Pawn Among Wolves Ch. 10

Long hours later, Gemma sat on her own half way up the curving hillock dotted with trees in the centre of the park. She was watching the many battle-weary but contented adult wolves weaving a little painfully back and forth around the pond at the foot. The adults were gently circling among the crowd of uneasy, half-awake cubs, stepping carefully over the sleeping ones, nuzzling some. Each adult left the pond-side with a pair of youngsters frisking, sleepily complaining, or trotting silently, wearily at their tail. The four-legged forms of adults and cubs blended smokily with the darkness and the light mist floating under the dim light of the stars. A distant streetlight at the entrance to the park reminded Gemma that they were in the centre of the city, but her nose assured her that there were no humans close enough to witness this strange assembly.

The news filtered into her mind, she could catch stray thoughts flying between the wolves below like echoes of shouts, keeping her ears twitching. The thoughts were overlaid with layer upon layer of emotion, and the light breeze also carried their scents to her, laden with half-understood meaning.

There was a thickness of seething anger because neither the Marsh nor the Mackeld had gotten close enough to stop Grey getting away, and Nicolas had ripped Johnson badly when the aging Alpha had attempted to hold him. Sadness at the three cubs lost, but pride that the others were now free. Deep revulsion and guilt at the horrors perpetrated on the wolves freed from the deepest rooms, the torture chambers and the whoring dungeons. The chained inmates had stunk of blood and pain and human seed, or had had that disquieting lack of scent and hard-chilled flesh which indicated the presence of silver.

Karim Marsh - the wolves who had found him were nauseous. He had been steam-hammered onto a bed of silver spikes by an industrial carpet press, Grey testing his latest implement of torture just before he fled, to avenge himself on the Marsh. Karim was still clinging to life, and his physician was fighting to remove enough of the shards that he could heal, without bleeding to death, while his father was straining to feed him enough shiele to keep his heart pumping and halt the bleeding. But his natalí still had not recovered consciousness, a bad sign.

It was unbelievable that one wolf do such things to another.

Why had they not listened to the Mackeld?

Deepest was the hollow disquiet in those who had seen the chemical factories underneath the vast complex, and the live experimentees. Revolted incredulity was raging, seething through them. How could a wolf do that to his own pack? But the shudder of repugnance and nausea was tempered by a steely resolve: they had stopped it. It would stop, never be allowed further. Grey would no longer be abusing his drug-and-blood fettered wolves, or manufacturing his potions and poisons; they had captured the formulae, too. They would destroy them. And destroy him, as soon as they found his final bolthole, and -.

Natasha Vanilchov.

The Aster wolves winced away from remembering the raw, grief-stricken, explosion of guilty rage when the Vanilchov Alpha had found out the truth about his natalí. She was not here, she was hidden elsewhere, not one of the Grey wolves knew where. It had taken the Marsh, the Mackeld, the Silback and the wounded Johnson to restrain the powerful wolf, and shock at the sight of their Alpha losing control like that was still shivering across the skin of his pack.

A shudder of sad guilt traced across Gemma's skin. Nick had escaped; she so hoped that the Vanilchov sjeste wouldn't pay for the events of tonight. The toppling of Nicolas Grey's powerbase, which she and Jasmine had precipitated.

She remained sitting on her haunches, ears alert, and tail tucked around her, slightly wary of the powerful, graceful creatures as she watched them pass back and forth at the base of the hill. She felt as though she didn't really belong, like a stranger amongst a party of close friends, unsure of her welcome. Out of place. But neither did she want to leave; contrarily she felt connected, safe, a bond with these creatures.

Plus she didn't have any clothes.

When she had first arrived in the park she had shifted into a wolf - a loup - instinctively, without conscious thought, in order to reassure and nuzzle the melee of tired, excited, scared four-legged cubs trembling around her under the low bushes by the pond. She had realised as soon as she did so that all the cubs had instinctively shifted for warmth, their thick wolf pelts easily keeping out the slightly damp night.

In her furry, four-legged form, she had had no clothing. She now remembered standing on ripped denim after she'd shifted involuntarily, when that first tiny cub had whined plaintively, shivering against her. And ducking swiftly out of her loose, in-the-way jacket and T. Her underwear had also been annoyingly constrictive, and she'd soon ripped it off with her teeth. The cubs had helped.

