Pawn Among Wolves Ch. 17

The kiss moved to her lips, becoming deeper, serious. Mac pulled her onto his lap.

It took some time, later again, for indignant words to penetrate the fog of lust and love enclosing Gemma. The speaker was striding across the foyer: "I know you two are identical, but would you quit with the synchronised smooching, Mac?"

The familiar voice shot a jolt through the wereem, and she almost got whiplash as her head snapped around. Gasping, Gemma struggled to free herself from the arms holding her, ignoring the lips nibbling at her neck. As well as she could.

Her younger brother was jogging nonchalantly across the bespattered floor towards them, his lean figure looking tired but alert, a filthy grey baseball cap tied over his hair shading his over-lined face. At his side was a short, lean don't-mess-with-me looking wolf.

Adam's grouchy voice continued as he approached: "The others can't track the Louse, now she's masked herself. But I have found where she has escaped the perimeter, out into the forest."

Mac jerked his head up from where he was nuzzling Gemma's neck. Blazing eyes met those of the approaching werewolf.

"She got OUT?"

"Scent masked and secret passage. Nils wouldn't let me track her further without letting you know, and he said you weren't listening." Adam's tone was distinctly disgruntled as he stopped beside them and glared at the wolf accompanying him, who shrugged and rolled his eyes.

"I volunteer for this hunt, Mackeld," offered the short, lean wolf at Adam's side, terse and keen.

No. Gemma was uncompromising, and she turned Mac's face back to hers with a gentle, insistent hand under his chin.

This is my hunt. Gemma was sliding off her mate's knee as she said it, turning to hug Adam fiercely. They both knew the probable fate of her brother. And whose fault that was. Besides, only she or Adam could track the scent-masked Louse.

The Alpha paused briefly. He was hiding some thought from her, while he pondered her demand.

"Hunt, yes, but - ideally, we should capture her and bring her to trial. You are not skilled enough to subdue her yet, picchu," he replied aloud.

She half-smiled at the word 'yet', despite the tingle of suspicion at the ease with which Mac seemed to have acquiesced to her leading the hunt. She swung back to face her mate, her eyes burning into his.

I do not wish to subdue her. I wish to bring her to justice: lead those to her who can subdue her.

Mac's eyes narrowed suddenly, and she caught the edge of his worry before he whisked it out of her sight. Too late: her mate did not want her chasing the Faulk. But even less did he want her to remain here, with the Tzo advancing.

The Aster Warlord stood up, sending out an arrow of a call without lifting his eyes from Gemma's. The hum of preparation of the wolves surrounding them meshed into gear in his head, and he began to catch, consider and resolve the stream of questions and reports that poured in from all side. Back to work. He stood still for a long moment, then sighed and nodded quietly to her.

"Both werewolves would be better," the Alpha said.

Their dark Alpha ally was approaching behind Gemma, from the auditorium.

At times I may need to draw your focus to the fight here, to help me, Mac said. So Adam will hunt also, and take the lead when I need you. Yet if she somehow gets hold of him - or that cap disintegrates - he still would not be able to break her mental hold, so we cannot leave him to lead it alone. We have to stop her. The Faulk cannot be allowed to escape, to spread this poison elsewhere.

Gemma nodded quietly, eyes burning. Adam sighed.

"You two will find her. Lee will subdue her. I will allocate three more warriors, to be on the safe side," Mac finished quietly. The silent Alpha to whom Gemma had administered the antidote downstairs nodded, once, as he stopped at her right shoulder. Lee.

Gemma's eyes crinkled sadly as she looked up at her mate. She had to leave him yet again. Leave him to this war, to keep Tzo from breaking in until Fealden Wolflord could arrive with reinforcements. Her lips were swollen from his kisses, eyes burning. She so wanted to share peace with her Alpha. Long, long years of peace.

But this tactical parting was different. The Alpha would stay to lead the battle. The Alfamme would hunt the fleeing enemy leader. There was a fluent surge of bittersweet joy and pain in her veins as Mac bent and kissed her full on her soft lips, a lingering kiss.

"May your hunt be successful, my Gemma."

Despite his calm reasoning, she could feel the urge still raging within her mate to just throw all this damn responsibility over and run off with her: keep her safe.

