Pawn Among Wolves Ch. 15

Why couldn't she shift? Constant pain now throbbed at her nipples, a heavy weight pulling them downwards and the wereem was distracted, bewildered by the soft chime of twin bells ringing beneath her torso in time to the swing of those weights while her mate nudged her to twist again sharply sideways, dodging a second heavy blow to the head from the Grey wolf who was hunched half-disabled in increasing pain over her crouching form.

His cock was in her mouth. Eugh.

But Mac didn't allow her time for revulsion either, and her arm snapped up around the thigh to her right, clamping her head against Nicholas' upper thigh, twisting her neck slightly to angle the cold metal of the collar around it to press tightly against the naked skin of her enemy's groin. That collar was tingling like a mixture of ice and weak acid against her skin.

Gemma almost vomited, drowning in the nauseating scent, the taste, as the movement drove his cock deeper. Then Nick's strong fingers clenched into either side of her jaw, trying to force her to let go and she clenched her blunt teeth tighter, refusing to release her bite. Beyond the revulsion, there was also a little, vicious smile in her thoughts.

Yes, they had filed her teeth. And the collar burning around her neck was Argen, repressing her in her human form. But Nicolas Grey's main weak point had always been that he really didn't believe that a mere human could inflict any damage on a wolf. With her teeth filed, her bite was as blunt, as useless as any human's. Ineffectual. So he had thought.

Depends what you bite, she thought vindictively. But the shamed misery rose at same time, while she continued to dodge blows coming from all sides, led by Mac in a swirling dance, jerking her assailant after her. She hated this.

Tears were rolling down her face, but Gemma felt a bittersweet pride in herself. She was soothed by the calm touch of her mate in her head, the feel of him weaving order through her staccato mind. Fighting was fighting, Mac agreed calmly. She had gained an advantage in an impossible situation - she should be proud.

His anticipation of the movements around her far outstripped hers, she was distracted again, fascinated. A faint flicker at the corner of her senses, and automatically, guided by her mate's impulse, she scuttled backwards to avoid a third, ineffectual blow from the human-form wolf jerking in frantic little hops after her. She was distantly enjoying the howls of pain echoing above her head - Nicholas couldn't shift either, so long as she kept her collar touching him.

Clever Mac.

In this strong, seamless mind-meld, she realised that could read her mate clearly. Deep inside, beyond his sharp battle focus, Mac was so - bereft. Appalled that he had lost her. Deeply ashamed, revolted by himself? That he had saved her brother and not herself? NO! It had been her fault that she had run, and she had begged him to look after Adam.

Her own guilt at his pain was nauseating, causing her to falter.

Concentrate! the calm admonition drew her back into absolute attention to the moment.

Gemma felt herself spin swiftly away from the easily anticipated lunge of one of the other wolves on the stage, rolling her yowling would-be rapist after her, his blows toward her head growing weaker as his limbs began to shudder from the pain. She was no longer guiding her movements at all.

Feinting, dodging, Gemma watched from inside her own head in awe, slightly envious. This was what it felt like; looked like, to be Mac. To be this attuned. Every move that the wolves surrounding her made seemed obvious to him, predictable, and they were stumbling around clumsily, so slowly. But- how did he notice so much? The faintest twitch to a shoulder, and he was rolling her out of the way before the following lunge came. Then seconds later he spun her to avoid a faint shadow that was blocking the heat of the lights falling on her naked back.

I love you, she whispered to him, in wonderment.

Not now, picchu, he replied distractedly, his concentration on her enemies absolute.

Hovering around her periphery was a vague awareness of the ripple of titters and advice from the audience, sarcastic catcalls to the human-seeming wolves attempting to corner her. The derisive noise increased in volume and scorn as she rolled and scuttled away from each pounce, yanking increasing shrieks of pain from Grey at each evasion, until eventually he stumbled and fell to his knees in front of her.

Suddenly, all the lights went out. The smothering, angry wolf scents closed in with inhuman speed, and although Mac continued to dodge several blows, using the whimpering, kneeling Nicholas as a shield, finally a heavy, metal object smashed into the side of her head and knocked her into oblivion.

Back on the grass in the O'Connell valley, Mac lay still, flat on his back. They he rolled over and curled abruptly to sit up cross legged, his torso hunched over, trembling as he drew a long, shaking, breath. Tears sprang to his eyes, and he squeezed them shut, clenching his fists to them, barely aware of the stabbing pain of the violent piquant headache slashing through his head again and again.

Found - and lost again?

He HAD to get her out of there. Now.

Where?

A hand touched his quivering shoulder lightly, and he knew the scent, but couldn't speak, couldn't even move to physically acknowledge the Wolflord - if he opened his gritted teeth he would howl.

Zaban didn't know where they were taking her? asked the Fealden. His head was also aching.

Tzo didn't tell him. He doesn't entirely trust him. Zaban is too honourable. Mac's answer was disjointed, his mind reeling from what she had just gone through. Where she was. What was happening to her?

Jian-Xi Tzo is besieging Marshmont, the Wolflord replied succinctly.

Mac barely heard him. Then he recognised what Feladen had said. His eyes cracked open. His head jerked up , the burning ire in his gaze so scorching that even the Wolflord blinked.

Jian-Xi Tzo would know where she was.

The Marsh? They are holding? Mac asked.

So far - but Karim is outnumbered and outmatched. They need a seasoned leader, replied Fealden.

Mac unfolded painfully to his feet, hissing at the half-healed wounds on his back and limbs. How soon can you to get to Marshmont? he asked.

The new Aster Warlord is going to Marshmont, replied the Wolflord gruffly, just before his hand shot out and collided with the side of Mac's head more swiftly than the Alpha could move, knocking him off-balance into a crashing roll across the grass.

Mac lay for a second, and then uncurled carefully back to his feet, ear throbbing painfully, head slightly bowed in acknowledgement. His blood was on fire with a separate, distracted urgency. He knew that he had deserved that blow, deserved worse than that in fact. He was an Alpha. They were at war. He knew how tightly they had to hold discipline, knew what he deserved - but not yet. His heart was burning. He deserved death, but not yet.

"Can you leave me alive until I get her out?" the Alpha croaked painfully, needing to verbalise such an important request. "I need to hunt - find her first."

"I will defer your punishment - unless you again put your personal needs before those of your war-striken people," gritted the Wolflord. "For now you are needed at Marshmont."

Mac suddenly realised what Fealden was implying. NO. He had to find her.

Aster Warlord? he cursed. Me? Silback will never follow me!

Silback does not doubt your prowess as a war leader. They are unanimous. You cannot hear them, this far south, but I can, retorted the Wolflord.

Dammit, Mac cursed internally. He had other matters more important.

Then he paused. Still, if it got him to Marshmont - he could overpower Jian-Xi himself - and he could divert the Whites and the Mackelds to meet him there. With both packs he could free her.

All Aster packs will meet you there as soon as they can. You are to hold the fort until they get there, commanded the Wolflord. The rest of us will head to Medway.

I'm going to do more than just bloody well hold the fort, thought Mac to himself, eyes hooded, body trembling in fury.

Mac looked away sharply when the Fealden met his eyes.

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Apologies that this is short and not real plot progress - I find I can't write the second half of this chapter without writing all the way to the end, so many bits intertwine and it's taking time as anything I change changes everything else. But this first half hasn't altered in about two months so I decided to post it alone as a place-holder and thanks for hanging in there.

Mac took ages deciding right at the beginning whether to chase after Gemma or Adam, and he's still not sure he's made the right decision, although Gemma would tell him he did. Your opinion would be welcome!

Thanks so much.