Later, she had noticed many scraps of denim and soft cotton being used in tug-o-war by various of her charges, but had been too frazzled and freaked out at having to suddenly babysit hundreds of wolf cubs to really register what they were playing with.

Doh.

She'd also been worried. What would she do if some enemy found them? She couldn't fight a wolf as a human. And she couldn't seem to walk more than a wobble as a wolf, sorry loup. She had to learn.

The cubs had found it hilarious, watching her efforts to walk, and then, as she grew slightly less incompetent on her four tangling feet, to run. The majority of them had thought that it was a fantastic game, and had joined in cheekily copying her, running circles around her, or playing dare by trying to dash across in front of her embarrassingly inept lope without tripping her, or being licked in the face by her long wet tongue. The ones she managed to catch had squealed disgustedly at the wet slurp she had dealt out.

Annoying. She had seen Marsh shift wolf with his clothing disappearing with him, and he had originally shifted to human from wolf, sorry, loup, with his clothing appearing on him. Later she had seen Mac do it too, and Jasmine.

But right now, it looked like she was stuck in four-legged form, or stark naked in a park in the middle of Medway.

Bother.

So Gemma sat on the grassy hillside as a wolf, watching the wolves below trotting backwards and forwards among the sleepy cubs, hoping that Mac or Jasmine or even Marsh would appear.

Someone she would feel slightly less of an idiot asking.

The huge, frosty-coloured male was standing at the foot of her hill in the centre of the remaining cubs. He was obviously directing matters; the others adults approached and received a look, or a twitch of the ears, before weaving among the young pups and sniffing noses, nuzzling ears.

A few of the tired, torn and bloodstained adults curved immediately, without instruction, towards one specific pair of youngsters and had to hush echoing yips of joy as their offspring pounced on them in delight, or whiny complaints when they nudged tired children awake and into motion. Gemma felt her ears curving back in a smile as she watched a nearby set of four or five-year-olds tumbling ecstatically over and around their parent, trying to obey his gruff coughs for silence as they bounced up to nip under his jaw, quivering with joy when he nuzzled them affectionately and licked their small ears.

She also thought she had caught a glimpse of Ada, limping three-legged out of the darkness at the far side of the dwindling circle of cubs, but the mother wolf had disappeared again even as Gemma had risen to her feet to see better. Two exhausted little cubs had wobbled at her heels, and the mother wolf had been too intent on nuzzling them along and licking them over to look around. Besides, Gemma had never seen Ada as a wolf. But for some reason she was sure it had been her.

When the last pair of cubs had been settled with an adult and stumbled off into the darkness, the tall, frosty-coloured leader turned and looked at the lone female sitting on the hillside, the slight, rising breeze ruffling his fur towards her. His ears tilted towards her in query.

What did he want?

A number of other adults were appearing out of the darkness, hunting around in the bushes, settling wearily into places not taken by the families for what remained of the night. Others congregated by the edge of the pond and took long drinks before beginning to clean their fur and teeth, licking gently over closing wounds.

The frosty wolf ducked his head and began to advance gently towards Gemma, body swaying slightly in welcome, head tilted to one side. Gemma relaxed a little at the smile in his eyes as he approached, and she stood up, dropping her own head slightly, curving her back and shoulders into a wary arch as she looked up at him. He seemed friendly.

He slowed his trot a few paces away, halted, and then carefully reached his nose forwards. Gemma found herself responding automatically, extending her own nose and sniffing the warm, male scent of his breath against her nostrils. The hair on her back began to sink slightly at the lack of threat in his musk, and then a different ripple flowed along her skin as he circled carefully around toward her hindquarters, nose leading.

Eeeek. She knew that dogs sniffed each others' privates, but - oh no. She had the feeling that this was going to be way too intrusive. But would it be rude to back off? There were now another ten or twenty adult wolves down by the pond, relaxing together, some looking on as the big one approached her hindquarters. But his musk was getting stronger, more pungent, making her skin shudder sharply with the knowledge that this powerful wolf had spent half the night fighting, his blood was still coursing richly in his veins, and the warrior was now hoping for some recreation.