He was the lead Alpha. The Aster Warlord. Not a chance.

Gemma tilted his head down and returned a full, deep kiss.

"May your home be at peace, my love."

Mac replied forcefully, tormented eyes burning into hers: That is you.

She smiled and promised: I will track her only. I will stay safe.

The firm mouth crooked faintly. Your idea of what constitutes safety doesn't always coincide with mine, Gem.

Gemma rolled her eyes: I'm not a big hairy liar.

She got another kiss.

***

The Zaban pack were keeping as quiet as possible as they strained under the rising sun to manhandle several pieces of trebuchets through muddy woodland in the wake of Tzo's army. The heavy war machines had been built at Marshmont, then disassembled and flown in pieces after the army, to be ported through the forest and reassembled at the new siege site.

The pack's silence was not due to fear of enemy scouts; the wolves could sense the turbulence in their Alpha.

Loyalty, Zaban Liu was brooding. At what point does loyalty become blindness?

He knew why Warlord Tzo was keeping Zaban pack in the rear. The Tzo mistrusted his loyalty.

And yet - if mistrust were the sole reason for the disquiet that was creeping along his spine, Zaban would bear the shame. No, this unease had been growing steadily over months. Growing as he had witnessed the darkening tactics Warlord Tzo had been embracing in his obsession to lever wolves into war with the humans.

Today the disquiet had solidified into full turmoil: the Tzo had marshalled his forces, every last one, to force an entry at all costs into the Faulk complex. For what purpose? The Warlord had not told them.

The scouts reported that the Mackeld was at Faulk. He had marshalled any forces he could, down to the last sjeste, to defend a range not his own against the Tzo's vast army, and was standing resolute with a weak string of wolves who could not hold, but would not move. What were they defending so desperately?

All Zaban Liu had was his knowledge of both wolves: knowledge gained from years of following the Tzo, set against one single encounter with the Mackeld. Now he feared, he very much feared, that he was on the wrong side.

Yet what was right? Loyalty was paramount to his wolves: true wolves. The Zaban had fought alongside the Tzo for centuries, and the Warlord had led them to a new home after their ancient range had been destroyed, building pride back into a scattered, homeless people. Without the Tzo they would have nothing.

The Chinese Alpha wavered in doubt as he paced slowly alongside his straining warriors. His pack were tasked with deploying the catapults only. They didn't transport the ammunition with which the trebuchets would be loaded. Zaban's hackles had been ruffled since he had realised. Where was the ammunition? What was it?

The stocky warrior straightened abruptly, turning his eyes toward where a slender grey loup was gliding silently down from the trees opposite. A feral glow lit his black gaze - Yun Yun was limping. She halted before her Alpha, shifting wolf and wincing silently as she extended her trembling left hand, palm open, so that he could see where the fur had burned away all around her fingertips and down along the front of her fingers. The underlying skin was blackened, shining in the weak sunlight.

You found the ammunition? Zaban asked as he ran a finger lightly over the cold, tight scarring on his niece's skin. He suppressed a shiver at the light residue of silver tainting the glossy surface.

Small barrels, still at the airstrip, Yun Yun clarified with an image, I managed to break into one without being seen, thinking to bring you some of the contents. She shivered, conveying the scorching feeling of dipping her hand into the liquid, yanking her fingers back out as the acidic, icy touch had sizzled agony through her skin.

Well done for keeping silent, her Alpha conveyed. The small sjeste straightened proudly. You are sure no-one noticed?

I pushed the lid back on again, with the nails. The young sjeste was shivering as she replied, she couldn't seem to halt the tremors, and cast a doubtful look up into the face of her uncle.

Death rain, thought Zaban. Not seen since the fire wars, when according to their clouded history, wolves had nearly wiped themselves out. The Mongol Alpha was no longer brooding, his mind clear with purpose, the unease crystallised into angry revulsion. This was abhorrent. He knew now which side a true wolf should fight on.

The barrels are at the airstrip? Zaban demanded, mind sifting through possible tactics.

They were, Yun Yun's eyes brightened in relief, but they were being strapped to carry poles, for portage. I can track them, she volunteered, shifting loup on the thought, bounding one pace backward to give herself space to turn. Yun Yun stilled as the fierce, sad eyes of her uncle caught hers.

