Pawn Among Wolves Ch. 14

Through Xavi, she could make out Bethan and Kate sitting together on the hood of one of the cars, grey blankets around their shoulders, talking to the cops surrounding them, who were nodding seriously and taking notes, speaking into radios. Her friends looked shaken, pale, teary. They were shivering. But they were ok. They were OK. Gemma's heart was burning in relief. She needed to see them.

The wereem gulped and switched off all of her car lights, swerving in a cautious U-turn around right back on herself, sneaking the car in to the side of the currently empty road. She began to creep the wrong way up the carriageway, keeping to the very edge, purring back up towards those distant lights. She could dodge into the trees if necessary.

Grey is not dead, Gemma, Mac's mind blasted hers. Don't come back. Take Hakan home and get that bullet out so that he can stop bleeding. The girls are OK, and they will be safe with the cops - four of the officers here are of Johnson Pack, they're not going to let anything happen to them.

Damn you, I want to see them, she swore back at him, heart burning, fiery senses fighting the order; she needed to see them. But a renewed flutter of fear was also churning through her and her hands were slightly clammy on the wheel she was already obediently turning, despite the fury echoing in her head at the order. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a blur of movement and terror clawed into her skin, breaking her out of the rising rage, just as her Alpha's voice added, I've sent Xavi back with the package; he should reach you any minute; then get going back home. Bethan and Kate are safe.

It was Xavi, she could see it was him now that she thought about it, and Gemma trembled in relief as the dark wolf shot down the slight bank at the roadside and leapt back through the shattered rear window, turning human in mid-air so that his teeth flashed white in the darkness with his wide grin while he landed with a bounce on the sprinkling of grass and glass on the back seat.

"Nice driving," he commended, eyes sparkling.

She managed a half a smile back at him, and pressed the gas pedal tentatively to pick up speed, the thought of Grey recovering somewhere in the darkness here crawling up her spine. But still.

I want to see them, talk to them, she hissed at her mate, the anger burning higher inside her. Rational anger: he was her mate, not her keeper. She tried to bury the fear and the tiny, private admission that what he said made sense. This wasn't about being rational. She needed to see Kate and Bethan. And Grey wasn't such a big deal. Really.

Pick up the phone, responded her wolf tiredly. They are OK. But Hakan is reacting badly to the silver, and you may get attacked again or at least arrested for dangerous driving if you come back - the cops the other drivers called are human. I promise you will see Bethan and Kate tomorrow. But please, Gemma, take Hakan home.

Hmmm. Her Alpha at least appeared to have learned to say please.

Her heart also softened in sadness. Mac's exhaustion had leaked through in that last sentence; she could probably win if she pushed, he was so tired.

While she had argued, on the back seat Xavi had yanked his shirt off, ripped it in two and was now leaning forward in the almost non-existent gap to slide his hand down and press the makeshift pad hard against the still seeping wound on Hakan's lower torso.

"C'mon, Mr. B," he murmured softly. "Hold it together now, we're taking you home to Penny and the cubs." Her sole remaining guard also silently lifted the phone from the floor and pressed redial then loudspeaker, holding the handset a short distance from his Alfamme's head while the calling tone buzzed loudly. He did so distractedly; Xavi's focus was on stopping the sluggish flow of blood from the hole in Hakan's stomach, and he was also angling his head to try to lick sealed the deep, scored scratches raked through his packmate's chest and arm.

Damn you for always being right, Gemma snarled at her Alpha, pressing on the pedal lightly to pick up speed. Heart aching. She so wanted to see her friends.

Lights, suggested Mac, his mind lightening in relief. I'm sorry, picchu, but you need to stay away for now, stay ahead of the other cops - the Johnsons will remain here at the incident, so they can watch over the girls and take Erik somewhere safe to get their phys to reset his bones. But the human cops might not be quite so understanding. Hakan is fading, you need to get him back quickly and get that silver bullet out, not spend time explaining your driving.

I can get the bullet out here! exclaimed Gemma, snapping the lights back on. Bossyboots.

