Pawn Among Wolves Ch. 17

No, she overruled them all. Yes, she also wanted revenge on her brother's mordeuse, but not like this. Yet Alan was right - the deepest, most abiding emotion shown by the otherwise chillingly detached Faulk Alfamme was self-adoration. Gemma was almost deafened by the strident arguments rising from her pack, barks slammed at her from all sides during short gasps for breath as her warriors fought desperately in the tight corridors.

No, she repeated more forcefully.

'Silver corrupts both foe and kin', growled her mate in agreement, reinforcing her conveyance as he rose swiftly to his feet, pulling his mate up after him, and the dissidence subsided with a few grumbles. The resentment in Gemma's pack's thoughts was edged with a faint tingle of relief and shame, coloured by pride. It took a strong Alpha pair to overrule the whole pack. They needed a strong Alpha pair. They had them.

Mac drew their private shield tight, quivering with the need to run back to the aid of their beleaguered warriors, and suggested an amended plan to Gemma. It required someone small, with an incredible burst of speed, so she would be best to do it if she promised not to get too close.

Gemma's head ached. She lay in the broken duct looking down at the Faulk, trying to still her breathing, trying to see an opening. Her mate was so closely melded to her that she couldn't feel the seam, and she waited, trusting him to spot the moment and move her limbs. This had been the only way to get close enough.

The look in the Faulk Alfamme's eyes was clinical as she coldly commanded her troops closing in on the laboratory stores from the main corridor. Louise Faulk joined in the fight herself at times, but desultorily, cutting down any stray member of the motley group of rebel allies without actually putting herself out at all. Madam led from behind.

Mac was down in the lowest level defending the top security cells from the poisonous gas attack which the Faulk wolves kept trying to flood into the small area to wipe out the powerful wolves still imprisoned there. Opal hadn't yet been able to break the codes to open the cells, and the doors had naturally withstood claws and teeth. But the Mackeld was ensuring that the enemy couldn't reach them either, to kill the inmates - the in-cell vents had been disabled with the dosing system, but the Faulk were still trying to break through with mobile canisters.

Her mate had explained twitchily that he would have to stay distant - the Faulk would be too wary, if he was within scent range. Gemma had soothed him, reminding him just how seamlessly they had melded last time. He had pretended to be soothed.

Her mind open, Gemma was almost startled when suddenly she dove from the gaping vent. Three springing bounds from leg to leg wove her beyond the two foes standing guard by their Alfamme, the enemy too slow to react to the scentless werewolf in their midst, and she was facing the angry, sneering face of Madam, heart steady.

Gemma flung the contents of the glass laboratory beaker she was holding straight into her enemy's startled expression.

As Gemma leapt away, Louise screamed, a shrill note of terror, and instead of lunging for the werewolf, frantically swiped the liquid off her face. Collective anger surged and Gemma felt a wince shudder through all the nearby Faulk wolves. Chaos descended in the tight pack beyond the Louse, Faulk fighting Faulk.

The Faulk battle meld had shattered.

Gemma skidded to a halt and spun back to watch as the dark Alpha allied to her and Mac charged past with a troop of scentless rebels. The Louse had stilled, her nose an inch from her wet hand, and she wasted a split second glaring at the wereem as realisation struck too late.

Did you see her face? Alan broadcast, sharing his glee with his delighted packmates. Brought down by a glass of water.

Brought down by her own corrupt mind, Andrea corrected with satisfaction.

The Louse turned and disappearing behind the small core of Faulk wolves still fighting to defend her.

*

Nearly an hour later, Gemma was massaging her scalp as she stumbled wearily around the last corner of the stairway down to the foyer in front of the main doors to the auditorium. The change in the atmosphere sweeping through the wolves packed underground was electric.

She was weaving through a tide of Faulk and ex-Greys. Their former enemies had nearly all circled to Mac and herself, those who hadn't had either been killed, or exiled, depending on their complicity. Now the warriors were regrouping, slightly dazed, eating the cold remains of the festive foods prepared for the show guests hours earlier, before wearily making their way out of the underground complex to take up positions along the Faulk centre perimeter wall and try to sleep as they awaited the arrival of Warlord Tzo with his army. Alan nodded politely to her as he passed at the back of the group of Faulk wolves who were grimacing slightly at the piquant headaches, looking shamefaced and slightly sad.

