Pawn Among Wolves Ch. 10

Mmm. Relaxing slightly, Gemma rose to her feet and turned carefully to face her wolf, then began to back off, slowly, feeling her way down the hill towards the water, eyes holding his. The laughter in his gaze was smug, he was sure that he could catch her, whatever she tried. And he was daring her to try. Mac paced after her slowly.

Her wolf?

Abruptly, incendiary rage ignited through her at the dim, unformed question of Natasha Vanilchov in her mind, and she suddenly pounced at him, raking an enraged fistful of razor sharp claws at his shoulder as the pins and needles washed through her.

Before they could connect, before she could even blink, she was on her back in the grass, pinned firmly under him, and the stern order, Human or loup within sight of humans or human habitation, was burning through her mind, burning her back to her vulnerable, naked human self.

The rage was still seething through her, though, and she was unaware of her state of undress or the cold grass against her back while she howled, bucking under his now human weight, and hissed, "Going to add me to your wereem harem until you rescue your beloved betrothed?"

A second later, bereft of breath by the creasing pain which had rebounded instantly from her mate at the accusation, Gemma swallowed, and shivered, motionless in the chilly air, feeling the cold leaching into her while Mac stalked off, trembling, toward the trees.

No. No. No. What the fuck had gotten into her? She knew he didn't want this betrothal.

"I'm sorry," she croaked after him from her prone position, tears lodged in her throat. Where had that vitriol come from?

Mac returned moments later, his eyes calm, sad, with a long, black woollen coat, and he lifted her to her feet, silently wrapping it around her as she stood motionless in shock. Then his hands clamped onto her shoulders and his eyes burned challengingly down into her tear-filled ones.

"Who changed you?" The desire to kill was blazing in the depths of his eyes.

Was that all he cared about? "I don't know," she glowered back, sulkily. "Lots of the kids scratched me, and one adult clawed -." She stopped. Mac was shaking his head. "Clawing would not infect you," he replied. "It would have to be a bite, didn't you feel it?"

With all that was going on, and among the hundreds of scratches?

"No," she bit out, She was getting angry at this questioning, when her insides were squirming at his musk, igniting with the desire for him to fuck her. Now. Hard.

His voice was deepening on an exasperated growl as he replied, "Well, why the hell not? What were you doing that you didn't notice some bloody wolf biting you? What the hell do you think that you're doing here anyway?"

Her eyes gleamed fire back at him, "Rescuing cubs."

The green eyes lit with black, and a pulse of something in his scent suddenly made Gemma instinctively shrink inside her skin. Not from fear: from shame. But she was not ashamed of this, her thoughts protested angrily. Holding his eyes, she roughly, briefly related what she and Jasmine had been doing for the past five days, leading up to meeting Ada, and the events at the cub ward.

Silence echoed between them once she had finished. His eyes were shadowed in the eerie shimmering back-light, hiding the rage she could feel trembling through him.

Then the corner of his mouth crooked slightly, and he sighed.

"I knew you were up to something," he said, lifting her in his arms and carrying her across to a park bench facing the pond. Gently, impersonally, he removed the coat, and began to run his hands over her, peering closely at her skin in the clouded light of the stars, and the faint city glare. Gemma quivered, frozen in lust while he checked her over. He murmured absently, "You know, there are very few wolves who would hold my gaze when I'm that angry."

His fingertips were gentle, questing, and hesitated over several sites on her body: back, legs, buttocks, and shoulders. "It means that you feel no remorse for your idiocies, however angry they make me. And I can see why. And -," his voice was smiling, "- you are not afraid of me, or going to accept any rebuke because of this. You did what you thought was right, in defiance of both the Wolflord and myself."

"I don't believe either of you have the right to dictate to me," returned Gemma, low. Her skin was burning in the wake of his touch.

Mac sighed again, and settled the coat back around her, agreeing, "We didn't then, no." He lifted her and turned to sit down with her in his lap, hugging her to him as he leaned back on the wooden bench.

"Five," he breathed the word quietly.

What?

"You carry no less than five fresh bite-marks. Healed, of course, now that you are a were. But - my only guess is that the younger cubs were using any purchase they could, to climb."

Five?

"So which turned me?" she asked.

"I haven't a clue."