No, neither of you can touch it - and you have no probes or tweezers, Mac replied. Much better to get back to the lab and not cut him up any further with field surgery. Some wolves find it nearly impossible to heal anything with even a trace of silver in the system.

Unlike him.

A teeny corner of her brain noted that one separate blue flashing light behind her was now getting closer. Fast. Headlights were blaring towards her, rapidly overhauling her slow purr.

Her pulse jumped. Maybe she was going to get arrested. Maybe she already had a record. Stealing motorbikes. Speeding. Seriously dangerous driving, breaking toll barriers and now evading arrest. These wolves were a bad influence.

Gemma pushed her foot down on the gas pedal again, and the eager car sprinted off, wind whistling through holes in the cobweb windshield pulling tears from her eyes.

Tell them I love them; that was so inadequate. The tears weren't only from the wind.

He replied softly: They know you love them, picchu. I told them that we brought Xavi and Erik and Hakan as backup, but Hakan's been shot and you have to -."

Mac was interrupted as the phone clicked in, and Kate's incredulous words suddenly echoed around the car: "Well damn, girl: how many hot macho new friends have you got?"

Bethan's voice could be heard calling urgently in the background: "I want an invite!"

Gemma dissolved into tearful laughter.

*

Three hours later, Mac swayed slowly up the street towards home, his shoulders hunched, defeated weariness seeping through him. He had no idea whether the nauseous Grey had suspected that he was being tailed; maybe the damn cunning wolf habitually left a guard on that bridge to delay any pursuit.

Tonight's guard had been powerful, cunning, and desperate.

So desperate.

The Mackeld shuddered as he remembered the shock of the realisation when his adversary had tumbled over the parapet. He had suspected on previous attempted pursuits that the ex-Greys he or his Whites had been sight-tailing had been ordered to die once their tracker was detected - probably detected by another damn invisible, scentless Grey wolf lurking en route. However, tonight he had had clear proof that the strong Grey wolf he had been fighting his way past had preferred - welcomed the splintering freedom of falling in front of a truck on the highway, instead of returning to his hated leader. It had been his choice.

In his last moment, the falling wolf had sent a wild pulse of thanks to the Alpha for fighting him to this freedom, conveying during that split second of free thought when Grey released him before the truck cannoned sickeningly into his falling body and then churned over him. Wild relief at the freedom of death.

Poor human drivers - it had even been in their news, the rash of deaths of timber wolves on the roads upstate over the beginning of the fall.

Mac's heart was dull, drained. He should have fought the burly wolf to a standstill and made him circle, not wasted more time trying to pass him to follow Grey, who had once more disappeared. Another wasted life. He let out a rough hiss of anger as he put his foot on the bottom doorstep, guilt twisting inside him.

Then suddenly his nose twitched, the fine hairs along his skin raised and he lifted his head, eyes alert.

Luke and Xavi stepped out of the front door to greet him, and he could sense the buried amusement in both koiru. Hakan was back at his home, with Penny and their cubs, sleeping into health. Erik, Bethan and Kate were up in Redfield with the Johnsons; the humans held overnight for medical observation.

But Gemma was home.

Mac's skin shuddered, a tremor easing his tension. His eyes began to gleam, and a light tingle stroked along his spine while he absorbed the faint scent of his favourite food wafting from the house with his mate's guards. Luke closed the door and made the all clear sign. The lean young warrior was trying to keep a straight face.

What was his little picchu up to? The Alpha's frown lightened as his mind reached out, diverted.

Both his warriors jumped down the steps past him to head to their own dens, laughing together and shooting him pleased little glances from the corners of their eyes. Mac nodded acknowledgement to them, soothed by the relaxed approval, the companionship in their scent. He could feel the weary wolf inside him shaking out the sadness, the stiffness, limbering up and stretching, pleased.

His mate had set up a special welcome for him.

He was exhausted; his mind was reeling with the need to eat and collapse and grab what little sleep he could. But the wolf was rising in excitement. This might be just what he needed to relax.

The green sparkles began to dance in his eyes.

Mac stepped into the hallway, and closed the front door behind him, eyes sweeping around while his mood lightened further.