Gemma stared after him, startled and a little disturbed. Alan being formal was - unsettling.

Standing in the doorway at the back of the stalls, her eyes were distracted by the chaos of wolves teeming in all directions, and the piles of ungainly, unmoving shapes scattered around the vast room. One dark puddle of limbs slumped between the corner of wall and floor not far to her right was Nicholas Grey, the handsome face seeming to stare straight at her, incredulous at his own death.

He looked so small.

Her eyes lifted. She stiffened. A stream of fighters were evacuating through the far door by the stage. Standing just a little out of their way, a tall, tawny-haired figure was fiercely hugging a smaller figure to his chest. An untidy tangle of platinum blonde hair was just visible around the bulk of Mac's shoulders. Natasha was pressed as close as she could get in his protective arms, her face buried against his neck. They were both completely motionless, although the fierceness of the embrace made clear how strongly they felt.

A flash of rage shot through the wereem.

She stomped on it.

Natasha had been through hell. Gemma was planning on hugging her own brother later. Grow up, she admonished herself. He is just offering her comfort.

After a long, silent moment, Natasha's head lifted from Mac's neck, her eyes met his, and gently they began to share little, loving kisses.

Gemma's eyes shot wide in shock. Too much comfort!

Her mind was incredulous, the disbelief battering in waves against the truth of what her eyes were telling her. But it wasn't true. Mac loved her, Gemma. This was wrong.

Through the dinning of blood in her ears, Gemma could vaguely hear a wolf behind her murmuring something. Then the scent caught her - what? Who? - and she managed to tune in to the words he was rumbling.

"... watch you do that to someone else without ripping his head off."

Mac's voice was behind her right shoulder.

Gemma spun from where she was leaning weakly against the door jam, her suddenly wobbly legs almost giving way, and was supported by a steadying pair of hands. Furious, she swiped them away.

It was Mac.

Dazed, she twisted her head to look back across the room, and an automatic snarl escaped at the sight of her mate kissing the dishevelled-yet-devastating platinum blonde so passionately that he lifted her off her feet.

Correction: her mate's double.

"I'm sorry, love, I couldn't tell you until Tasha was safe," Mac said, voice subdued. "The key to her resistance was that Nick did not know that all these years, despite the many times she was moved, Ulf has always been able to quarter Grey range and close the distance enough to meld with her. To donate his shiele - and mine, bolster her strength before Nick could break her and force her to bear his cubs. Twin has been hiding in Grey range, hunting for her ceaselessly, helping her."

Mac sighed, half a growl, and continued: "Had he known, Grey would have moved Tasha far, far away, where we would not have been able to support her. It would have killed them both had Nick succeeded." His voice was a thread of apologetic sound.

Stunned, Gemma glared up at the tawny-haired wolf looming over her, his features sombre as he looked over her head at the entwined couple. She twitched wide eyes across again to the tawny-haired wolf still wrapped around the Vanilchov sjeste.

Tor and Ulf Mackeld.

Identical twins.

"You're dead," she breathed, voice hoarse and eyes wide. Tor Mackeld.

Mac closed his eyes and sighed, "I was afraid you'd take it like this."

Gemma snorted an angry huff of breath and punched her mate's arm: That comment wasn't a prediction! Yet.

I'm just as dead as you, Mac challenged. Although, unlike you, I had been slowly poisoned with chronic doses over months, so it was a tiny dose which cut me off, killed all connections.

Gemma's heart curdled in anguish, her skin alight with anger and pain: Mac had been experimented on by Nicholas Grey and his father. He had obliquely referred to this before, but she had never thought - months? Little by little, day by day. What she had seen in here -.

Connections. Her mind jumped away from the thoughts that were pulling the berserk fury into her mind, and latched onto a safe point of anger: So were you ever damn well betrothed to her?

The green eyes were swirling in a mixture of contrition and amusement as they reopened, and Gemma's heart jolted again, almost bursting on a sudden surge of joy: he was hers. No rivals. He always had been. Bastard!

"Gem, I never said I was betrothed to her..."

