Pawn Among Wolves Ch. 12

Gemma felt a flicker of the blank rage, and pulled away from that train of thought,

To distract herself, Gemma put down her mug of tea on the counter beside her and bent to lift the happy little redhead up onto her lap, sucking the last of the flavour from the child's fingers, careful not to scratch her with her teeth. Rowan's natál Skye rushed across the kitchen and began to scramble up from the opposite side, jealous. Soon Gemma had two small infants struggling to push each other off her knees, and sighed, smiling ruefully across at their mother as she kept either from succeeding, her heart lightening.

Then she bent forward and mock glared into Rowan's face, "Who put you up to giving me that stupid order?" she growled. The little girl gurgled and put her fingers back into Gemma's mouth, beaming, forgetting her fight with her brother as Gemma slurped noisily on them.

"Wath up too-ni!" the small cub repeated happily. Skye laughed, and pushed his own sticky fingers in between Gemma's lips, first one hand, and then another. Gemma reared backward, pulling away when it became a fight between the siblings as to who could get more fingers into her mouth, and coughed, mind revolving over the short sentence.

The trouble was, as Gemma had discovered on other occasions, despite the fact that the words were practically incoherent, her brain knew perfectly well what the child meant and would obey accordingly. Mac had initiated this practice, requesting of Penny that she ensure that her child gave the wereem one verbal order per day: not to do something which she particularly enjoyed, nor something she would find repugnant or unreasonable. Gemma's job was to try to withstand the order. Most of them so far had been along the lines of "Stand up", "Sit down", "Open door", "Make toast", and other innocuous commands. This one was new territory.

"You guys always do the washing up," protested Gemma, staring around the circle of wolves spread around the kitchen, steadying the swaying twins who were standing on her thighs to try to reach her mouth again, ducking her head away from their seeking fingers as they giggled. "I'm busy working!"

"During the day, yes," agreed Ada evenly, lifting one of her own wriggling, whining cubs down onto the floor so that the little puppy could chase after the toy car which five-year-old Fabian had sent spinning across the floor. By day the house was now a bizarre cross between a pristine laboratory and a chaotic child-and-puppy crèche, with a wall of wolf warriors planted across the top of the stairs to prevent accidental crossover. Gemma spent most of her clear minded days in the lab with Ada as her assistant, although they frequently ventured out into the chaos for short breaks.

"But we couldn't help but notice that when we arrive every morning, it is always the Alpha's scent on the bottle, the brush, the washed-up crockery, and the dishtowels."

"And he works all day too, very hard, both looking after the Mackelds, and trying to locate and head off more of us, sometimes over several days on the trot. It is thanks to the Alpha that so many of us are now safe," continued Rowan's father Hakan as he walked in the door.

Apparently, Mac's new pack members were not Mackeld wolves, because the first of them had been too far away to convey and amalgamate with the rest of the Mackeld pack when they had circled, and now that the gensis was stronger there were too many of them, too large a force to do so. So they had formed a new pack of their own, separately on the other side of the continent. Two packs with a common Alpha; an exceedingly rare occurrence, but not unheard of.

Valerie had warned her that it would be a severe strain on the Alpha, as there would be times when both packs pulled at him from opposite directions. All members of one pack could sense each other, the gensis built through family and friendship ties, proximity, and the Alpha, and so they avoided draining him, sensing automatically when there were too many demands on his strength. But two distinct packs at such a distance had no awareness of each other, and so would overload him with their separate needs. Gemma was worried, seeing the growing strain on Mac, but she didn't know how to help, and couldn't see a way out. He wouldn't, couldn't abandon either pack.

Gemma focussed distractedly on the stocky wolf who had followed Hakan through the door, a frown on her face. Erik was also scowling at the tow-headed boy who was dancing from foot to foot in the space between the table and the door, waving his toy in the air tauntingly just above the reach of the tiny wolf puppy leaping to try to bite it. "Give Alexandra the car, Fabian," growled his father. "I told you before that if you tormented her with it I'd make you hand it over."

Over the plaintive, protesting squawks of Fabian, Hakan said to his Alfamme, "We thought - and rightly so, we notice, that the wolf within you would not get angry at an order to do what your own conscience should be prompting you into anyway."