You will carry a message to the Mackeld, Zaban corrected her. The Mackeld had to trust him, or this would never work: that he sent his sister's child as messenger was the best hope he had of gaining that trust.

*

Gem? Mac called.

Well before sunrise, Gemma had escaped the Faulk lair through the secret passage Madam no doubt thought she'd left undetected behind her, leading her motley little crew of fellow hunters: a werewolf, three koiru, and an Alpha. The Louse's trail was burning in her nose and easy to follow.

Mac had called twice since, once to ask where her notes on the composition of the wastewater lagoon were, and once simply to ask if she could remember if he'd been wearing his wristlet of drug phials when they'd shared their meal. The latter had made her snort: Mr Alpha had the memory of a sieve. She'd sobered quickly on recalling that his mind currently was a sieve, pierced into tatters by the grasps of the thousands of wolves cloven to him.

This call was different: his mental voice combusted in her mind, stubbornness gritted against the rage rising through him, rage fuelling a violent, all-possessing urge to kill. Gemma was smothered with what was pushing at Mac; the tactics the Tzo had attacked with just after dawn were base, vile and working. An answering surge of violent, all-encompassing need to retaliate, slaughter the Tzo wolves indiscriminately was pulsing more and more strongly through her mate with each death in his small force.

Gemma slammed to a halt. Adam, immediately behind her, ran into her hind legs, toppling her to the ground, and causing a ripple of coughing through the small hunting pack as the wolves tried not to laugh.

The Alfamme felt no such urge. Mac was drowning in the black, unthinking rage. Help me, he called.

Instinctively, copying what he had done for her oh-so-many times, Gemma opened her awareness, lifting it away from the immediacy of the Louse's trail. Mac was so closely linked with her he could feel the ripple of the wind in her fur, scent the clean birch and grass and the little, fluffy birds in the branches.

Mac drew a deep, unsteady breath, the rising storm in his head wavering in face of the peace in hers.

Dimly, Gemma was aware of the large, black-haired Alpha running past her, muttering quietly to Adam, "Take the trail," as he nudged the werewolf to his feet. The others followed.

Gemma rolled onto her own paws and absent-mindedly loped in the wake of the galloping line of hunters. Rays of pale sunlight cut almost horizontally through the bare branches, gleaming through twinkling spiderwebs and ice-veined leaves. The frosted beauty recalled a memory of their last night on the boat, before she'd pounced on her wolf. The starlight on his white fur had been so beautiful, haloing the powerful physique, light-painting the graceful lines.

Don't get distracted, admonished Mac with grim humour. There was a fierce, burning rip in his right bicep but he was fighting magnificently, racing to bolster warrior after warrior along the sparse line defending the Faulk walls, while fighting the berserk fury rising in his blood.

Gemma's paws padded on the slightly crisp, frosted grass. There was a tingling coldness on her nose, but her thick pelt sheltered her against the frozen air. A whiteness ghosted above the trees that dropped away into the valley to her right, pulling her eyes to the beauty of the barn owl coasting silently into the treetops, away to roost.

Thank-you. Her mate's mind had stabilised, she could feel his will solidifying, the keen strength of it building controlled blocks of the rage and using it to shore up the desperate, diminishing group holding off the Tzo's forces. Mac leapt sideways on the rampart above the side gate, pitching one Tzo warrior into a second, the combined weight causing the ladder with which they had scaled the walls to teeter just as Mac's rear claws sheared free the strut holding the ladder firm. A small group of his koiru hurtled forwards to thrust it backwards towards the ground while Mac landed on the last two Tzo who had reached this part of the rampart.

Keep in touch, picchu. Mac pulled his focus wholly back to the battle.

The second wolf had fallen too swiftly, before his claws had touched her, and Mac slashed a hind claw down at her throat, only the ingrained pulse of thousands of hours' training recognising her stance and pulling the blow just before he sliced off her head.

That pose.

The small female at his feet was in full submission, throat exposed, but more, her teeth were bared in a grimace to expose the gap where her left upper incisor was missing. The Warlord's eyes fell automatically to the blood-smeared tooth proffered in her open palm. The young wolf waited, shivering.

Blood tooth. A truce offering.

