Pawn Among Wolves Ch. 07

She bent and pressed her lips to his chest, unable to reach his face from her position, and her tears leaked onto the shredded plastic decorating his stomach as she whispered to him, "Please, Mac. Please." Another sob escaped.

Blood-covered fingers dropped lightly over hers, and she heard a low groan from his lips.

"Mac?"

She twisted so that she could shuffle up beside his torso, stretched, arched across him to hold the wound closed as best she could with one hand while she settled painfully beside his face. Gemma bent to press soft kisses to his lips, his jaw, his cheek, tears falling in their wake.

Mac's fingers closed around hers, and he gently lifted her hand away, pinching his semi-extended claws to hold his own flesh closed. A long sigh escaped him.

"Gem?"

She kissed him. His lips moved gently under hers, returning a brush of feeling, and her heart suddenly expanded, whole. He was alive.

"You OK?" His voice was a thread of sound.

Why the hell was he asking about her when he was the one covered in blood and fading?

"I'm fine," she half-snarled, half-sobbed. "It's you I'm wo-." She choked on a sob.

Sticky, blood-covered fingers from his other hand wound unsteadily into her hair and he tugged her head back lightly, easing her down so he could lick gently over the stinging fire of the bite in her neck.

Gemma felt a faint tingle of the healing burn, and gasped, wrenching herself out of his hold with a yelp at the pain, incandescent with fury at her damn stubborn wolf.

"You're the one who needs to heal, Mac."

The fact that she could break his hold that easily proved it.

"Need to heal you." His voice was weak, a hoarse whisper.

"Dammit, Mac. I'll be fine. You can heal me when you're better."

"The others. Angry. Stay close."

She knew what he meant. Somewhere, somehow, the awareness had settled on her skin, and she knew that there was now a dense ring of wolves circling the three of them, glowing eyes reflecting the last light. Angry wolves. They glared at each other across the clearing, and the air sparkled with seething, unsettled rage.

"I'm fading into a coma, picchu," Mac's voice was a crack of sound, and his eyes remained closed. "Help Vanil. Remove the silver. The bullets. Or he'll die."

He managed to force out a little more, "They can't. Pure silver."

"What?" Gemma sat back, poleaxed. Her wolf was lying at death's door, and first he tried to heal her, then he wanted her to go and help his bloody challenger? "But you! - You need help! And he tried to -."

"Win you," interrupted Mac, the broken whisper fading. "No crime. Need him." Mac was visibly sinking, struggling brokenly to get the words out, "No time. Please, picchu. Help him." The effort her injured mate was making hurt her, and she bent back over him, pressing her fingers against his lips as her tears fell onto his bloodstained fur.

"Ssh. Sssh. He's dead, Mac. There's nothing we can do."

Mac flicked his head feebly sideways in irritation, away from her fingers, a wince escaping, and then his eyes suddenly cracked open revealing burning black flame, boring straight into hers. Gemma felt the sensation of - Please - surge into her mind, felt the hum of the power, the truth of it, burning through her. She lurched to unsteady feet before she thought, stumbling over painfully toward the platinum wolf.

Wow. The power of it. She had never felt the power of him in her mind before. A flicker of irritation surfaced, but was smothered under the urgent feeling behind the plea. It was a request, she was aware. She could say no, but no way was she going to. The method of communication - conveying - had also seared her with the knowledge of just how damn important Vanil was to Mac. How he knew he was alive, could sense him. And - deep, deep affection mingled with pain, a barrier. Hurting. Why? The brief flash had only shown the emotions, not explained them.

She was also aware, somewhere inside, that her mate could have made it an order. And could she have said no? Bitterly she remembered that she hadn't said no, hadn't been able to move under the Grey's order. First order. Eugh. She didn't want to think about the second - open your legs. And Nick wasn't even her Alpha, her mordeur. Her thoughts were flickering despondently as she bent over the Vanil.

She understood why a were went insane, if they could question this power inside their own head, but couldn't fight it. Damn, she understood it now. Feeble wereem, she cursed herself bitterly, revolted, reviling herself, reliving her submission to Nick. Eugh. She felt - smirched. From within. Sickened.

Please. The feeling, the urgency, had settled heavily inside her head and she pushed aside the memories, the pain of the bite and her bruises, to concentrate on what was important now.

Gemma bent carefully forward to stroke back the smooth blond hair on Vanil's heavily muscled back, looking for bloodstains. How to remove the bullets? The only knife she had was his claws, still extended in the attack position. Double eugh.

Later - aching, long sickening minutes later, Gemma sighed, painfully exhausted, as she crept in behind the comatose figure of her wolf, and eased herself to cuddle into the comfort of the long fur of his back. Dimly, she was aware of the tight packed mass of intent, fierce eyes around the tree break, glaring at each other, hackles raised, watching over them silently. The wolves had parted grudgingly, still silently, to let her through to the lake. Though still keeping her penned, they had let her pass to rinse the blood from her fingers - eugh. That field surgery was not an experience she ever wanted to remember.

The watch circle had re-sealed when she had returned, and dimly she had seen the lips of some lift at her as she neared them, eyes glowing eerily. She'd been too shocked for it to register at the time, but - what were they doing here? Why the rage? At her? Gemma shivered lightly, but was too worn and wrecked to really care. She sighed as she slowly relaxed into the warmth, the scent of her mate.

At least Mac's thigh had closed over fully while she'd worked on Vanil, except for the little hole where the silver bullet had burned an entry. She'd checked. The platinum Alpha was also slowly knitting back together now that she'd dug the bullets out of him. Eugh.

To please Mac.

No longer under the pull of that request, her pain-wracked, shattered body was demanding that she keel over, even the prickling fire of her neck swamped beneath the rising tide of exhaustion. She hadn't washed the bite. It hurt too much. Gemma snuggled carefully up to her wolf. Mac would deal with it when he woke up.

Time out.