Gemma glowered up at her chief bodyguard, her mouth opening to deliver a cutting argument about all the other hard work she did around the house once Mac shooed the Whites out when he got home.

She shut it again. Dammit. Damn wolf noses. They knew who did what, the scent-trails were plastered over the house. And maybe she was leaving the lion's share of the boring housework to Mac. It bothered him more; she was happy to leave the washing up for the troops when they arrived in the morning; he complained that the scent got up his nose and he couldn't sleep.

A flicker of guilt crunched in her stomach. Damn the Whites. But he didn't have to insist that they leave the instant evening fell when he was home. A slightly wolfish grin teased at her lips. Mac wanted her to himself. Gemma didn't exactly mind. And they were both more relaxed without the constant ceremony.

Whites was her own name for the new pack; partly because they were ex-Grey, but mainly because of the colour of their Alpha's beautiful loup pelt. They loved the name, and had adopted it proudly.

Although right now there were other things she wanted to call the senior White. He seemed to have caught far too much smug-and-dictatorial taint from his new Alpha.

Gemma took a gulp of tea, her mutinous mutter, "I make the toast," almost lost under a wail from Fabian at the inevitable fate of his toy and the metallic scrunch from the floor. Hakan bent quickly to extract the mangled two halves of the car from the jaws of the puppy at his feet, retorting sarcastically as he licked his bleeding finger, "Well, and if you can break the order like you're supposed to, you will be able to maintain your current exhausting share of the housework, my Alfamme."

Wherever had she got the stupid idea that pack members were sycophantic yes-men?

"I'm going back to work," she replied with as much dignity as she could gargle around the small fingers that had sneaked into her mouth again, without inadvertently biting them. Then she replaced the cubs on the floor and her mug on the sideboard before stalking past her two bodyguards out of the kitchen.

As Rowan and Skye were now clinging to her cotton-clad legs, standing giggling on the moving platforms of her stiffened feet in the stupid game she'd instigated two days ago, it was a little difficult.

However, they jumped off at the top of the stairs without argument. The wolf cubs' obedience to certain rules always impressed her.

"Macmillan?" called the old waiter Mohmed as he sped between the tables scattered outside his restaurant. He smiled broadly at the tall, powerful man walking swiftly past the bistro, on up the street.

Then the Asian's eyes darted from Mac to the empty place beside him and he made a rueful moue, remarking, "But where is your lovely lady? You are surely not permitting her to work this late again?"

Mac managed to curl his lips upward, but he was aware that the smile didn't leach the sombre light at the back of his eyes.

The trouble was, he was finding it harder to hold onto his own emotions as the days passed. Four days now. She'd never been lost to him for this long before, and he could feel the fear creeping under his skin, the slow, insidious chill freezing his blood, curling into his heart, debilitating him. She had seemed better since the Whites had joined them. In between. But the rage, though it hit less frequently now, was noticeably stronger, and lasted longer.

What if she didn't resurface?

Not able to push a word out past the tightness in his throat, Mac just shook his head, walking swiftly on toward home. Toward Gemma.

"Tell her hello from me," the waiter called softly after him.

Mac nodded curtly back at Mohmed before turning the corner, still unable to smile. He wanted to get back to her.

The Alpha loped swiftly up the next street.

"Hey, man, where's your wee Gemma? I haven't seen her for days, not sick is she?" Mini, the owner of the corner shop greeted him as he strode swiftly past under the setting sun.

Four days, Mac thought again.

He shook his tawny head, eyes opaque, and brushed past the voluble lady, "I'll come around with a cup of my camomile tea," offered Mini, "It'll make her well, you'll see."

They were all so kind. They seemed to love her too - after only the few short weeks that they had been here. Every second she was herself, his mate was so vibrant, joyous, focussed on enjoying life to the full and sharing her joy. Lovable. Loving. Loving him most of all. It was as though she wanted, needed to cram all of life into her respites between the increasingly lengthy rages.

Mac's heart was burning as he swiftly wove his way through the lively evening crowds out in the streets, back to their home.

Would she be herself when he returned? She had occasionally broken out of it when alone, but much more often when he was there.