His rising musk told her that he liked her scent.

As he approached her wary, quivering form from behind, a wash of lust crashed over Gemma, clouding her mind into a fog of heated images of being mounted, mated, pinned under the heavy weight of the wolf and rutted hard. Her legs trembled and head sank. The searing remembrance of the heavy weight of her mate atop her melted through her limbs, immobilising her with longing, mind lost in memories of the sensation of being ridden by the wolf, feeling him lunging powerfully within her.

Out of the corner of her eyes she barely registered the big frosty wolf being catapulted in a tumble back past her, down toward the water. The warning snarl echoing in the air sounded muffled in her ringing ears as the heavy, graceful white figure of the new arrival halted his charge a few paces past Gemma. His scent was drowning her in shuddering, trembling lust, the rich, deep, haunting, pulling musk liquefying her body. The quivering in her limbs and begging whine in her head deepened when Mac dismissed the other, head-bowing wolf from his mind and swung around to face Gemma, his scent breaking over her anew. She reeled under the cresting, melting sensation.

Here he was.

The fire was already raging through her blood, a conflagration of lust, of begging, of deep, painful need igniting in every pore as his fiery doft melted through her. Mac radiated power and prowess, fierce tumults and victory - hunger - and Gemma's head dipped further under the weight of her answering lust. She was swaying, swallowing each fresh wave which crashed over her, swamping her body. Every hair trembled delicately to alert, aroused. Moisture oozed, rich and ready through her core.

She knew his scent, felt it burning through every pore of her. Yet even on the rut she had never known it to be this compelling, this intoxicating. Smooth, rich, overwhelming. Male. She could feel the lingering adrenaline burning through him, the rush of life, battle, every nerve and muscle humming at full, peak power. Triumphant male. Alpha.

Lustful Alpha.

Gemma was almost sinking to the ground under the tremble caused by his presence, the sense of him. The awareness of his burning, urgent desire was paralysing her, her skin tightening painfully in answering, begging want, head down, waiting, writhing inwardly while he softly prowled closer, circling her nearer, and nearer still. He scented her fur, and looked over her proudly where she stood, head down and trembling, awaiting him. His mate.

Feather-light, almost undetectable, his fur brushed against her shoulder, shuddering across her senses. His tall, powerful frame dwarfed her quivering form, and the awareness of him standing beside her, looking down at her trembling figure, teased unbearable urgency across her pelt in tightening, deepening lust, burned into her senses. Her enticing, pungent moisture flowed more swiftly, coating her in her own need. She couldn't lift her head. She was in meltdown, powerless, waiting in breathless, glowing lust. It was all she could do to hold her limbs steady enough to remain on her feet.

But she knew that that was how he would prefer to mount her.

Soon. Please, oh god, please, Mac, soon.

The sound of his soft, deep breathing, growing deeper, knotted the unbearable heat in her belly, knowledge of his lust shuddering across her skin. Please, Mac. She was sinking under the exquisite, excruciating need. His hardening desire poured down over her, increasing the flow of tight, wet want melting through her passage, trickling down from her entrance. She could feel her tail lifting in silent appeal as he bent his head to snuffle delicately at her neck.

The lust in his fiery musk intensified when he pushed his nose deeper into her fur and sharply inhaled the scent of her. Mac began to stroke his nose lovingly through her ruff, sliding his neck against hers, twining his nose down to nuzzle against her cheek . Then he was prowling around to her rear, gliding his body along her flank, marking his mate with his musk. He could feel her tremble increasing to a boneless, endless shudder, feel his aching cock tighten unbearably to the feel of her body against his, her scent melting into his nose. His little mate.

He circled back to her head and gently licked her nose, looking down at her bent head, waiting for those soft brown eyes to melt up into his. Yes. Like that. The burning, pleading look in her eyes tightened his skin unbearably, making his cock throb painfully, and he leaned lightly against her quivering frame as he prowled back along her other flank, slowly, maintaining the contact, and then abruptly pushed his nose under her raised tail into her wet scent, breathing in, savouring the hot musk of her shuddering, melting readiness.

