Pawn Among Wolves Ch. 11

But now, Dr Craig Portisman had emailed her a curious, slightly arrogant apology. He'd been late into work the morning following the break-in (for a change), and had had no time to prepare for his Forensics master students' practical, what with having to work in a different lab (yeah, like the two minute walk down the corridor to the biochem lab would have really slowed him down), and cover her classes (she didn't teach on Wednesdays). Finding the unlabelled samples someone had left cluttering up the fridge (tsk, tsk) he'd used them as an impromptu lesson, setting his students the task of deciphering the ingredients.

OK, once he'd heard Gemma questioning the lab technician after she'd gotten back, he'd realised that the samples had been hers, but it had been too late then, and he'd kept quiet. They'd have been thrown out anyway, as they were unlabelled. No harm done.

But now he was coming clean. Because, when finally marking their lab reports, he had realised that their students had discovered something so unbelievable that he wanted to publish the attached paper of their findings. Enough of them had found it for it not to be a chance. She could be co-author, if she'd let him know where she'd got the samples from.

Gee, thanks, Craig.

Actually, no, scratch the sarcasm. Thanks. Really.

Due no doubt to complete guesswork, the MSc students had hit upon something in the cream which was so blindingly impossible, Gemma had never checked for it in her own analyses of the scent-masking drug. The cream had contained traces of an unusual organic compound (Mac's skin cells, she guessed). Upon breakdown, it looked exactly like a common human enzyme, but with a different metal woven into the ribbon-like structure. The students had found a new enzyme.

Whoopee!

Her excitement rose when she recognised that as this wolf-skin enzyme was based on antimony (not cadmium, which she'd thought had been the only possibility apart from zinc, and as the spectroscopy had indicated), then she could predict what it might form when coated with the scent-masking drug. She would be able to work it out. Here was the clue, the key that she had been looking for.

Moreover, some of the enzyme structures reported had had trace concentrations of silver bound inside the enzyme in place of some of the antimony molecules. The beginnings of a mask to scent?

Her heart was pounding, and a fierce light was burning in her head as she considered which stains she would need to work this out. Then her heart jolted.

If only she could still perform chemical analyses.

But the furnace was burning in her. She wasn't going to let a little thing like a deadly allergy to silver stop her.

Hunched over the small screen, Gemma pulled up her latest email from Kate. It was useful having a friend who also worked at the university. Even if the linguistics researcher believed that a test-tube was merely a fiendish form of schnapps glass designed so that you had to down the contents in one. Kate had nevertheless agreed to pick up the remaining small amount of the scent-masking drug from Gemma's lab, and was keeping it in her home fridge in a fully sealed package, ready to mail on to Gemma. Time to get it forwarded.

Gemma's mind froze, stumbling over the words in the latest two-day old email from her human friend, words that leapt off the page at her.

'Unbelievable - who would ransack a chemistry laboratory, for heaven's sake? Alison told me all the dangerous chemicals are locked in the store upstairs, they're completely bewildered and the police can't find anything gone, although they're trying to link it with the break-in you had there a couple of months ago.'

Damn. Probably rightly.

Gemma was shivering. She hadn't really thought that anyone would try and get that last bit of the concoction, that there would be any danger for Kate. Really. After all, the Aster had the formulae now, captured from the Grey lair. Although she and Dr Maynard had yet to decipher one for the scent-masking drug.

Maybe the formula wasn't there? Maybe someone knew this? Someone who had broken into her lab to retrieve the last bit of the potion from the phial that Mac had taken off Nick?

So long as no-one realised that Kate now had it.

Gemma's stomach was sinking, a cold feel growing inside her. The edges of her vision began to blur with the unreasoning anger, but she pushed it back. That wouldn't help.

Maybe he did realise. Nick had once hacked into Mac's Instant Messenger account. Could he read her email?

Gemma's stomach cramped, and she felt her hackles rising slightly. Black spots swarmed across her eyes, her mind blurring, and she slammed her defences up, struggling to hold the rage at bay.

She just had to assume that no-one had yet managed to hack through the university email security, as Kate's house hadn't been ransacked too. Or it hadn't two days ago. She had to get the dangerous package away from her human friend. Now. Right now.

Her muscles were all aching in tension, and the black spots began to force their way back into her tired head.

A two day old email. What had happened since?