He paused, and murmured quietly.

"However furious I am that you have endangered my mate, I - thank-you, Picchu. Tonight, we have broken Grey's power: his prostitution empire, his drug manufacture and experimentation. Tonight, we finally have testimony that Tasha was here -" Gemma felt a thrill of ire tingle through her as her mate said the name, and she clamped down on it. She wasn't going on about that any more. Tasha was his foster sister, that was all. "- even if Grey managed to break free of Johnson. Up until now, everyone - including Vanil, has thought she was just on changpao, too far out of range for convey."

Everyone but Mac, an insidious little voice whispered inside Gemma's head. Mac had known better than Vanilchov, which meant that he had a tighter bond with her than her natál, even. Close, very close.

Gemma felt blood in her mouth. Mac sat unmoving but snorted, a little sadly, and she backed off abruptly, horror-stricken at the deep tear in the flesh of his shoulder, the tangy taste of his blood on her tongue. Tears flowed from her eyes as a sob escaped into the night.

She did that.

"Gemma, you're a new wereem," Mac sighed, caressing a hand down her cheek. "Your reactions and control over your emotions are like those of a small infant. You're aroused, so you lift tail. You're angry, so you bite me. You wound your mate, and suddenly you are crying."

I can control myself, thought Gemma faintly, desperately, watching the tear knit under her horror-stricken gaze. The trouble was, she had a sinking, slightly panicked feeling in her stomach. She didn't think she could, really. She kept doing things almost before she thought about them. Reaction before thought. Without thought.

Mac's hand soothed over her hair and down her cheek, and he tilted her sad face up to his, asking softly as the deep, warm feeling in his green eyes melted into her, "But - why did you break away from the mating, picchu? Not from lack of desire, I could scent you melting under me." The semi-hard cock under her buttocks twitched, and lengthened.

Gemma sank against his chest, resting her head tiredly in the hollow of his shoulder cuddling into his warmth. What if she couldn't control this? What if she did go insane?

"Picchu?"

The love in his voice. OK, Tasha may be his betrothed. He had a bond with her. But she, Gemma, was his mate. He loved her.

"You were - sad. That I am a wereem. I didn't want you to mate me in sadness."

There was a little pause, and Gemma felt herself sinking into despondent uncertainty. Maybe he was right to be sad? Maybe this jumble of thoughts and fierce emotions in her brain was the clearest she ever would be in future.

In which case, maybe she had better just use this time of relative sense as best she could before she lost herself to rage? Accept what joy she could in the short time available?

Outside the dull echo of gloom in her head, Mac's voice had a tinge of eagerness, "That shows signs of control. Deeply, deeply sunk in wanton lust, just hours after being turned, yet you surfaced. You had refocused before, on the rut, but I thought it may have been because you were still human."

There was hope in his voice.

"And just now - you were defying me with clear reasoning," he added.

Gemma snuggled in closer to him, nuzzling his bristly jaw, nibbling kisses along the strong line of his chin. Her blood began to throb in her veins.

She wasn't really listening. Her mind seemed to have landed on - what the hell.

He was at war, fighting ferociously, risking death daily to protect his pack.

She was a wereem, doomed to go insane as she slowly lost control of herself.

So just kiss him while the kissing's good. Enjoy him. Take whatever he can give and give back as much as you can. He loved her. She loved him. So who cared about the future? Life was too short.

Right now, she just wanted him to roll her over again and mount her. Was dying for him to fuck her. Hard. It had been over two months.

The throb in her veins had turned into a heated simmer, and she could smell her own arousal roaring back into life as she pressed back against his now rock hard erection, squirming her buttocks against it, while her fingers shakily explored his biceps. What that heavy girth would feel like sheathed inside her - mmmm. The slick lubrication pulsed through her aching passage, and a little whimper escaped into the air.

"Picchu," he murmured warningly as she reached up to bite gently on his jawline, and slid a hand down behind her own back to close around that huge, throbbing staff.

"Please, Mac," she whispered in reply, squeezing his weight gently in her hand, "Please may I please you, please? To please me?"

Her body was quivering in eagerness, her lust beginning to coat her thighs.

He chuckled, and replied obliquely, "Well, you are a wereem now, so allegedly no threat. And you're mine. Whatever they say."

