Pawn Among Wolves Ch. 09

He was at war.

Jasmine and Gus explained to her as they walked downtown together from the campus. Kate had had to reluctantly go back to work, Gemma had had to reluctantly go shopping, and Jeremy had disappeared off to scout for trouble on their route through the backstreets and along the riverbank to the centre.

Apparently, crashing was a very dangerous tactic, when an Alpha tried to break another's battle-focus. There was no point doing it to any but the senior wolf leading an attack, if you attacked one of the wolves in his aegis, the senior Alpha would just bring the entire meld in to support the one under attack, knocking the attacker unconscious. But attacking the lead Alpha was suicidal. The weight of the entire pack was behind him, their minds joined in the meld, whereas the attacking Alpha had to strike with such speed that he couldn't pull his own meld with him, he had to strike solo. And in order to stand any chance of succeeding, he also had to bend his entire mind on breaking into his opponent's focus, with no thought for his own defence. If the Alpha under attack held his focus together, then the attacker's mind was invariably splintered, torn apart by the myriad thoughts of the enemy meld. Wolf history was littered with Alphas who had gone insane when attempting to crash another. Moreover, crashing didn't destroy the Alpha attacked, just broke that one attack, splintering his forces with the painful backlash of the broken focus. It was only ever used where suicide was the only option. Which may have been why Mac had succeeded, no one would have expected a crash merely to regain three valleys.

But boy, had it boosted morale. The Aster were shimmering with delight, Jasmine kept humming along to the crooning song that was echoing among the far-away Aster wolves now working together to rebuild the outer defences, having regained three weeks' lost ground in one single, magnificent push. Tzo had been beaten off their lands.

"Well, not Tzo himself," Gus clarified. "His second son. And Jian-Xi Tzo is a solo, which would've made him easier to crash."

Jasmine snorted, "He's Tzo's best general, and his aegis melded hundreds. Besides, Mac's a solo now, too."

"A solo?" asked Gemma.

The wolves kept their voices low, to make sure that their audience was exclusive.

"Not part of a litter. Wolves are nearly all born in twos, Gem. Some triplets are born, which is counted as great good fortune, and some singles, who we try not to think too poorly of," explained Gus.

All born in twos. Solo now.

"So Mac had a natál?" she wondered aloud.

The wolves glanced at each other, and Gus responded reluctantly, "He had. Tor Mackeld - he was the elder, the Mackeld Alpha, until killed by Walter Grey in a death-duel about fifteen years ago now."

Gemma felt a shock run through her. Fifteen years ago? How old was Mac? He looked to be in his late twenties, making him four or five years older than her. But surely he couldn't be if his twin had died fifteen years ago, already pack Alpha?

"Actually," Gus continued, correcting himself. "The Mackeld won the mortefio, he killed the Grey, but the Grey had ripped Tor's jugular so badly that he bled to death in shiatz before anyone found them."

"The Grey?" repeated Gemma, slyly. She had been told off often enough for referring to Nick as such. It was pleasing that wolves got it wrong too.

The large, hard-muscled wolf walking beside her raised a lazy eyebrow at Gemma, amusement gleaming at the challenge, "Walter Grey was an Alpha - so you should use "the" when referring to him."

Wolf pedant. Gemma stuck her tongue out at him and he grinned.

"So - twin Alphas, does that mean that Mac had to leave the Range when his natál became pack Alpha?" The exile sounded so heartless.

Jasmine sighed, "The reft only lasts five years, Gemma - not long to a wolf. Mac had a great time messing about in Europe, by all accounts.

"Until he was recalled early because he'd suddenly become the main contending Alpha for the succession," added Jeremy darkly.

"I thought Tor died because his mate had been killed? Dad said he just hadn't had the heart to heal?" Jasmine queried her wolf companion.

"Grace - yes, was she killed, or did she just die? It was the usual case of the Greys saying one thing, pack Mackeld another. Did she fall or was she pushed? The Mackeld must have believed that she'd been poisoned, however impossible it sounded - he issued the mortefio - death challenge," added Gus, glancing down at the frown of concentration on the face of the listening human.

He continued, "And judging by what's happening now, I'd go with Tor's version. Maybe even Rufus Mackeld was right all those years back, and his Sofia didn't leave him voluntarily either."