Was this just an attempted distraction?

Who are you? the Alpha demanded harshly, yanking the female up by the throat as he turned to tear back along the wall to the latest call. With his palm closed around her throat, he forced her human, less of a threat.

In reply, she opened her shields, and Mac dropped her, stunned at the message from Zaban Liu. His heart blanched in dread as he glanced out over the rampart, away into the forest where the deadly rain was slowly advancing towards the defenders. On autopilot he shredded the ladder top which landed just to his right against the stonework, and noted that the Zaban sjeste had killed one of the three attackers who had landed with it.

The sjeste returned to stand beside him and extended her hand, palm up, still holding the tooth she had pulled out herself to prove her sincerity.

Twin! Ulf barked the harsh demand, and Mac closed his hand around the Zaban sjeste's palm and towed her after him full speed down the stone steps behind the main gate. They reached ground level, and Mac watched his natal bound up the opposite steps toward the west side. No longer needing to defend himself, the Warlord sank into the meld, bolstering the communication between his disparate pack, tuning their limbs with his own fire.

It was only the short northern stretch of wall that they truly had to defend. The western and southern faces were built out into Lake Shona, foundations deep under the water, where ladders were impractical. Mount Aratop formed the eastern flank, a sheer rock face looming several hundreds of yards above the white buildings of the hospital. The hospital was the ostensible reason for the defensive structure: the specialists here treated dangerously unstable 'people', so the grounds had been built to enable them to enjoy fresh air and sunshine without endangering the outside population. And the wide wall had been designed with a walkway, so that the inmates could enjoy the view.

Absently, Mac smiled at the challenging howl his natal emitted when he reached the rampart. A shudder of fear rippled through the front ranks of Tzo invaders who had fought their way over the parapet. Ulf spun under an attack and tore with terrible fury into the enemy wolves, who flinched back: was the damn Mackeld inexhaustible?

Mac's eyes were shimmering with the thoughts tearing through him as he painfully cleared a tiny corner of his mind, feeling his side beginning to knit, and turned to the young wolf at his side. "Does the Zaban have a plan?" he queried, need pushing aside exhaustion.

The dim winter light was beginning to fade again, the wind dying, when the Tzo withdrew his attack force, to form up in ranks on the far side of the road.

Grimly, from the battlements, Mac observed the enemy wolves wedging ballast inside the base of the last of the reassembled trebuchets, lined up behind the warriors on the cleared stretch of ground between the high defensive wall and the forest. The buckets of all but the last of the catapults had already been winched to full stretch, and two impassive Chinese wolves were jogging forwards over the uneven ground toward the second to last, hefting a wooden barrel strapped between two poles laid across their shoulders.

Stationed along the top of the wall, the sparse line of remaining defenders had also reformed. They watched, expressionless, as the barrel was carefully loaded into the bucket. Behind his left shoulder, Mac heard Jorgen's hoarse tally. "Eight. One third exactly."

Faulk laboratories had shipped the deadly caskets to Warlord Tzo almost a month ago, when he had been besieging Marshmont. Now they had come home.

From a small huddle at the edge of the forest, a stocky, powerful figure was slowly pacing forward, followed by an honour guard of four tall wolves. Warlord Tzo stopped on the roadway winding around to the gate and looked up at his enemy impassively. The Mackeld had stymied him again and again over the past months, but still.

"Will you not withdraw, Ulf Mackeld?" the Tzo said. "You have your wereem, and this is not your range - not your fight. I have no wish to destroy you - I have never wished to fight wolves. Go freely, taking your companions. I guarantee you safe passage."

In the stillness that followed, the air seemed to press heavily.

"Not my fight?" replied Mac, pondering the phrase.

His voice began to thicken with anger. "Not my fight?" he demanded again. "Kiang-Lu was torn to pieces at your side in Amicable, forced into an ambush against his will. Should we not fight against being enslaved to you?"

The wolves surrounding the Tzo remained motionless, but Mac sensed a flicker run through one of them.

"You no longer wish to fight wolves for supremacy?" the Mackeld bit. "Of course not: you are here to take by force the drug to ensure that no wolf could ever fight you again."

A ripple, swiftly quashed, ran through the forces stationed below the wall.