PAWN AMONG WOLVES CH. 07

Gemma drifted out of a deep, contented sleep. She was lying curled half on her side, half on her front, tucked snugly into the crook of Mac's shoulder, fingers tangled lightly in the silken hairs of his chest. One of his arms was curved over her back, protective and warm, and his fingers were tracing a feather-light trail across the curve of her hip. A shimmer of gentle heat followed in their wake.

She never managed to waken before him. Sometimes he had gone hunting, either for food or for something else that he had decided she needed. Sometimes she awoke to find him carrying her through the forested hills, curled up in the soft fur he had brought for her. But in their six days entwined together so closely, she had yet to see him sleep.

The tangy scent of him, wild and slightly smoky, teased at her nostrils. So male. Her skin began to tighten, slowly, adoring his touch and the awareness. He was here. Mac. Her Mac. It was so difficult to stop her lightly tingling fingers from stroking softly, deeper into his fur, tracing the hard muscles, the light ridges of old scars hidden under the pelt. But she had so little time like this to savour, so little peace, so little simple enjoyment of him without the roaring fire engulfing them both. As soon as he realised that she was awake - or as soon as her own libido decided that she was awake -.

His blood speeded up under her ear, she could feel it beginning to race as his breath deepened.

Damn.

Yippee!

He knew. He always knew.

A jolt of awareness exploded in her belly, and she could feel the raging lust ignite, a flare of heat sheering through her as her blood combusted. Gemma squirmed against him, feeling his cock harden and begin to race against her thigh. The light, teasing fingers traced down to brush through the soft covering of hair between her thighs. Gemma's blood pulsed, longing, and her mind began to darken with the boiling clouds of want. She turned her hips to press her buttocks back against him without thought, legs parting a little way in invitation when his fingertips brushed lower.

His hand dipped to cup over her pussy, and one finger stroked gently into the valley, collecting moisture from her opening to swirl it teasingly around the hard little nub of her clit. God. The hoarse, rasping breaths on the air were hers, and she parted her legs wider, fingers clenching in his chest fur, moaning when he stroked one hard finger into her while his thumb played with her aching clit.

"Always so delightfully ready, my picchu," he purred the growl into her ear, delicately tweaking her little nub as he withdrew his fingers so that she arched with a cry, then laying his full weight upon her. Gemma's hands stroked up to his broad shoulders and she combed her fingers through the thick, bewitchingly soft pelt, enjoying the silken brush against her skin while her legs automatically, eagerly, widened when he pressed his hard thighs between them. Always.

"Pity you're so reluctant," she retorted teasingly, squirming a little under his weight to rub her belly gently against the straining, moist-tipped erection throbbing between them. The sound he released was a slight groan, slight growl, and he lifted up, pulling one of her legs wider to position her for his cock.

"You slept for hours," he grumbled as he slowly breached her, stretching her walls around his hard, pulsing readiness. He had been waiting. As usual.

"You exhausted me," Gemma gasped back, her voice cutting off on a rising, breathless squeak when he bottomed out, filling her, stretching her with his unbearable, delicious, heavy organ. He stilled, a little smirk on his lips as he looked down from where he was braced above her, keeping his weight just off her chest so that his fur teased her erect nipples.

"Oh-oh," he murmured teasingly, "Did I just hear you speak while I was in you, little mate? Without the magic word?"

Ho ho ho, Mr. Wolf. Gemma's eyes gleamed back up him and she folded her lips together, arching against his body, tightening her inner muscles around his cock while she slid her hands gently down to his forearms, brushing over the soft fur. She wasn't going to let him win this time.

Mac's eyes slid half-closed in pleasure, gleaming, lips parting. The trouble was, hers did too. The feel of him, throbbing motionless inside her. Exquisite. But she wanted him to move. And he was waiting, damn him. So she did it again, arching further and rippling her muscles around his deeply embedded, hard member. Mac's head tilted back, his eyes glazed over and mouth parted to let out a long, deep sigh of pleasure.