He met the eyes of Samuel as he turned the corner and started up the worn steps to the front door. The human sentinel made no sign, but gathered the few coins out of his upturned hat, and pulled himself wearily up off the walkway, preparing to leave. Mac didn't know where the man lived, or what he did with the money he earned guarding Gemma, but he knew who he could trust. After their fight, when Mac had tracked Samuel down to thank him that night after the human had dragged him off the road, he had the offered his defeated opponent a job, and the human had become fiercely, staunchly, and somewhat sarcastically loyal. He had guarded the house scrupulously for the four days that Mac had first been absent, tracking down Hakan and his cub.

The small, short-haired mongrel at the human's feet watched the Alpha unblinkingly, quivering with eagerness while Mac fitted a key in the outer lock and turned it. As he stepped into the hallway, Mac glanced back at the dog, the skin over his cheekbones tightening as his eyes widened slightly.

A slight smile appeared in his thoughts as from the corner of his eye he saw the mutt melt down in delight at the message. His picchu had made him talk to them, initially, and some of them had proved deeply loyal, useful sentinels. The strays, the mongrels who congregated around them at a respectful distance whenever they ate down at the waterfront, or went for a wander together. Gemma had pointed out that according to many of the texts Valerie had found for her to read, she was a pet also. He degraded himself to speak to one kind, so why not another?

He smiled a little sadly as he remembered her delighted teasing in the face of his violent objection to her classification of herself as a pet. And the coaxing for him to buy her a collar and leash, when they had passed one of the sex shops down by the harbour. He was still refusing. A small smile tilted his mouth. He liked the ways she tried to persuade him.

His picchu.

Hakan touched his fingertips together in the sign of fealty as Mac stepped into the house, and the White warrior conveyed All quiet, then brushed past his Alpha to leave for his own lodging. Mac preferred his nights alone with his mate, no matter what state of mind she was in.

The Alpha extended his awareness, gently seeking stray thoughts behind the basement door at the foot of the steps. He didn't convey directly, because if she was only asleep or still, the touch on her mind often fuelled the rage.

Nothing.

His green eyes were sombre, flecked with dull black, and his skin prickling in dread, muscles tensing while he silently walked down the corridor toward the head of the stairs leading to her chamber. He descended silently and listened carefully outside the door for long, long still minutes, but could neither hear nor sense any movement. Carefully, slowly, he leant his weight on the heavy door, forcing it open a crack, and listened again, perfectly still. She had ambushed him before.

Nothing.

His nose twitched, absorbing the scent of her, the curl of recognition purring down his spine, and he felt something deep inside him relax slightly. She was across the room.

Silent as a wolf he slipped into the gap he forced wider, checked her position, then slowly forced the door to the open position, the almost indiscernible clunk of the internal metal bar locking into place the only sound of his entrance. The werewolf still twitched at the noise, a tense shiver running through her.

Mac straightened and stood still, leaning back against the wall by the door, a gentle smile lighting his eyes. There was a little heap of dark fur lying curled in a protective ball in the patch of fading sunlight from the high window. She was twitching gently, her breathing shallow, light. She was asleep. But not deeply, her senses were still on high alert.

Asleep. Finally.

The smile spread to his lips, his face lighting softly.

Slowly, soundlessly, Mac sank on his haunches, his back to the wall, peaceful eyes resting on his songmate.

He loved watching this.

He waited.

First, the twitching lessened in frequency. Her breathing deepened, and became less erratic, gentler. Then he watched as her fingers: tight, tense claws when he arrived, slowly unfurled and relaxed, softening into sleep. Her breathing deepened further into a steady, peaceful rhythm and she sighed contentedly, unconscious, rolling onto her back, limbs unwinding.

Asleep, and insane, his picchu knew his scent. At some deep, primal level, she knew who he was. That she was now safe.

Mac smiled again as he lifted silently back to his feet, stepping carefully, soundlessly closer, and sank into a crouch beside her, looking down into her relaxed features. She was a beautiful little wolf, the short dark hair across her cheekbones making her seem even more delicate.

She sighed again as the scent of his closeness surrounded her, turning in her sleep toward him, a hand reaching.