Gemma's brain was just beginning to sort through his words when his lips found hers and he surged to his feet holding her, kissing her hard. Her brain short-circuited, excitement roaring through her veins.

She shivered in the cool night air as her coat was parted, then fire scorched her as she felt his lips begin to travel down her torso. He moved, and her buttocks were pressing down on the back of the wooden bench through the woollen coat skirts. She was bent backwards over his arm, and his lips were fastened fiercely around one nipple, suckling hard. She arched on a cry, fire roaring through her, the coat falling fully open.

Then a vague wisp of embarrassed thought surfaced - she was naked, human, in the middle of the city. There were tower blocks overlooking the park. Cheeks hot, she reached for the concentration to change to wolf. Loup.

No. The thought was halted abruptly as her mate's heated words burned in her head. I want you like this. Please.

Her brain stuttered at the image of her bent backwards underneath him, naked, delicious and wet and wanton, the image searing from his simmering mind into hers. She moaned, then sank back into lust as she arched into his pulling mouth, the fierce, hard suckling engulfing half of her breast. The nipple of the first breast puckered, cold and tingling with fire in the light breeze while her mate turned to try to swallow the other, the taut, clamping suction over the plump mound almost painful. Writhing under his lips, she bucked as he grazed little nips of his teeth along her soft flesh, her stomach, her thighs. Gemma was lost in want, uttering helpless little cries, lust oozing from her pussy.

Through the cloud of raging desire she dimly became aware that the softness of the coat was now pressed only against her buttocks. He had folded it into a wad, draped as padding over the carved wooden back of the park bench. Her naked butt cheeks were resting against the soft wool, barely feeling the hard back of the bench through it. A steely arm was clamped around her buttocks to steady her while his other palm on her stomach gently bent her backward, lifting the junction of her thighs higher towards him while he swirled his tongue inside her belly button, breathing harshly as he tried to restrain his own urgent lust.

Gemma moaned as her feet left the ground and she tilted backwards on just her buttocks, held securely by her mate. As her long hair dropped to rest on the seat, she reached over her head to grasp the front slats of the bench for support. Her legs widened automatically, presenting herself to him, while his warm hands slid to cradle her thighs, and eased them further apart, to a width of his liking.

Please Mac, Please Mac, Please Mac.

He settled his warm palms around her buttocks, breathing hard, and knelt between her thighs, nudging the slick, swollen entrance with his wet tongue, swirling the stiffened length deep while his mate moaned and arched pleadingly to the exquisite feeling, her legs kicking in the air. Mac groaned in answer, tasting the wereem juices of his mate for the first time, the lust kicking him in the stomach, his balls tightening urgently. His tongue delved back in and he began to eat her, the taste of her calling him, roaring through him, wave upon wave upon crashing wave. His cock was being tempered to unbearable, straining steel in the fierce fire fuelled by her washing juices, her little cries echoing to the stars as he slurped his tongue into her again and again. The bursts of fresh taste coating his tongue were calling him, and he buried his head between her thighs, trying to get deeper, swirling harder, calling more and more of her lust into his mouth.

Abruptly Mac surged to his feet and steadying her with one hand, grasped the root of his rock-hard cock with the other. Then he stilled, shuddering, straining under the sway of unbearable, opposing forces. A small half-whined snarl escaped as he gasped for breath. Mac began to rub his straining member around and around in her abundant juices, nudging against the drowning entrance to her pussy, painting her cleft with the intoxicating liquid while he licked the lingering taste from his tongue, savouring his mate, struggling for control.

Do you want this, picchu?

Did he really have to ask???

He was sliding the throbbing head of his urgent cock over the hard little bundle of nerves aching at the top of her cleft, and she cried aloud at the sensation, bucking on a lurch of pleasure, trying to press herself closer. Shades of their games in the forest. But now, with her awareness of his thoughts, Gemma read that he did have to ask. He was an Alpha. Almost any female wolf would lift tail to him, melting automatically, at the faintest hint of his arousal. But any female life-mated to another would never be able to bring herself to plead aloud, however much her body was drowning in want.

Not a problem, here.

"Please, Mac," she panted, widening her legs to him, feeling herself melting at the knowledge that he had to check, even with her, his own mate.