She milked gently around his cock a third time and he began to pant, heatedly, as a shiver ran through his powerful frame. Gemma's eyes were gleaming, but she felt a different, powerful jolt run through her when his head tilted back down and his eyes met hers, glittering, predatory, and fierce.

Damn his eyes. He could make her melt just with that hot, erotic glare.

Mac braced himself on one arm, eyes gleaming challengingly back into hers while he stroked a warm hand around to cup and squeeze her left breast, gently rolling the nipple between his fingers. Gemma lifted into a back-breaking arch, moaning from the pleasure, straining into the pull of his hand kneading expertly around her tender, aching mound. Pleasure lanced through from her chest to the tight, throbbing pulse between her thighs and the fire of his touch, his scent and the presence of him poised over her, in her, burned in searing fire through her blood, demanding more, demanding friction, heat, possession. Now.

Dammit, she wanted him to move. Now. Please. Quivering, taut with the delicious feeling, she sighed under his circling touch, biting on her lower lip to hold back the word.

His hand began to glide down, across her soft belly, and her skin erupted in wanton desperation, just from the anticipation. Dammit, he didn't play fair - she knew what he could do with his fingers, and if he still wouldn't thrust -. Gemma gasped, thoughts cut off as he slid that teasing finger back against her nub. No, she couldn't - oh. She groaned, lifting and squeezing around the stiff, throbbing cock embedded in her, hearing his breath hitch from the sensation but she was unable to pull herself back together, to focus, to plan - she couldn't think, just - Oh, not that. Oh. Yes. Please, god, yes. Just give it to me, don't - aw -, dammit, Mac, yes, yes, please - I can't -.

"Mac, please!" the words exploded from her, then she cried out wordlessly, back arching violently off the rug, the intense pleasure sheeting through her when her mate cut her off, slamming his cock in a breathtakingly swift withdrawal and advance in her slick, aching sheath. Oooo - despite knowing he was waiting to do that, despite knowing how smug it made him each time he proved he could pull the words from her, Gemma writhed breathlessly underneath the pleasure of it. It was glorious, she loved this game. Damn him.

Mac stilled again and her eyes opened. He was looming above her, a smile on his face - slight triumph, slight shamefacedness. He couldn't resist this play, loved re-affirming what he could do to her, but he waited to watch her eyes as they reopened. She glowered up at him, and reached her hands up urgently to yank him down for a deep, long kiss.

"For god's sake, Mac, just pound me into the ground," she gasped as she re-surfaced, and saw the eager, gleaming light ignite in his eyes. He leaned forward and swept her legs up and around so that she could hold her own ankles before he began to surge powerfully into her, the blood in her veins beating higher with each slam of his thighs against hers. Oh god oh god oh - the grinding of his hips as he bottomed out each time, the scent of his arousal, the brush of his fur - Mac. Gemma screamed as she arched in pleasure, her eyes blacking out, and she rippled around the frenzied thrusts of him inside her.

Mac grunted as the sensation of her orgasm caught him, lifting back slightly to increase the angle while he pounded into her cunt, quickening, swelling, increasing the delicious sensation.

Gemma could feel herself sliding off the rug and onto the grass at the urgent force of his shattering thrusts. Mac groaned and his erection swelled further inside her, urgent hands biting into her hips to hold his mate in position for the pleasure of each deep, full penetration, again and again. His groan intensified into a growl, growing breathless with each forceful surge up her slick pussy while the tingling pleasure built, built, crested, then abruptly surged down his spine to explode exquisitely out of his cock. His mate was whimpering in pleasure as she was stretched by the swell of his organ pulsing inside her, while he grunted as he spurted again and again.

The ripples of his exploding within her stroked shatteringly, beautifully, along the depths of Gemma's intensely sensitised passage, making her melt and cry out under him again, breathless in liquid pleasure, soaring, Their mingled harsh, deep breathing was echoing through the air when Mac slowly rested his full weight down on her, teeth closing in a gentle, exquisite nip over the tender skin at her neck.