"You fucking implied it!"

"... just explained why the Mackeld Alpha couldn't be seen panting after another female," he clarified. "Ulf is the true Mackeld Alpha, I was just filling in."

This time she really punched him. It made him smile.

"You're not the Mackeld Alpha?" she snapped. "You're the Aster Warlord! You let me think you were Mackeld Alpha. Everyone thinks you're Mackeld Alpha - including your own damn pack!"

"I was just pretending." He wrinkled his nose at her. Damn, she wished her thumps would wipe that grin off his face. Every time she thought of extending her claws to cause some real damage, his happy scent would catch her, together with twitches of conveyance, and she found herself, infuriatingly, melting. Mac had hated keeping this from her, knowing that it was causing her pain. The insouciant relief he felt now was burning off his skin. Together with a deep, melting pride that she had trusted him.

She was an idiot.

"No-one could know who I really was, in case it got back to Nick," Mac explained further. "Luckily, me being dead, the possibility never even crossed most of their minds."

Irritating reason marched across Gemma's seething mind: as a human, she had been desperate to turn into an easily-controlled werewolf. Since she'd become one, one of her mordeurs had been Nick's son. Who knew what the kid would've been able to read in her head without her even knowing?

But oh, she was still mad at him.

"How much were you pretending?" Gemma hissed. "Tor Mackeld - how much of what you've been feeding me can I actually believe?"

He stilled, and the conveyance he shared in reply was different. It was like when she had reached behind his battle shields earlier, and seen the angry vengeance riding him. Except this was deeper. And voluntary - no words, he just showed her the place in his heart where his picchu lived. Complete empathy, conveyance without words.

She could feel how raw that area was, how the edges were ripped and cracking, ulcers leaking pain into so deep love. Gemma tightened the arms that had somehow crept around him and snuggled closer, sighing as his scent tickled her nose

Her wolf. He was here. He was hers. She would have plenty of time for to be mad at him another day.

A twinge of worry hit. Hopefully.

There was one stab of hurt within him that she could assuage now. Gemma growled into his fur, the words soft: "No-one. I was rising to mate at Halloween, yes, but the poison smothered it." I carry only one scent. Only you.

The tremor inside him deepened, and he lifted her up so their faces were level, swirling eyes searching hers for confirmation, hoping, more fearful of her scarring than mere contaminating male rivals, he could wipe their taint out.

Gemma rolled her eyes. "I'm not a liar," she taunted. Relief flashed in Mac's eyes and his lips dove in to shut her up.

Aren't you supposed to be busy? Gemma asked hazily some moments later as his head lifted slightly and kisses began to drift, exploring her soft skin.

I've given my orders. Everyone knows what to do, to prepare, Mac replied. Her mate began to nibble tender little bites down the side of Gemma's neck. He added virtuously, And it's important for a warrior to get what relaxation he or she can, when he can. The tremble inside her was increasing to match his.

Later again, Mac was sitting on one of the guard's seats just outside the auditorium doorway, stroking his tongue sensuously inside the mouth of the melting wereem perched on his knee. They were ignoring the wolves coming and going from the siege preparations in the auditorium, wholly intent on each other. Pack kept walking past, although few of them were rash enough to stop. And none idiotic enough to interrupt.

Gemma yanked her hand back from where it was sneaking down toward that bulge pressing against her thigh. The violent movement broke their latest kiss and, mind swirling, she tried to haul herself under control, latch onto anything except the feel of him pressed against her, the scent of his rising arousal, the tingling awareness of the power of him dragging at her shimmering skin. Power.

"What do you mean, you're not Mackeld Alpha?" she gasped once more, straining to drag her mind out of the This-Might-Be-Your-Last-Chance fire surging in her blood. "Aren't they cloven to you?"

Mac tilted his head and nuzzled her nose lovingly, licking lightly over her lips. Yes. But we don't really know how - we were a bit surprised, ourselves.

They clove to Ulf after I died - well, you know what I mean, he said. When he enlisted me to take his place during his exile, so he could guard Tasha, he held the links for me at first and they just kind of - morphed. All the Mackelds had, after all, been cloven to me before the bonds ripped, apart from a few of the youngsters, and the links just re-established. Healed. A bit like ours. They are cloven to us both - like to Alpha and Alfamme, but they didn't know that, there was never any secondary pull to confuse them until Will came and forced me to shunter to Twin.