Wait, Mac cautioned himself, stopping the hand which was automatically reaching back to twine with those seeking fingers. She was still partially on the alert, the feral, wary side uppermost.

He held himself motionless while gradually her breathing became almost inaudible; deep, soft, fully relaxed, and all movement eventually ceased. The little smile rested contentedly in his eyes, his heart crooning softly in pleasure at her total relaxation. Because he was there.

Then he slid his arms gently underneath her and lifted her to carry her back upstairs to their bed. As he turned, his eyes met the dark, troubled gaze of the aged physician watching from the screen.

"Dangerous," Valerie breathed the caution softly as he stepped past her to leave the room.

"Life is dangerous," he retorted almost inaudibly, feeling the werewolf in his arms twitch uneasily at the sound.

His songmate.

Mac was home. And it was time to help him relax. Gemma had heard the outer door opening upstairs, and stood silently, quivering, the excitement shuddering through her as she reminded herself, over and over, to wait. The last two times she'd tried this, earlier this week since she'd come round, she'd failed miserably to restrain the ecstatic wolf within from pouncing on her mate far too early, ruining the whole plan. But this time, they were going to do it. It would be so much better if they waited just a little bit.

She had scent-marked as much of the laboratory as she could. Encouraged by her mentor, to befuddle her mate with the rich doft of her arousal. And while she had planned out her route for her escape, she had again felt the fierce, angry wildness within her soothing out into a simmer; a predatory, playful peace settling through her, holding her still.

For a while.

Her body was shivering in anticipation, toes hooked into the minute crack of the door lintel, claws of her left hand curled into the small groove she had managed to gouge in the concrete wall high above the door, scraped out over hundreds and hundreds of controlled and less controlled leaps. Her fingers and hand had been so sore after attacking the wall, but they had healed.

She was quivering in excitement.

Salivating in anticipation.

Stop that, she admonished herself.

The door swung open; she saw the wedge of light, heard the soft sound of displaced air as he pushed it wide. And stilled as he caught the full blast of her doft.

Silence.

The roar of fume cabinet extractor fan hid her breathing. She smelt his musk thickening as surveyed the room, saw Mac relax slightly even as he tensed in arousal. She had to strain not to swallow, loudly, in response to the want rushing through her.

Lust pooled between her thighs, and she wanted to pounce now. Not to wait. But she soothed her wild self. Wait for him to step in.

"Picchu?" his voice was very soft, and she almost cracked under the love, the feeling in it. But he would love her plan, and his wolf needed some relaxation too. Her wolf. Her lovely, lovely wolf. She would look after him. If only he'd step into the damn room.

Come on. It was so damn hard not to broadcast her want.

Mac took one wary half-step into the room, leaning against the door to hold it open as he peered around the edge, trying to see whether she was hiding behind it.

Close enough.

Gemma dropped through the gap.

She failed to stifle the smothered laugh as she bounced off his already turning shoulders, tumbling to bound up the stairs and out into the corridor, hearing him sigh a laugh in response, relaxing as he stopped to switch off the fume cabinet fan before starting after her.

Good. She could do with a head start. The wereem grabbed the little pill that Ada handed her as she careered past, gulping it down with the glass of water Fabian held out while she ran out of the front door, opened for her by Penny.

Mac came alert suddenly in her head as she bounded out onto the front steps. Her mate was leaping up from the basement, incredulous realisation shooting into his mind, that she had left the house without him. And lycan.

Human! the reminder thundered into her, but she had already turned loup before exiting the house, and was bounding full-speed down the street, heart leaping in excitement.

I know the rules, she replied virtuously.

One of which is don't leave the house without me. What on earth are you playing at? his mind blasted at her, verging on the power of an order.

No! She felt a flicker of fury. That would wreck everything.

Then Mac spotted her bodyguard Luke, standing alert and ready at the corner of the street, and his mind narrowed to appraisal. What was going on?

'Tom Seaclaw was a wolf... who couldn't catch his mate...', Gemma recited the beginning of the nursery rhyme she'd learned from Rowan at him playfully, sprinting down the street and veering abruptly through the park gates on the corner, settling down to tear on across the grass.