With a delighted sigh, Mac grasped her firmly, impatiently, and carefully positioned the moist head of his aching cock at the wet entrance to her pussy. He loved the sight of her, bent naked over the bench under him, the mouth-watering arch of her breasts poking up toward the stars. Between her wide-splayed legs, the dark head of his member was probing her slick entrance. Her soft skin was bathed in the faint orange city glow, light gleaming on the abundant sheen coating on her thighs, her belly, his shaft. He licked his lips, savouring this little moment of slow pleasure. He knew he was going to lose himself pretty soon, as soon as he mounted her. Soon. Very soon. Very, very explosively. Mac gripped her hips firmly and felt his breath growing heavier, deeper in excitement while he watched and felt the head of his rigid cock slowly, steadily probing the entrance to her exquisitely tight, wet passage. Her long moan was quiet music to his ears. He shifted his grip, and felt the intense, overwhelming rise of roaring lust begin to engulf his senses while he steadily, exquisitely, forced her pussy mouth to yield to the invasion of his girth. A spasm shuddered through her passage, clamping him to a halt, and Mac bent to kiss his mate's tight-puckered nipples.

"You OK?" he growled, hoarsely.

"More," was all she could manage, gasping out the plea.

Mac chuckled under his breath, rubbed a teasing thumb-pad over her jutting clitoris and watched in pleasure as her heaving body bucked her further onto his cock. The unbearably tight sheath of her around his aching erection was plucking at the edges of his control, and he could feel himself quivering in excitement while he greedily sucked her taste from his thumb. The longer he could hold on...

"More," his mate whined, again, legs parting further. The slight shift of her weight pulled her passage slightly along his cock, and Mac growled. His eyes half-closed, drinking in the sight of her impaled on him, the root of his cock and balls all that was visible now, coated in the wetness between her splayed legs. He could feel the impatience growing in his blood, stiffening his limbs, demanding. He had missed her. He wanted to hear the hoarse pants as he pounded into her, to feel and scent her body arching under his in pleasure. His spine tingled on a rush of lust, and he slowly withdrew until only the tip of his cock was buried. Wanting it all.

"Picchu?."

Her eyes opened on that glazed look which he loved, and she moaned at the sight of him looming over her, poised.

The eyes rolled back in her head and she screamed in pleasure, legs swaying in the air as he thrust violently between them. A whimpered groan followed.

Mac growled at the delicious feeling, pulled out, and thrust in again, faster. Wonderful. Again. More. Faster. Harder. His eyes were glowing eerily at the exquisite pleasure of mating. His mate. His. In and out, quickening the tempo. His lust was raging higher at the unbelievable, delectable tightness of her silken, wet passage. Her luscious scent.

Gemma's back curved into a painful arch, hands clamping to the slats as she cried aloud. So deep, so deep. Oh. She was so - open, lost to the pounding force between her thighs, balanced only on her buttocks, connected only to Mac. His driving cock was rocking her backside against the bench with each breath-taking slam into her. His hands were biting into her thighs, holding her in place for each hard rut. She was melting in the knowledge, the scent of her mate's rising pleasure in taking his pleasure, pleasuring her. The hard shaft of him surging through her passage was deliciously, relentlessly driving her higher, wilder.

"Mac," she cried, and the pace quickened, the bench rocking on the ground as he pounded ruthlessly into her, causing her breasts to bounce hard to the rhythm. Unbelievably, exquisitely deep, forceful, unstoppable, unbearable. Higher. Higher. Harder.

Gemma could feel the crest rushing toward her and screamed out in shock at the abrupt, white flash of ecstasy that smashed through her. She convulsed hard under him, her legs straightening, cramping in the air, body rigid with the force crashing through her, but her mate only growled in satisfaction and surged more forcefully through her tightening passage, savouring the scent of her come, the shudder of her limbs, and the taut squeeze of her slick walls around his hard, demanding cock.

Pulling her legs wider he began to thrust with full force, the bench scraping across the ground when he heaved her back to meet each hard rut. Mac was dimly aware that there would be bruises on her thighs, but she was wereem now, she would heal in minutes. And judging by the mewling gasps of his name escaping her each time he slammed into her, she liked it like this. Oh boy, so did he. Faster. Harder. The possessive growl was rising in his throat.