Gemma's slowly, contentedly drifted back to awareness, fingers tangling, brushing through his shoulder fur as the ripples of pleasure inside her eventually subsided. His hair was so smooth, so silken. Whispering against her fingertips. Mac sighed contentedly and rolled again, separating from her, removing his weight. His forearm lifted to shade his eyes from the morning sun while he lay still for a moment. Then he surged to his feet. He was always so damn energetic.

And he calls this feeble.

Thinking back to the days in her flat, Gemma was quite impressed. The completely laid-back lack-of-hurry which had characterised the human Mac back home had successfully hidden this teeming energy underneath; despite the fact that he'd been holding down a night job, and working as a photographer, she had somehow gained the impression that he'd slept most of the day while she was out.

I doubt it.

"I'll get breakfast, picchu," her wolf murmured as he strode off toward the nearby trees. Gemma admired his taut buttocks and smiled from her prone position, flattened, contented, on the grass. His pet name for her stroked softly over her skin - apparently it was a Finnish corruption of a wolf dialect of Spanish - or something like that - courtesy of a distant great grandmother. Mac seemed to have very mottled ancestry. It translated roughly as little jug of sweetness, a private endearment passed down in his family, which he kept just for her.

So Jasmine had probably been telling the truth when she claimed that she didn't know what it meant. The wolf girl had not merely been winding Gemma up.

"I'll have a wash," she called back, flopping reluctantly into a roll toward the running water she could hear. She didn't have much time. Her mate growled under his breath, disapprovingly, and she grinned to herself. That had been one of their main fights. Mac didn't think she should wash in a lake or river - he preferred to lick her clean. And he was quite adamant that his scent should mark her all over, at all times. However, Gemma had decided that she wanted a break - there was very little time while she was awake that she wasn't flirting for his touch, being ferociously, thoroughly mated, or being stuffed with food. And if he licked her clean - well, she knew where that would go.

So she had requested that he stop them somewhere where she could bathe at each new camp. And had discovered that for someone who could hear a leaf landing on soft grass, Mac could become remarkably deaf. She got a bit more insistent. Mac had listened unhappily to her arguments about needing a pause to recover from the constant, mind-blowing orgasms - he was aware that she didn't have the stamina of a sjeste. He'd winced a little when she'd described how tender her overactive pussy was, how it needed the cool water to wash after each sexual explosion - although actually, she just wanted to feel clean. So he'd quietly agreed.

However, the sneaky wolf had known that a wash between each mating would be impossible - there was no way she was able to drag herself away from him between each tempestuous union, often there was no more than a few moments of kissing as he swelled again inside her. Mmm. So she'd settled on washing once a day. Before breakfast - when her body was hollow, stomach roaring for food, and the molten, relentless urge was for once eclipsed, after only one heated mating, by the demanding food-hunger. She could sneak in a wash while he prepared their meal, if she was quick. She grabbed the soft soap.

Freezing, freezing, cold water. Bother that wolf. She was sure he picked the coldest rivers he could find, trying to get her to change her mind. When Gemma stumbled shivering back onto the bank after the fastest wash ever, Mac was there, popping a chunk of lightly roasted venison in her mouth and engulfing her in a sun-warmed towel. While she savoured the rich taste melting on her tongue - thinking slightly wistfully about cereal and toast - he briskly rubbed her dry, rubbed her warm, muttering, "Stubborn idiot."

He fed her some berries with the other pieces of meat, smiling as she bit gently at his fingertips when she took his offerings, before returning to his brisk rubbing. Then when her skin and scalp were glowing from the cold and the heat and the friction, he dropped the towel and stepped in to press his chest lightly against her back, twining his body and arms around her, stroking his fur against her slowly, deliberately. Gemma shivered and held still, leaning slightly into him, delighting in the feather-light brush of the soft hair across her vividly sensitive skin. He wound around her side, lifting her arm and sliding it luxuriously through his fur, stropping her with his musk. Her eyes gleamed up at him and he smiled back down at her while he moved slowly, thoroughly, renewing the scent claim on every inch of her body. His.

She didn't object to this bit of her wash. She could feel the curl of satisfied pleasure that purred in some some deep, inner core.