The food scent was much stronger here. And there was also the soft scent of wax - the house was lit only by candles, multitudes of little flickering tea-lights dancing shadows against the walls, teasing at the darkness, warming the air.

Best of all was the scent of his mate. He could taste the tentative playfulness perfuming the air.

The brightening green eyes zoomed in on the lightly steaming cube of marinated roast chicken sitting on a folded piece of kitchen paper on the wide oak bannister post at the foot of the stairs, beside a little saucer of satay sauce. Mac's lips twitched, mouth watering, and he relaxed into the wolf.

His nose quivered as he absorbed the scent of hundreds of the succulent cubes, scattered around this floor, the fragrance of meat and sauce pervading every room, every corner. Disguising other scents. Muffling her scent.

Hah. He had had a lot of practice in hunting wolves with indistinct scent recently. His fur ruffled to alertness, pleasure stroking down his spine and his limbs shuddered lightly in releasing tension.

Silently, Mac prowled forwards, his blood beginning to purr, keeping ears, eyes and nose out for an ambush. Not that he would mind.

He pronged the cube with a claw, twirled it in the sauce and savoured it melting on his tongue. Delicious. He tried to pinpoint where her latest trail led, underneath the pervasive peanut fragrance, but she'd obviously sprinted repeatedly all over the house just before he returned. Cunning little mate.

His nose twitched again.

There was another piece of his starter upstairs, sitting on the post where the bannister curved around the corner.

And one downstairs, on the bottom step.

Cautiously, he sent out a brief thought to see if he could glimpse where she was, but she was solidly shielded. Hiding from him. He could feel the instinctive call to find his mate beginning to stir his blood.

A feral little smile lit his lips, and Mac bounded silently up the stairs to his second piece of chicken, enjoying the rich taste on his tongue as he breathed in deeply, assessing, trying to get a hint of her whereabouts. His whole body was quivering in anticipation, arousal tingling through him, feeling the wolf's pleasure in the little hunt.

He would have to remember to thank her for this properly.

In his own way.

A whispering click of a small object bouncing down the steps to the basement made his ears twitch and he smiled, but he was too old a hand to be caught by a trick like that; he had heard the faint whisper of the pebble rolling along something else above his head, some chute channelling it to reach the centre of the stairwell before it fell.

Quietly, quietly, he began to ghost the rest of his way upstairs, avoiding the three steps which creaked.

Stepping over one of the weak steps, underneath the pervasive scent of meat, peanut and spices, his nose caught a whiff of balloon just as his descending foot touched something soft, inflated; he held his breath as he froze. Gently, trembling, straining to hold his weight steady across the gap, Mac extended the claws of his suspended foot into the wooden stair rise, and just managed to adjust his weight and remove his limb without allowing any weight to press on the object. It was too large and flat to be a balloon - must be one of those human trick things that farted when you sat on it. He laughed silently. He would really have to trail-train his picchu; she would enjoy it, and she was inventive.

This also probably meant he was on the right track.

There were a lot of other dishes perfuming the first floor; at least one in every room. Mac felt his stomach tighten in recognition, his mouth moistening further.

All of his favourites; mmm. His heart melted beating slightly faster as he absorbed the scents, and he felt a rush of feeling aching through him, lifting the fur across his shoulders, pounding through his blood.

He loved her too.

Silently, carefully, he stole out onto the landing, lifting up the spring roll perched next to a different sauce on the bannister rail up to the attic, savouring the rich taste. There were a lot of mouth-watering scents emanating from upstairs also.

In fact, she'd filled the house with them.

Good girl.

Lying curled on top of the wardrobe in their bedroom, Gemma watched in glee, breathing as quietly as she could while Mac, after a brief glance around the door, turned and prowled silently on up the stairs.

Her Mac. His eyes had been clear, and glowing, alight with pleasure shining through the tiredness. Her internal wolf had been right, however ridiculous she had thought the wild urge: even after the day he'd had, maybe because of the day he'd had, her wolfmate needed to play, to relax before bed.

She waited, barely breathing, until he turned at the bend in the steps, then silently reached to heave herself up by his pull-up bar above the door and lower herself until her toes touched the stool she'd left just to the side inside the doorway. Her arms ached. Dammit. Better add pull-ups to her daily routine if she was so feeble.