Gemma's forehead creased as she fought to hold back the fear-fuelled rage gathering behind her eyes, the spots spreading to block her sight. Dimly through her darkened vision, fighting to keep her mind clear, her eyes swam over the names on the screen as she scrolled through Mac's contacts. Her shaking fingers and nails were lengthening as she pressed call too hard, finding the first of the names she sought.

Pick up. Pick up. Pick up NOW.

"Mac?" Gus's tone was flabbergasted. "What the hell -"

Gemma broke in on him, her voice shaking with rage and fear as she stuttered out the words: "Kate took the last of the drug for me, Gus. But someone's broken into and ransacked my lab. If they've found out that she has it -" Her voice was rising in fear and anger, and she broke off, yelping, as the shattered glass in her hand cut into her palm. She yowled at the crushed BlackBerry in her wolf paw, flinging it away in fury as she bounded to her throbbing feet so that she could sprint to find an alternative method of communication.

Why the fuck couldn't she control herself?

What if someone attacked Kate? Because of her?

Abruptly, her limbs locked with Mac's stay here order resounding in her mind, and it felt like the top of her head came off with the force of the rage exploding through her, the blackness obliterating her reason instantly.

She was flattened to the turf, fighting against the strong limbs pinning her to the ground, mind shadowed by clouds of black rage. She tried hard to bite the damn wolf but he reared his head back, evading her jaws. He fastened his teeth to the line of chin, the gentle bite sending a pulse of excitement through her, but she still bucked in rage under his heavy weight. His thick cock throbbed in the crease of her thighs, pressed against the entrance to her pussy, and the heat roared through her, rage melting under flame. She squirmed again, her legs parting slightly under his weight, and he grabbed her head and kissed her, hard. The blackness in her head vanished under pounding, aching heat.

Mac shifted human, and she followed suit without thought, widening her legs while he ripped open the fly of his heavy cotton trousers. She whined yes as he positioned the head of his cock, breathing harshly, and then he was sliding into her, weight heavy on her, the sweet, forceful stretch of his cock thrusting hard within her melting her body in pure, rich sensation. The rough, urgent pounding of his hips, the harsh, hot scent of his intense arousal built and built the lingering fire within her, pushing her higher. This was no gentle play; this was a raw, desperate mating. As she felt him biting down on her shoulder her brain whited out with the lightening creasing down her spine, and she heard her mate snarl through his clenched teeth, pushing his cock as deep as he could while he exploded within her.

Surfacing again, Gemma felt the blackness hovering inside her mind, clouds clustering as she remembered her damn idiocy in involving Kate in this mess at all. The words issuing from Mac were muffled under the coalescing rage, but his mind pushed through, and she heard the conveyed words echoing in her head.

Gus is en route.

The blackness lifted slightly, and she stared up at him bleakly.

I have set four of my wolves to guard Bethan and Kate, until Gus gets there and can deal with it. Postgrads - older wolves; they know to keep a very low profile, not draw any attention to the humans.

Then he was on his feet, hauling her to hers, pushing a bag into her hands as the black rage slithered away under the lash of her remorse. How could she have put her friends at risk?

They are fine. And you did right to ask Kate to remove the last bit - that may be the saving grace for the Aster.

He turned her around swiftly, and kissed her.

"Put your clothes on. Quickly, please," her mate requested, and turned away to re-fasten his trousers then pick up the splintered bits of phone casing while Gemma stared dazedly at the Hello Kitty backpack hanging from her fingers.

Please, Gemma, focus, he asked. Nigel is less than thirty minutes behind. We didn't have time for that delay.

When would they have time to laze about and make love thoroughly? she grouched internally.

Get dressed, he answered. I will make time for us, I promise.

Trembling slightly in the aftermath of no sleep, constant running, too little food and too quick a fuck, Gemma pulled out the clean knickers and bra and swiftly dressed in them.

What wouldn't she do for a shower.

The poppy-patterned cream blouse was tight cut, her breast pressing out against the soft material, and although the black shorts were looser, her pussy lips were way too overstimulated for the crotch rubbing not to be too much right now. Gemma bit her lip, close to tears at the drag of heat in her veins, too tired to fight it.