They ended up curled together as usual by the small smouldering embers of the fire he had lit - he was paranoid about her getting cold, after that first night when he'd gotten back from the hunt to discover just how unresilient humans are to the elements. Gemma was tucked between his spread thighs on her folded rug, hands resting on the soft jeans clinging lovingly to the taut muscles of his bent legs - Mac dressed for meals, too. Partially. His bare chest was warming her back through the soft fabric of the warm (and easily removable) deceptively simple green jersey dress he had brought for her. Her toes were toasting on her pillow by the fire. She snuggled her head contentedly into the fur of his shoulder, drying hair draped down his back, smiling as she accepted another piece of his kill from his hands. That had been the really major fight, but she knew better now.

She should have realised how deep the hurt from that first night had gone earlier - but they came from completely different worlds. And while he could blend into her world, she had little experience in his. He'd gotten back from that first hunt to find her awake and frozen, stumbling about on the tiny island looking for something, anything to warm herself with. And she'd been absolutely ravenous - but not quite enough to gag down any of the deer carcass raw. It had been hanging over his shoulder, glassy eyed and looking very dead.

Yes, he had anticipated the raw meat problem. Mac had proudly produced a box of matches, but had clearly never built a fire in his life. Then there had not been enough dry wood on their island to sustain any flames, and they had had to swim back to the mainland in the chill black water in the moonlight. On reaching the shore, Gemma had been almost unable to move, the wracking shudders of cold achingly deep and dangerous.

Mac had been desperate, fighting to coax some life into glowing embers while he kept himself wrapped around her, wet fur clinging to frozen skin where she burrowed as close as she could to the heat of him. The fire had finally grumbled into life but the hunks of venison torn out by his teeth, when he had hurriedly cooked them, had ended up raw on the inside, with a burnt black crust, revolting. And he'd wanted to post morsels of it into her mouth. Eugh. She had been too tired and cold and hungry and horny to be tactful, and they had had a major fight before winding up entwined around each other and rutting madly.

Then there had been another fight the next morning when she'd woken up in a different hollow, beside a different dead animal, and she still wouldn't let him feed her. The meat had been better cooked that time, he had built the fire before she woke, but still, it had been impossible to choke down pieces of saltless, semi-raw meat with the carcass lying beside the fire, delicate, stiffened legs swaying, ungainly in death, when he tore a few pieces off for himself. And she was perfectly capable of picking up her own food, thanks very much Mr. Domineering Wolf. Yelling into each others' faces had made the sex even more heated; desperate, demanding and ferocious.

The second evening she'd woken up in a third place, curled in a warm rug, surrounded by takeout. Chinese, Thai, Japanese, hamburgers and a big crusty pizza - she'd sampled her way through everything, wolfing down the still-warm food into her starving empty pit of a stomach. Only some sixth sense had made her lift her head, her mouth stuffed, a burger in one hand and aromatic duck in the other, to see the sad green eyes watching from the shadow of the trees. They'd disappeared before she could blink.

That night and the following day, between eating and sleeping, he'd still bedded her constantly, the urge was unstoppable. But he'd treated her with a gentle, tentative sweetness that made her want to cry - or hit him - he was being so damn careful not to offend her further that she could barely breathe. And he hadn't been Mac - he had seemed shy of revolting her, wouldn't eat in front of her and wouldn't bring his kill back with him, surrounding her instead with take-out boxes and disappearing while she ate.

Over the course of the third day she'd begged him with increasing urgency to eat his food with her, and then to let her share his kill - dammit, she could teach him how to cook if he insisted on doing it himself.

Sad, deaf wolf. Gemma had pleaded, demanded, coaxed, kicked him, but none of it had worked - they had found a tentative truce ground, and he wasn't going to rock the boat. He was so damn stubborn.

So she had stopped eating.

It should have been harder than it was, going without food, considering the amount of exercise the two of them could not resist. But she'd been infected by his sadness - despite the physical closeness, it was as if a wedge was sneaking between them, slowly, gently pushing them apart. She had only refused to accept food from his fingers, but it felt like she'd spat in his face. And he showed no resentment, he was just - wary. Like he didn't understand why she'd been so angry, and didn't want to push her into another vitriolic fight like that. Didn't want the hurt.