Trying to keep her breathing steady, the excited wereem slid onto her back on the white bedcover, easily visible from the door, and reached for the wrapped present she'd left on the bedside table, resting it gently on her taut, naked stomach.

She flipped over the large cardboard label so that the message would be visible to anyone approaching, a little smile playing on her lips. Then, heart jumping in excitement, she inserted her feet into the soft slip-knot scarves she'd tied to the lower bedposts, and pulled them tight, securing her ankles.

She got to play too.

Her breath was short little pants of excitement as she carefully fed her wrists into the second set of loops above her head, and she felt a rush of lust moisten her tight inner passage. She was finally going to do this, Mr Wolf. All he needed was the right encouragement.

She pulled the slip knots tight, a smug little smile on her face.

Then she tugged at the bonds about her wrists, checking their security. The wash of smug lust was suddenly overwhelmed by a crash of splintering claustrophobia, and she gasped open her mouth, a choked whimper of a gulp escaping from a throat suddenly taut with terror, the inner wolf scrambling for control and yanking, hauling at the bonds in desperation, feeling the panic rocketing out of control.

The black fog swept over just as a terrified yelp escaped and she silently shouted a frantic Mac!, eyes turned piteously toward the doorway, begging him to appear. Simultaneously, she felt a breath of air on her naked skin, the bonds at her wrists parted with a flash of claws in the dancing candlelight, and she almost screamed in fear and relief, crashing back into herself realising that her wolf had landed beside her through the open window opposite the doorway. He had known where she was all along. His outline blurred with the speed at which he folded himself around her on the bed, slashing apart the scarves binding her ankles with his feet while he pulled her violently trembling form into a warm hug on top of him.

Don't do that again.

The order was blistering. Gemma shook her head in frantic agreement, fingers clutching at him, pressing her face hard into his chest, shivering uncontrollably, the dread still draining through her limbs.

He rolled them over and twisted her straight underneath him, hands clasped either side of her face as he plastered her to the mattress with his hard, quivering frame and tilted her head to make her look up into those scorching black eyes, angry scent burning her throat.

Do you hear me? Mac demanded caustically.

"I'm sorry," whispered Gemma, still trembling in the aftermath of the terror, rocked by how deep, unstoppable it had been. "I won't."

"That was such a stupid thing to do," he cursed.

"I'm sorry," she murmured again.

Mac grimaced, angry black eyes shooting sparks. "Did you not believe what I told you?" he snapped.

Gemma felt her already pounding blood lifting in a light shimmer of irritation. She had said sorry; he didn't need to belabour the point. Trying to hang on to a thread of diplomacy, she licked her lips. "I have known me a lot longer than you have," she rumbled back.

Mac wasn't bothering with his wording, "I've known wolves a hell of a lot longer than you have, Gemma. That was just plain idiocy. I told you."

Her eyes narrowed up at him. "Yeah, well, maybe I get tired of being told what to do all the time," she growled.

Her mate just glared down at her, swirling eyes unreadable, but she could feel, smell the heat of anger beating higher off him. And then she recognised the fear underneath it.

Oops.

"I fantasise all the time about you tying me up," Gemma's voice softened, becoming a little faint, hoarse, as she tried to explain. "Being at your mercy." Then she growled exasperatedly into the seething silence, "And I love it when you hold me down - why don't I panic when you do that?"

A little green swirl shot through the black, and Mac's expression became slightly less forbidding.

"Because the wolf side trusts me," he replied brusquely.

Then he rolled away and pulled himself wearily to his feet beside the bed, standing with his back to her as he stared out into the night, shoulders drooping tiredly; he massaged his fingers across his scalp, down his forehead, pinching the bridge of his nose. Mac looked so tired.

Gemma's heart melted, sorrow rushing through her, dissolving the burgeoning anger. She'd wanted to lift that bone-deep weariness, lift the burdens for a while. Instead she'd added to them.

Tears sprang into her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Mac. I promise I won't do that again," she said sadly, and sighed, closing her eyes on more tears. "Talk about killing a mood."