Jasmine snorted, "You can't coerce an Alfamme. And Sofia had Sebastian's cubs - not exactly reluctant, I'd say, since it's easy enough to switch human if you don't want the litter."

"Sebastian?" asked Gemma, faint, but pursuing.

"Sebastian Grey," explained Jasmine. "Nick's grandfa - no, great-grandfather. Sofia Mackeld was his mate, she left the Mackeld for him, but she'd already had a litter by the Mackeld, Eva and Marcos. Marcos was Tor and Ulf's grandfather."

Mac and Nicolas were cousins? Second, third - whatever.

Her head whirling in conjecture in the following silence, Gemma barely noticed as Jeremy rejoined the three of them now that they'd reached the densely crowded centre of town, appearing at Jasmine's elbow and sliding an arm around her shoulders as he slowed his steps to theirs.

"What're you lot conspiring about?" he whispered theatrically, eyes round. The older Fealden twin hated not knowing what was going on, and he must have been able to feel the atmosphere behind the silence when he joined them.

His twin grinned crookedly at him, "Tor and Ulf."

Jeremy pursed his lips in a whistle of awe and murmured softly, "The Macs. Their years at the Academy are still legendary. They're the ones who tunnelled the western passage out from level three, aren't they Jasmine? And kept it secret so that they could sneak off hunting on balial nights?"

Why did this not surprise her? thought Gemma.

"And everyone knows that they left Petch hanging by his ankle outside combat class for half an hour before the trainer below noticed his nose against the glass of the window," added his natál, grinning, enthused by the change of subject.

"Besides, Tor was the only wolf to ever beat Marsh in the defasio. In his final year. No-one else has done it, before or since, although some believe that Mac could," said Jeremy.

Jasmine snorted in loyal disbelief at such a ridiculous idea.

The lingerie department of the large department store where Gemma ended up reluctantly browsing with her persistent, bossy wolf friend was huge, clusters of frothy bits of lace, nylon and cotton vying for attention on racks stretching off into the distance. At least she and Jasmine had united in ordering the twins to wait outside, after the embarrassing scene at the last shop.

Gemma scowled at the bright red wisp of lace that Jasmine was musing over. Her new flatmate was insisting on buying her underwear to replace those which had been ripped by the Marsh wolf Mike, claiming that her pack would be shamed if Gemma didn't accept them as apology. There was only so much needling that even Gemma could stand before it was just simpler to give in and go along with the very, very pig-headed half-Indian wolf.

A shiver of foreboding edged down Gemma's spine suddenly, and she lifted her head, stomach clenching in fear. What? Then she realised - the scent. Metallic, slightly rank, uncanny, and although it didn't unhinge her joints as Nick's did, she tilted her chin uneasily, unnerved by the similarity. Heart pounding, she glanced first at the unconcerned wolf-friend humming as she browsed through bras beside her, then across the racks of skimpy clothing, searching for the source of that smell - the strong, rank smell that the wolf beside her couldn't detect.

The girl standing on the raised area of floor two aisles across had a smooth, shoulder-length crop of dark-blonde hair, and the sharply-defined angles of her distressed, down-turned face reminded Gemma uneasily of the dead wolf-girl, Anne. Maybe it was just the expression in her eyes.

This girl was dressed in a similar style to Anne also, with long boots and a smart jacket atop a short, flared blue skirt. Gemma could see a faint movement of the fabric as the much older man standing too close to the teenager squeezed her ass cheek under the rucked up clothing while he held a set of lacy underwear against her slight form. The man's cheeks were flushed lightly, eyelids drooping in pleasurable anticipation while he drawled something condescending over the bowed head, his hand sliding further under the young woman's skirt.

The waif hung her head further, cheeks flushed unhappily, and Gemma read the plaintive words, "Please, no," that formed on her small cheery-painted lips.." The well-dressed old male smiled with a cold look of pleasure in his predatory gaze, and he pinched one of her nipples delicately with his free hand as he murmured some reply. Then he turned her reluctantly obedient form towards the changing rooms.

Gemma felt the angry bile rising in her throat at the familiar hopeless look deepening in the girl's eyes while she walked slowly towards the fitting room entrance. The man was guiding her, hand on her arse, and his toy stumbled a little when, to a little flash of her white knickers, he slid his hand up and inside her panties from behind, forcing her legs to widen while his fingers slid between them under the loose skirt.