He began to lap gently, delicately, nudging her softly with his shoulder to keep her upright when her hind legs almost buckled under the sensation. His mind began to cloud over at the delicious savour of her, the ferocious urgency cresting in him as he tasted her want.

Gemma was shuddering, swaying on her feet, mind flitting through clouds of lust as his tongue flickered, light and skilled and oh so tantalising, delicious, unbearable, over her engorged, needful pussy lips. But her lust was also cooling under the tingle of alarm shimmering in her head, and her mind was resurfacing, unsettled. She was seething with lust, but - she had seen his eyes. The sadness in their depths. Deep, deep sadness, beneath the hot, burning lust. His breath was rippling against her wet pussy, tongue teasing, probing, scorching desire through her, but she was haunted by that sadness. Mac was sad that she was a wolf. Wereem.

An effortless leap, and suddenly he was over her, on her, his open jaws sliding over her bent neck from above to hold her steady while she almost sank under the weight of the huge paws that landed briefly on her shoulders before sliding down in front of her own forelegs. His thick cock was pulsing hard, deliciously against her wet slit, and her mind sank momentarily back out of focus, swamped under the tide of begging lust.

But she could scent it in his musk, too. The knowledge tightened on her skin. He was sad that she was a werewolf. That she was going to go insane. He was going to fuck, claim his little picchu as a wolf sadly.

Like hell he was.

An electric impulse shocked through Gemma at the realisation, and without thought she jerked her head and shoulders backwards, sideways, twisting free of his open jaws with her body bent almost double, and sprinted out from under him, snorting hard.

She bounded unsteadily up the hillside above him a little way, then spun on wobbly legs to face her startled, puzzled mate. At his concerned expression, she dropped her forearms to the ground, pressed her head down onto her paws, and peered naughtily back at him with her back legs straight, bottom shimmying in little circles high in the air and her tail arched so that her rich doft melted into the night.

Come and get it.

A gasp of disbelief, shock had sounded through the crowd when they'd seen the female break clear of the Mackeld just as he had been about to mount her. Now she heard a few low snickers of laughter as they took in her playful attitude. But teasing an Alpha?

Shit, the crowd. How could she have forgotten that they had an audience? A burn of embarrassment curled over Gemma's skin even under the fur, and she shot Mac a look. It was his fault that she had been so distracted.

He didn't seem to care a jot. Her mate was more intent on pacing slowly towards her.

Oh-oh. She knew that gleam in his eye.

Good. Not being so gloomy now, are you Mr Wolf?

Suddenly he pounced towards her impossibly quickly, and her heart pulsed hard in excitement while she dove ineptly off to the left, down the hill.

No chance. He was upon her before she got one pace, a paw ahead of her stopping her forward momentum while he carefully sank his weight over her, pushing her gently into the grass and rubbing his groin in teasing little circles against her buttocks, mimicking her taunting movement of only moments ago, his erect, throbbing cock nudging against the wet, overflowing entrance to her pussy.

Oh.

My.

She melted under him, feeling her passage clenching around emptiness, and then suddenly he was upright, off her, weight gone, scent gone.

Bereft, she whined, twisting to her feet, and was just turning her nose toward him questioningly when she felt a large paw pat her buttocks, A little encouraging pat to get her moving.

Eyes incredulous, then slowly beginning to gleam with fire, she stared into his. Read the playful gleam over the lust, the clear message, "You wanted to play." He was quivering lightly, waiting for her to move. Daring her.

Alright then.

She feinted to the left, and dove right this time, but didn't get two paces before he rolled her in a tumble, ending up in the same position as before although slightly more flattened to the ground, with her body begging in melting, desperate lust as he gently teased his erect cock along the length of her wet slit. Oh please.

Dammit. Hadn't Jasmine warned her about challenging an Alpha?

Then his weight was removed, and she sighed, and just lay with her head in the grass, pondering. She knew she couldn't outrun him, not as wobbly on these new legs as she was. And she was not streaking human through the park, however dark it was. But if she could sidle to the bushes or the pond, maybe she could play a few tricks.

Another pat on her bottom. She would really have to talk to him about doing that in public. Although - absently, she noted that the other wolves had all dispersed. There wasn't a single one in sight. Thankfully.