Mac asked her to raise her hair above her head. Bemusedly, trying not to think of how much she just wanted him to jump her again, she did as asked. A cloth covered her eyes, was knotted tightly behind her head and she choked in a breath, hands dropping to touch the soft folds: "What?.."

"I cannot allow you to see the road signs, picchu. I case Nick's cub comes within range again."

Gemma spluttered, the gentle curl of heat bursting back to full inferno her belly. It wasn't as if she minded the blindfold, but thought blocking out road signs was a bit of a wasted reason for wearing one.

Did she never get enough?

Not of him.

There was a smile in Mac's thoughts as he turned her back to face him and kissed her gently, sliding his fingers through hers and tugging her down through the trees. Gemma stumbled after him, wondering how to trip him up and accidentally roll on top of him.

Mac halted her after a very short walk; there was a slight, not unpleasant scent of metal and leather and oil. He dropped her hand, grunted lightly as something clicked mechanically, and she felt a brush of air as he moved, then a faint squeak and sigh. He lifted her hand again, and guided it to something made of smooth, rounded, padded leather.

She felt it over.

"Get on," he urged. The heat of him was not far away, and she put at hand forward, patting at his shoulder, lower than usual, feeling down his back to the seat he was on, just ahead of hers.

"A tandem? How'm I supposed to sit on a bicycle saddle when I'm this stimulated?" she grumbled sleepily.

Would she stop grumbling about everything? she complained to herself. The irony made her lips twitch. Her mate had a genius idea for scent-free travel and all she could do was gripe.

"If you think you've got it bad, picchu, you should try being male and aroused. Get on. I thought you might like our first stop to be the drive-through burger joint I spotted at the bottom of the hill."

Gemma scrambled eagerly astride the bike, ignoring the spike of feeling from her swollen labia. Food!

Someone was shaking her shoulder. Gemma mumbled, "Gerroff," drowsily into the mattress, sweeping a half-hearted arm through the air at her assailant. It didn't connect, and his hand returned to her shoulder to resume the shaking.

"Come on, picchu."

Damn bossy wolf. Gemma growled grouchily and burrowed herself further under the covers, squirming on her sleepy limbs to get away from that stubbornly persistent male and sink back into slumber. It wasn't like they had to take turns on watch or something. She remembered the sound of the anchor chain rattling down sometime last night.

She snarled sleepily, finding herself flipped up into his arms, still wrapped in the duvet. It was too much effort to do anything else, and she simply pressed her face into his shoulder to shut out the unwelcome sunlight, sinking back toward stupor.

Mac was swaying slightly to the motion of the boat as he carried her toward the short companion ladder. He had borrowed this small yacht off his friends Jonathan and Lianna, no trouble, when he and Gemma had turned up at the humans' house on their bicycle in a cloud of mud and road-stench. Apparently he'd been at college with Jonathan, years back. While the guys had filled the water tanks and checked the boat over quickly, Jonathan's wife had offered Gemma a heaven-sent shower, some toiletries, and spare clothes. As soon as they'd gotten under way out into the Great Lake, Mac had tucked Gemma into the bed in the aft cabin, and she'd sunk instantly into slumber.

She would still be asleep if her wolf hadn't woken her up. Too soon. He really needed to learn to sleep longer. She could vaguely recall snuggling up to him at some point in that wide bed, why had he had to get up and drag her out of it?

As he hitched them both up the short flight of steps, Gemma tried to sink back into sleep.

God it was cold out here.

She burrowed closer in to the warmth of Mac, pulling the duvet tighter around herself as he sat down at the back of the cockpit by the wheel. Her mate hugged her, cuddling her on his knees. She relaxed bonelessly against him and kept her eyes closed, trying to ignore the contrast of sunlight and light breeze dancing over her exposed right ear while the boat gently rose and fell, at anchor.

"I can sleep just as well in the cabin," she mumbled into his shirt.

He sighed.

"I was hoping to share this sunrise with you," his chest rumbled as he replied.

Damn. How did he manage to make her feel slightly guilty for her grumpiness?

Gemma considered keeping her eyes closed. Just to show him. But no - she didn't get to see Mr Romantic very often, better not to waste it.

She sighed and stretched sleepily against him, straightening out her tight muscles before turning on his thighs to rest back against him, tucking the duvet over her feet where they rested on his knees, the back of her head nestling in the hollow of his shoulder. The sun was blinding against her still closed eyelids.