He'd been appalled at first when he had found all of his offerings untouched that evening, face tightening in despair, until Gemma had told him she wouldn't eat unless he fed it to her. Then she'd seen the first spark of Mac in him, after a day of unproductive provocation. Black swirls firing in his eyes, the wolf had tugged her insistently to him and lowered his head to kiss her breathless. "Let's see what you say after a few hours of exercise," he'd growled, lowering her to the ground and following her down.

She'd refused to back down though, waking increasingly frequently in the night with the clamping pains in her stomach, but distracting herself by rolling over and smothering her wolf with kisses. It had been interesting to note that he couldn't resist her, either.

Just before dawn her stomach had been aching so badly that it had woken her despite her exhaustion, and then had kept her awake, lying alone in her bed. She'd been rocking herself, shivering in a ball curled around her groaning emptiness when she'd felt Mac drop lightly behind her, cuddling her into the heat of him, his warmth welcome even through the rug. Then a small, delicious-smelling morsel of tender roasted duck had been held to her lips, making her stomach spasm desperately even as her blood simmered with hope.

"Stubborn, ornery human," her mate had growled into her ear, and Gemma had smiled contentedly when she'd heard that the caustic Mac was back. The duck was freshly roasted and had none of the slightly dry smell of takeout, she knew that he had caught and cooked it himself - but he'd dipped it in oyster sauce, and the heavenly scent tormented her echoing stomach.

Reaching her teeth forward to gently lift the piece of meat from his hand, she had finally understood. There was something so damn intimate in letting him feed her, look after her this completely, licking the juices of his kill off his fingers while he smiled ruefully down at her, his bulk curled protective and warm around her back. This must be a wolf thing, and although she liked it, it had still sent a little tingle of unease up her spine, being so decadent and lazy - and subservient.

He'd told her not to worry, it would only last while she was on heat. Afterwards - well, woe betide her if she dared filch any more pieces of his toast.

She had eaten most of the duck he had brought, and the peach to accompany it, which he had fed to her slice by slice until she began to suck gently on the tip of one piece, eyes gleaming naughtily up at him. That meal had ended there, and having him roll her impatiently onto all fours, pinning her under him so he could fuck her brutally was exquisite. Welcome home.

Gemma smiled at her memories, relaxing back contentedly against the warmth of her mate. They were both learning.

Mac lifted another cube of venison to her lips - there was some tangy marinade he'd soaked it in, and it tasted extra delicious this morning. Gemma leaned forwards eagerly to bite it out of his fingers, and Mac laughed softly, delightedly. Her insides squirmed, heart melting in soft pleasure. Yesterday evening, when she'd woken alone with a fuzzy mouth and been rummaging in his startlingly new backpack for her toothbrush, she'd bashed her knuckles against a hardback. Incredulous, she'd pulled it out - he was so bored while she slept that he had to read? - and had found a small publication called 'Camp Cordon Bleu'. The memory of it made her blink back tears.

Mmm. Gemma curled slightly to one side, snuggling against him as she chewed on her breakfast, and brushed her fingers gently through the soft, silken fur of his upper arm and shoulder. She loved combing her fingers through the occasional tangles, teasing out a burr or a cake of dried mud until she could smother her nose in its silkiness, rubbing her face delightedly into the softness, breathing in the clear, hot scent of him.

She almost sank into a hypnotic trance, watching her fingers brushing smoothly through the deep, soft pelt, and, mind drifting lazily, she commented, "I still feel a bit like a slave girl, accepting food from her master's hand." She opened her mouth without thinking as he lifted a cherry to her lips.

"If I wanted a sex slave, picchu, I'd just bite you again. Properly." Mac caressed his free hand across her neck meaningfully. Although he hadn't broken her skin once since the first time he caught her on the rut, the tender area above her collar bone was covered in a hieroglyph of hickeys. From the delicate, precise way he nipped her as they mated, and the pleased gleam in his eye whenever he surveyed the marks, Gemma had a feeling that they were a stark hands-off-or-else warning to any wolf who saw them. When she'd taxed her smug lover with her suspicion, he had just avoided the issue by nibbling across the area in a trail of fire, swamping her question with incoherent ecstasy. Although somewhere outside the lust she'd thought she'd heard a voice mutter gruffly, "Well if you will keep washing my scent off."