Gemma started after the pair angrily, then halted with a shock of realisation - this could easily be a trap. Damn it. She grabbed the nearest garment off the rail beside her and growled quickly at her bodyguard, "Come on, I want to try this on."

The Marsh sjeste raised a sarcastic eyebrow, "A padded push-up bra in puke orange? You don't need additional cleavage, Gem, and I've seen you dry-retch over that colour. What makes you think that the Marsh will reimburse you with a tacky piece of junk you'll never wear? Are you trying to dishonour us?"

"All right," half snarled Gemma, hurriedly snagging the hanger back on the rack and snatching something in black. "I'll..."

She stopped, incredulous, when she saw the set her companion was holding out toward her. Purple and dark red, lacy, ridiculous - beautiful, delicate flowers all stitched together into a coy mass which would only just about hide what was underneath. There was even a suspender belt with the bra and knickers - Jasmine had to be kidding, no way would she ever wear that.

Except maybe for Mac, the thought whispered, flaring heat across her mind. In a log cabin in the woods, lit by a glowing fire. She'd be lying on a white sheepskin rug with no ...

Gemma's stomach lurched in guilt, and she glanced back, stricken, towards where the poor young wolf-girl had already disappeared inside the fitting room entrance with her male escort while Gemma was distracted.

"Whatever", she sighed, grabbing the idiotic offerings, and strode quickly down the aisle towards the shop assistant waiting to check customers in and out of the line of cubicles. "C'mon."

The attendant was looking a little flushed, the corner of the bank note bribe that she had hastily stuffed inside her bra just visible at the edge of her too-tight blouse. Stupid cow. Although to be fair, she would have no idea that the Grey wolf girl had no say in this, didn't want her male escort to be permitted into the female side with her.

Who cared about being fair? Gemma burned to snap the woman's nose off, but she didn't want to alert the couple who had just been admitted. The pair had already disappeared behind one of the curtains.

Gemma caught an intent, suspicious look from her wolf friend as Jasmine caught up with her. The wolf's eyes narrowed speculatively at the shop assistant her human friend was glaring at. "What are you up to, manu?" she murmured under her breath.

Don't tell her.

The inner warning was stark in Gemma's head, and she felt a second, different lurch in her stomach. She may be leading Jasmine unawares into a trap, now, but she couldn't just leave the wolf victim to her fate and unconcernedly go on looking at underwear. Or just leave. But neither could she tell her bodyguard what she suspected.

Following the confrontation in the forest, the Grey pack had broken from the Aster alliance and were now openly at war with their former allies, joining with Tzo. Her Marsh flatmate, and two Fealden bodyguards, were all Aster. And she had seen, graphically, how swiftly they disposed of enemies. More than once, now, as there had been two more unsuccessful attacks since the first. Both ambushes by Grey wolves.

How would Jasmine react if she recognised a Grey here? How would she deal with the enemy wolf-girl being prostituted out somewhere in this line of cubicles?

How the hell are you planning on dealing with it yourself, idiot?

Memories seared white-hot through Gemma, memories of the campus security guard forcing his cock into Anne while she pleaded for mercy, bent under her pack-leader's order to submit to the human. A flash of revulsion at what was probably being forced on this other Grey girl behind one of these curtains scorched so fiercely through Gemma that she had one of those surges of longing to actually be a wolf, able to tear into the old lecher who had paid for the use of the poor young wolf waif.

More, much more, she wanted to tear into Nicolas Grey, the non-Alpha pimp who somehow enforced this type of prostitution, because it was - what had he said? - oh yeah, "a most lucrative way of serving one's pack." Damn him. Mac had shown her what an Alpha was - how damn protective - over-protective - they were of their pack, their people. Mac, Vanil, Marsh, all of them. Nick was a grotesque parody, a mockery, a vile, twisted mummery of a fake Alpha, using his power to abuse for his own gain. God, she wanted to tear his head off. This girl couldn't even be twenty yet, like Anne. Who Nick had had killed rather than allow to leave his sick prostitution.

Calm down and think, she ordered herself, biting on her lip as she smelt a faint hint of the metallic, meaty scent that was undetectable to wolf noses while she passed one of the colourful curtains on her way down the aisle. The only sound from behind it was - eugh - heavy male breathing.

Angrily she swept into the next cubicle down, the blood drumming in her ears while she tried to force her rage to cool and allow her to think. She barely heard Jasmine murmur, "Call me when you're ready to show me," while she yanked the curtain closed behind her.