"This had better be good," she murmured, rubbing a hand across them.

Her eyes slowly blinked open. Closed. Open again. Gradually focused. Tears smarted, and ran from the corners, but she didn't think it was wholly from the brightness of the light.

"Oh," she breathed wonderingly.

She felt cold lips nibble at her earlobe, then he kissed her softly underneath it.

"See?" he said teasingly. "I'm always right." Her right hand was resting gently against his thigh, and she changed the limb to lycan, swiftly extending and retracting her claws so that they prickled into his taut flesh, laughing softly when he jumped. He kissed her again, a smile against her skin.

"Sometimes," she amended softly, eyes resting peacefully on the beautiful, rich tapestry of light shimmering across the horizon ahead of them.

"Sometimes I'm always right?" he pursued. Then he swallowed.

Gemma barely noticed, absorbed in the beauty of the dawn. But she gradually became aware of the tension in the long-limbed frame underneath her, the slight tinge to his scent. Mac was uneasy.

What?

She turned her head to look up at her wolf. He was staring out at the dawn also, but his eyes were flickering black with some suppressed emotion. His expression was so carefully wiped clear that her heart clenched in worry.

"Mac?" she asked softly, combing a gentle hand through his tawny hair. Was something wrong with his pack? Had they not gotten away from the hunters?

Her stomach clenched again on a different worry. Was Grey torturing Natasha Vanilchov? Black rage spots danced in front of her eyes, but she forced them back. She had never really understood Mac's link with his adopted little sister, but knew that Tasha was very close to Mac.

She caressed a hand over his cheek, quivering with her own worry.

He was so tense.

"I wanted to ask you, picchu," his voice was low, barely audible. "You haven't had a lot of say in what has happened to you recently; there is no going back from being a werewolf, and no choice when you meet your songmate." He swallowed, and lifted her hand to press a soft kiss to the palm. Her hand tingled. It set off a chain reaction down her spine, and a soft explosion of moist heat low in her belly.

God, he smelt gorgeous. If he didn't also smell so damn worried, she'd be ripping his clothes off right now. Here. Luckily his scent was somewhat worried, so that she could restrain herself to just delicately unpicking the buttons on his shirt. Like this.

And this.

Ok, so that third one had torn a bit, stupid slow button.

Gemma struggled to tug her fingers out of the hand which had engulfed hers, but Mac held on, and the thickness of the worry in his scent broke through the heady lust. She looked back up into his black eyes, flecked with shimmering green.

He was really troubled, or he wouldn't be hesitating about asking her whatever it was. Recently her wolf seemed to have taken to dictating to her what they were going to do, then dealing with the arguments according to her volubility and persistence. A habit she'd have to break him of.

Gemma lifted herself up, squirming around to kiss him softly on the lips. Again, and again, nibbling little kisses. He did so much for her. She was sorry she'd been so grouchy yesterday.

"Don't worry. Whatever it is, Mac, we'll sorry it out. I love you," she whispered, and felt his heart bound under her palm. Then his lips quirked faintly, and he lifted his own hands to cradle her head, thumbs stroking over her cheekbones as he looked deeply into her eyes. The deep, deep green was still swirling with black, and he swallowed again.

"Your Dad's birthday party next month," he began a little hoarsely. Gemma's heart clenched. Oh. Yes. Maybe she shouldn't go. She hadn't great control now, and in another few weeks - she seemed to be getting worse, less controlled. Her heart shrank further, realising her mate was trying to gently warn her that she would have to distance herself from those she loved. Well, from everyone else whom she loved. He could still control her. More or less. Her heart ached, mind echoing with bleak thoughts.

The gathering despondency was interrupted by the soft words he managed to choke out: "Would you go as my future wife? With me?"

What?

Gemma's heart sputtered to a standstill as she realised what he'd said.

Her eyes fell, incredulous, to the little cream pasteboard cube now nested in his hand.

He fumbled open the small box with a finger. Her heart burst back into a battering pace, as she stared.

Mac never fumbled.

He hadn't only been clothes shopping in town, a little wisp of thought curled inappropriately through her completely startled mind, while a beautiful little ring of alternating pairs of small emeralds and topazes, each separated by a single diamond, gleamed up at her. But it wasn't the ring that was making her heart swell, and tears spring to her eyes.