Sex slave. Mmmmm. Gemma's pussy throbbed in sudden, urgent delight, insides melting. Her lips twitched. "Not tempted at all?" she queried airily, sliding her hand slowly up his leg. She felt the bulge against her buttock swell, and he sighed a half-growl.

"I don't think you'd like being locked up when I wasn't fucking you, Gem. Wereem - female weres - are completely wanton, completely indiscriminate when it comes to lifting tail. They can't say no. Any male will do, any time, and I'm not letting some other wolf mount you."

Hah. Nor am I.

"You sound as if you know them well." Her voice was perfectly casual, but the clawed fingers digging into his thigh were a bit of a give-away.

His fingers stroked lightly in her scalp. She could feel him keeping quiet, and began to burn with jealousy.

"Mac?" her tone was soft, with a hint of danger. His breath hitched as he smothered a laugh, pleased at her reaction.

"The last wereem died when I was a cub, Gem. I remember when Isaiya - our grandmother - took us to visit her, we were about five. I thought she smelt a bit funny, but that's all."

Gemma smiled to herself, relaxing from the irritated tension prickling across her skin, instead picturing a five-year-old wolf's disinterested dismissal of the siren scent of a were.

She still had other questions about them.

"That's all? Then how do you know how a wereem would act? How do you know they go insane?" she demanded. This was important to her.

Mac wrapped his arms tighter and cuddled her closer against him. He knew what she was getting at, and his tone was a little sad. "Well, she was insane, Gem. Her eyes were - unsettling. Totally unfocussed, lost internally. And it's in our history. Our legends, our culture - there are many tales of the weres, male and female - some were good friends to the wolves, but friendship never changed the way they ended. Tales of short, tragic lives."

Damn, thought Gemma wistfully as his strength engulfed her. Wolf culture - Mac's culture. The history, the legends, the traditions that made up the life he was born to, the life he had returned to. The backdrop of his life. She kept getting lost in just the language. Every time she learned one word he introduced another. But she had to keep trying to learn, to get closer, it was entwined into her - he was entwined into her by now.

"Would you tell me one?" she asked softly.

He kissed the top of her head lingeringly, tightening his arms around her in a gentle, rocking hug. "Storytelling is an art, Gem. We share our lives, our legends through the spoken word, told and retold to the cubs under the stars. History enacted and exulted for the pack to remember who we were, certainly, but mostly to celebrate who we are. I couldn't do even a short tale justice."

She was jealous of his knowledge - this knowledge that all wolves shared. But he wouldn't share with her. "Why not?" she whispered.

He curled closer around her, breathing the words into her ear. "Because of your heat, my picchu. I am feeding you slowly, slowly, to savour the warmth of you lying softly in my arms, but my blood is growing impatient again already, and yours will be more so."

Dammit, dammit, true.

But she wanted a story.

"You're an Alpha, aren't you? Control yourself!" Gemma grumbled.

She could feel Mac's smile against her ear, and he nibbled gently on the lobe, sending a frisson of awareness burning across her skin.

"I can control myself, little mate. But I think we both know that you can't."

HAH!

"Yes, I can," she growled back. A voice in the back of her head was wailing, Shut up, idiot! No way! No you can't!! She ignored it. And trembled.

So she was cold.

Not.

His chest was vibrating underneath her, and she heard the laugh in his voice. "Gemma, you're so competitive - I can scent your arousal rising demandingly - why restrain yourself?"

"I want a wolf story."

"But I want to mate you."

Her blood leapt eagerly, straining at his soft, heated words. Her pussy clenched in longing.

"And you want me to mate you," he added huskily as her scent intensified.

Damn right, growled the voice in her head. She ignored it, stubbornly clinging onto her wistful wish.

