green eyes glowing steadily when he turned.

"What you should be most certain of, Gemma, is that I am your mate. Yours."

He twitched abruptly, shaking something out of his head, and strode back toward her, his voice deepening, settling, "I hate all this - I know you were hurt by my apparent indifference on Wednesday, I'm sorry Gemma, that's why I came down tonight - yesterday we were attacked again, I couldn't."

"And I hate the subterfuge, not being able to spend time with you, touch you, guard you myself - although I love your gifts. Becoming a lone wolf is growing daily more attractive."

He sank down tentatively on the sofabed beside her feet, and Gemma rolled over and pulled herself to sit upright facing him, not quite touching as they stared into each other's eyes.

"How do you know Grey has her? Vanil believes she's in Europe or something," said Gemma.

There was something deep in the warm green eyes, a sad little shadow. "Gemma, I've known Vanil and Tasha since they were little cubs, they fostered at McIntyre when their parents were killed, and they're the same age as Karl and Rebecca. They're like extra little siblings. I - Vanil was over in Russia when Tasha was taken, and she called to me for help."

"Besides, you're promised to her." Would she stop harping on about that? He couldn't help it.

Mac sighed slowly, and lifted her chin with a gentle finger. "Gemma, she is betrothed to the Mackeld Alpha. That is all the Koschuk, or the Vanilchov care about, the rank, not the person. I care about you."

His eyes lightened in a slight smile, "Will you take a chance on becoming the lifemate of an unemployed, homeless drifter once I abdicate after the war? I promise I'll find some way to provide for us anyway."

This again. Gemma felt her heart easing at his teasing attitude, the light-hearted words covering the aches as he struggled to find a way to close the distance between them, close over the hurts. Abruptly, the pain in her melted. She loved this wolf. He was a stubborn, proud, incorrigibly over-confident, over-protective idiot, and one thing she could bet on was that this would not be the last argument they ever had. So he had been wrong to walk out on her the day before yesterday. But he'd come a long way, at a very difficult time, to apologise in person.

"That's a bit of an archaic attitude. We could live off my income," she replied.

A faint hint of a growl. "No we couldn't. What kind of a man do you take me for?"

No surprise there. There was now a smile in her voice, "You're not a man."

She could hear that he was smiling back, "Even once I become a man, I'll still be a back-woodsy, stronger than a hurricane, harder than the mountains,..."

"And more modest," she interjected swiftly, earning a grin.

"...don't-mess-with-me kind of guy. Don't expect me to start eating tofu and hanging out in spas with you discussing the latest hair styles."

Gemma smothered a laugh at the mental image. "Awww - as a special treat for my birthday next year, can I at least plait your gorgeous hair into lots of little braids and tie them off with cool, coloured ribbons? It would look spectacular."

"No."

"Please?"

"Not a chance."

"I'd be the only one who saw it."

"This message was deleted for being too idiotic to be allowed."

She hunched over to him and slid her bottom into his lap, feeling the warm, muscular arms close about her. Home.

This was the Mac she had lived with for six months, fallen in love with.

"Go on then," she titled her head back to beam up at him expectantly, a gleam in her eyes.

Mac looked relieved, puzzled, and a little wary. He knew that look.

"Go on, what?"

"You said you'd come here to apologise. I've seen how wolves apologise. Go on."

The spark that flashed into his eyes was incredulous, and then amused, and then – steely. They stared at each other, the challenge growing, both of their lips twitching.

"Or don't you mean it?" she taunted challengingly.

He glared back.

"You know I mean it, picchu. You're a human, so I apologised to you in the human fashion, with heartfelt words. I am sorry, I don't want you hurt, I just want you - safe."

His angry gaze glared suddenly around the room. "So where the hell is Jasmine?"

Quick, distract him.

"So do I get to punish you now so that you can learn from your mistake?"

He gave her a look.

Gemma straightened up on his crossed legs, her chest heaving, and pouted up at him naughtily. She saw him swallow, feeling his semi-erect cock twitch into life underneath her buttocks as he wrenched his eyes back up from her jutting breasts, whereupon they got stuck on the glistening curve of her protruding bottom lip. Her blood bubbled frothily in response - such a simple thing, to cause his eyes to glaze like that.

Her wolf was hers.

"I think as a penance, to teach you, you'll have to ignore me again, but under duress - lie down flat on the bed and completely ignore whatever I do to you."

That did it. His cock was now practically lifting her off his lap, it was so hard. Mac groaned.

"Picchu, we can't."

And his voice was hoarse. Wow, was she smug.

"I'll avoid moist tissue, don't worry." She blinked up at him innocently, the challenge in her gaze full of deep amusement. "If I lose control you have permission to stop me. But I won't."

He swallowed again, raggedly, his chest rising and falling on quickening breaths, his eyes sinking into hers, then he wrenched his gaze away. She could feel his heart hammering inside his chest as she leaned back against him, enjoying the shudder of his skin against hers. For some reason, despite the fire in her blood and the moist ache between her thighs, her mind seemed clear.