Yeah, like that was going to happen.

Jasmine would have scented any other wolves by now, if there were any, she reassured herself. Then the remembrance landed cold on Gemma's skin. No. Jasmine couldn't scent the Greys. Fear shivered anew through her, fear of what she may have landed her friend in, unawares, and then lifted suddenly, burned away by fury at a faint whimper from the next-door cubicle, a very faint squelch, and a male undertone of, "Hush. Try to relax."

Gemma's mind cleared suddenly with the bitter edge to her thoughts. I - humans - can scent the tainted Greys. And there aren't any others here. There was only the one Grey, next door, forced by her pack leader to submit to being the sex toy of a debauched older human. A sick human who enjoyed knowing that his prey had no say, and no pleasure, in what he was doing to her. Gemma could see the red mist floating in front of her eyes.

Biting her lip, she pulled her curtain back open again, and caught the slightly disgusted look on Jasmine's face where the wolf girl was looking at the fabric shielding the neighbouring cubicle. Evidently, from the slight wrinkling of her friend's nose, there were more scents than just that of undetectable-to-wolf Grey wolf rankness emanating from the small space now. Her flatmate turned her black eyes to Gemma's and pulled a disgusted face, indicating the closed drape of heavy cloth. Gemma nodded sharply, wrinkling her own nose in distaste, and jerked a thumb silently up the aisle back toward the exit. She had decided what to do. She was human. She would deal with this as a human. But she had to get Jasmine out of here in case her Marsh companion recognised the Grey wolf girl if they came face to face.

She didn't want another dead waif on her conscience.

When they left the shop two minutes later, Gemma felt a little sorry for the manageress. She had vented her anger on the older woman for allowing couples to play together in the changing rooms. But the smooth, "Nothing like that could possibly happen here," denials had infuriated her. Gemma had at least had the satisfaction of seeing the woman's face blench at the sight which had confronted them when she'd abruptly left off arguing and simply stalked back down the aisle to yank open the curtain, despite the woman's squawks of protest.

Mind you, Gemma had had the hardest time not giving way to the rage that had consumed her when she'd seen the slender, naked globes of the behind of the young girl bent over the man's knees. The wispy lace thong of the sheer knickers, the Grey sjeste's only covering, had been held aside with one crooked finger so that the man had a clear view in the many mirrors of the large, glistening glass dildo with which he was preparing her tiny, puckered asshole. No wonder the old lecher had had to stuff the matching bra into the girl's mouth to muffle her as he forced the object inside her, the pain in the tear-marked face had been clearly etched in the mirror when her blank, blue eyes had met Gemma's.

But then a hint of panic had flickered across the strained face as the girl scented Jasmine approaching again down the aisle. The sight of the Grey waif's fear had jolted Gemma back under control, and she had just had to sweep back around and leave it to the dumbfounded manageress, grabbing her wolf friend and dragging her away with a disgusted, "Let's get out of here."

However, the knowledge of what she'd seen was pounding, grinding incessantly in her head as she stalked away. Twice now. Anne. And that girl. How many were there? How often did Nick make them do it? How the hell could she just let it carry on?

She had to isolate the ingredients in the fucking scent-masking drug that Mac had captured off the Grey, or they'd never find the Grey's hideout, never put a stop to this.

Since declaring war openly, the Grey tribe had disappeared from their traditional Range Hall, apparently. The Mackeld had not been surprised, Gus had reported. Mac had been telling the council for years that the Grey had a second lair hidden somewhere for his additional activities. It had been Mac's repeated, illegal, and increasingly vicious trespass-raids on the Grey's lands to find the mythical hidden lair which had gotten him exiled in the first place. The council had paid scant attention to his raging accusations, their best seekers unable to find a hidden lair, and suspecting that the allegation was largely due to the long-standing inter-pack feud. Moreover, the Aster alliance had begun teetering due to the in-fighting between the two packs, just when the Tzo had been beginning to test his boundaries, just when unity had been needed. So the council had banished Mac to cool down, and banned the two packs from further fighting.

And now no-one had any idea where the Greys were based.

Still seething internally, Gemma stared out of the bus window as they neared the turn-off into her suburb. Idly, her eyes lighted on the smiling flower emblem adorning the front of a bus heading the other way. 'HydroPow!' the logo beamed.