Gemma sighed and leaned her face into his shoulder fur, smiling as she breathed in his rich, delicious scent. Another wolf word to learn.

Her mate kissed her gently under her ear, chest rumbling on a half laugh.

Shunter: one of an Alpha pair passes the battle meld to the other, he explained. Only one can lead it or it will shatter if they think anything different, but with a tight-bonded pair, if the Alpha's about to collapse, he shunters to the Alfamme, and vice versa. Because of the distance I was from Mackeld pack, Will came to help by forming a bridge to Ulf. Once you are trained, Gem, you will be able to take that burden yourself, at need. That's what an Alpha pair does. So you can stop being so grouchy at Will.

Gemma lifted her head back and stared balefully at her mate. "Will was being grouchy at me," she corrected.

Mac sighed, reached down a claw and pronged a cube of meat from the savoury bowl of stew by their feet, which Gemma now vaguely remembered Andrea bringing to them some minutes ago. He offered it to his mate. "They were upset that I had another pack, especially seeing how - overstretched - I was."

Gemma almost crossed her eyes, focussing on the fragrant food presented in front of her lips, and wrinkled her nose. "Did you wash your claws?"

Her mate glared at her, popped the piece of meat into his own mouth, then made a show of scraping clean his extended claw with his very sharp teeth, sucking noisily at it. He pronged a second piece and presented it to her. Gemma grimaced in disgust and refused to open her lips.

You never really got my hygiene standards, did you? she said.

"Gemma, wolves don't have fragile stomachs - that includes you, now," Mac said, exasperated. "I've told you before, very few poisons affect us. We eat our meat raw off the forest floor. And a warrior has to eat."

Stupidly, she shut her eyes as she pulled an even broader grimace of semi-real revulsion, tongue protruding between her open lips as she savoured the pleasing familiarity of arguing. A second later she clamped them closed, biting down on her mate's fingertip as the piece of stew was forced through onto her tongue. Her damn blunt teeth had never regrown, all she was doing was chewing on the end of his finger. Her eyes opened on a glare.

In trying to wrench herself free of his grip, the wereem somehow only ended up on her back on the floor by their chair with her mate plastered down on top of her, his head bent and tongue thrusting the food further into her mouth. Gemma struggled under his heavy weight, trying not to burst into giggles as they played their old, familiar game of futile wrestling. Futile from her viewpoint.

It ended as it always did, with Gemma stilled, heaving short pants under the weight pinning her to the ground. Ignoring his arousal, Mac lifted partially onto one elbow, and dipped his right fingers into the bowl of warm, soapy water that Ellen had just placed at his elbow, rolling his eyes at his mate. She rolled hers in return, chewed, and swallowed, before intoning with suitably sarcastic solemnity, if a little short of breath, "Thank-you, oh my most beloved Alpha."

"Oh-oh. Don't you dare mock that phrase, little mate," Mac grinned.

Later still, her Alpha pulled himself away, declaring gruffly that they had to eat. After a quick scrub, sitting cross-legged opposite each other they used the chair seat as an impromptu table, savouring feeding each other what remained of the large bowl of stew.

Gemma's mind started whirring again. "So when Will came to our place in the city, he made you hand over the Mackeld battle meld to Ulf?" she asked, smiling as she posted the last morsel in between her mate's lips.

Mac nodded as he chewed, his eyes darkening. He and Twin between them pulled them from me.

"And since that shunter, the Mackelds have known who you are?"

The pack would never betray either of us, Gem. Yes, they've been in shock, and a little angry, but also - jubilant.

A little smile curved her lips. She could bet. But Ulf always knew you weren't dead?

Not at first, no - like you, all ties were ripped apart. But Twin - he thought he was going mad at first, when he started hearing me in his head again, years back. Mac scraped the chair out of the way, leaned forward, and bit her shoulder gently, sending a shiver down her spine. Then he began to kiss her better.

That's what gave me hope, picchu. I know you're as strong as me, and I just - hoped against hope.