"How do you know Tasha is still alive?" The words spilled from her mouth. This was why. Beneath the heat, her brain was still quietly reasoning.

Mac's heart jolted, then slowed, along with his breaths, and she could feel her wolf pondering his answer.

"Gem, do you know what makes a wolf an Alpha? Or Alfamme?"

Hmmm. Where was he going with this?

"Control?" she hazarded softly.

"If that were all, then Nick would be a full Alpha, he certainly is strong-minded enough, and I've seen him crash and swamp unmeshed betas even through very sturdy shields."

At the reminder, Gemma's heart lurched in worry, and clenched in anger. This wolf had crashed a whole army of the Tzo earlier this week, in what her wolf guards described as in insanely glorious, reckless defiance.

"Mac, did you have to try to kill yourself by crashing Tzo's son?" the rushed rebuke was a little high-pitched and whiney, because her throat had tightened again at the fear. She heard the answer inside her own heart. Yes, did have to. And he would keep doing things like that. He was an Alpha.

She began to get an inkling of where he was going with this train of thought.

Her mate nuzzled the side of her neck softly, his tongue soothing lightly over her skin in wordless apology for scaring her. Her heart melted again, and she sank back against him, curling to press her cheek against his chest as he hugged her closer. She knew that that was all the apology she would get, all she could expect. He was an Alpha at war.

He did what must be done for his pack, regardless of the consequences.

"It was worth it. I also read Jian-Xi's knowledge of his father's battle plans, when I crashed him. He could not hide them."

Ah.

"What makes an Alpha an Alpha - the closest English word is care. My care for my wolves, their trust in that care, which allows them to melt into my Aegis, form a battle meld, and a myriad of other things. Nick rules by fear, which is not nearly as effective, but he has the scent-drug, which evens things out somewhat. If it were only the Greys, we could defeat them because of their lack of cohesiveness, but Tzo - Tzo is a true Alpha. However ruthless, his ultimate goal is for the good of his pack."

"You protect your wolves, whatever," said Gemma softly.

"Yes," agreed Mac.

"So you can't risk passing potentially dangerous information to a human," reasoned Gemma quietly. "If you can break into and read Jian-Xi's mind, then a human's must be easy to crash."

She finished his explanation for him.

Her mate drew a long breath, "Gemma, human is good. No-one can read humans. If you would promise me, truly, that you have no intention whatsoever of trying to turn into a were..."

Her heart bumped against her ribs. Damn. He knew her too well. And she knew he'd felt that tell-tale thump.

".. and you'd allow the Fealdens to take you back and guard you in Fort Amicable, in complete safety, for the rest of this war..."

Stifling. Useless.

".. so that there was no chance whatsoever of you becoming a vulnerable wereem, with a mind open to any reasonably strong wolf..."

HAH.

" .. then I will tell you. Will you promise me?"

They sat curled together in silence, stubbornness reverberating in the air. Gemma knew that her answer was no. And she could understand how telling her how he knew Natasha was alive, in Nick's clutches, might endanger the Vanilchov sjeste, when Gemma herself was this vulnerable to being turned. But her heart was burning with the question. Why did Mac know about Tasha but not Vanil, the girl's natál?

The silence stretched for so long that eventually Mac sighed under her in resigned acceptance. He wanted her packed away completely for safety.

Alright, let him keep his secrets, she told herself grumpily. There were some things she wasn't planning on telling him, either.

"Where is Jasmine?" Mac asked, for a third time.

Her heart lurched again, skin turning clammy. Had he read her mind?

She knew that Mac, or Fealden himself, would whisk her away if they knew what she and Jasmine had been up to today. Such a little, little risk, and so worth it. Like his stupid crashing. But he was Mr Over-protective, and seemed to think of her as a fluffy toothless bunny-rabbit among the pack of wolves. Had he read her mind?

No, he'd just said it himself, no-one could read humans.

"Looking for Karim," Gemma growled the half-truth. Then, "I think if you're not going to tell me anything, you'd better stop asking questions yourself, and just lie back and shut up and take your punishment," she added, slightly bitterly.

At her renewed challenge, this time it was Mac's heart which lurched wildly, then it began to beat very fast, and she could feel the blood in his veins accelerating, heat shimmering off his skin as the hard cock beneath her reared suddenly back to full attention.

There was a short silence as he tasted the faint hostility in the air, evaluating her feelings.

"Very well."

His quiet agreement shocked her into stillness on his lap. The epitome of stubbornness was backing down? A warmth in her chest. Her wolf did love her.

But he wasn't letting her have her own way entirely.

"But, I was also wounded. I am - unguarded to you, picchu. My emotions. You said that you were sorry for doubting me," he responded, voice low, "So to atone for that hurt, after you have corrected my neglectful behaviour, I think that you will have to lie quietly in my arms for the rest of the night, until your guardienne reappears, and accept my caresses also, whilst I prove to you that I love you."

Oh wow.

Gemma melted against her wolf as Mac sank back onto the bed.