And then he slid his hands up to clamp squeezing over her aching breasts, thrusting his tongue into her ear, and the wisp of alternative desire evaporated in fiery, wanton desperation. She whimpered and ground her hips back against his straining erection, excitement peaking, the wetness seeping onto her thighs.

Abruptly she was rolled onto all fours, the dress flipped up across her back as urgent fingers bit into her hips and she was jerked back, impaled on the rock-hard cock jutting behind her. Mac slammed his thighs against her buttocks, the force causing her arms to buckle so her entire, naked torso was plastered against the soft grass, and his weight smothered her under him while he urgently thrust and ground his rampant cock down into her melting pussy. Gemma's cries were muffled in the grass, then she came violently under him, squirming breathlessly beneath his weight when he reached down and forced her twitching legs wide. He continued to spear her forcefully, grunting in intense pleasure, the speed of his thrusts increasing until he was pistoning into her like a sledgehammer, enjoying the jerky little cries of his mate as he flattened her. Gemma felt her legs stiffening again painfully as he impaled her mercilessly; all of her muscles tensed in a second, exquisite explosion of pleasure, and Mac cried aloud in ecstasy at the sensation while he forced his cock through her taut, rippling passage and came violently.

Gemma lay, panting under the force of her orgasm and his weight, blood hammering through her veins, and felt his teeth nip possessively at her shoulder.

"I'll tell you a story when you're no longer on heat, my little picchu," the words were growled softly against her skin, sending a shiver down her spine. Then Mac lifted his torso off her, braced on his forearms, and began to kiss his way gently down the sensitive flesh while his fingers and palms teased their way underneath her to cup around her naked breasts. His cock was already hardening again within her pussy. Gemma melted further, fresh liquid bathing his cock, and heard his swift intake of breath at her increased doft, feeling his member stiffen to full extent, stretching her passage with the heavy breach of his girth. He rocked back abruptly onto his feet, her boneless form held tight to him, and slid his fingers down to caress gently over her clit while he surged to full height.

Gemma cried out wordlessly, her legs weaving in the air from the sensations arcing through her over-sensitive body. She gasped as the cool air swirled against her overheated skin while he withdrew his cock, spun her so her back was against a tree, and pulled her legs high while his arms slid around her waist, her knees hooked over his elbows, and he thrust heavily back inside her.

"Mac!" The cry burst from her as he stretched her with his cock, and he pressed a brief kiss to her lips before pulling back to begin slamming into her with renewed passion. Wow. Unh.

The build-up was heavier, slower, her skin tightening to unbearable sensitivity as her mate savoured the lush sensation of her slick, soft sheath around his cock, looking down at the tight peaks of her nipples and the abundant wetness covering his cock, a little smile gleaming in his eyes as he jerked up repeatedly into her.

"Say my name again," he growled the words harshly. His breath caught in the middle of the phrase, and the little halt, the hoarseness of his dry throat, seared satisfaction through her. Gemma felt her passage tighten further when she breathed her favourite word, and he thrust hard into her to meet it. She cried his name a second time, then a third, faster, faster, and he kept time with her, impaling her in a hard, smooth rhythm as her voice rose in excitement.

"Mac! Mac! Mac!"

His thrusts were shaking the tree, forearms behind her cradling her from the harsh bark, and she could feel her eyes black out and blood begin to boil as the sensations intensified. Building, building - no, she couldn't. Too much. Too much. She groaned his name as her leg muscles began to tighten, to stiffen again, toes pointing. Blood pounding, her mind was going blank, the driving, ceaseless rhythm blinding her to all else and his name was lost in an endless, yelping moan, rising and falling as he drove into her. Mac tightened his arms around her and bent in to scent her throat, the doft of her peaking excitement tingling down his spine. His control blanked in a surge of pleasure and he began to fuck relentlessly, pounding into her.

Gemma screamed and arched, mind breaking in two as her body was wrenched into the most excruciatingly intense orgasm, shocks of pleasure shuddering shatteringly through her, and she lost touch with the world.

The slant of the afternoon sun glittering through the branches woke Gemma the second time. She was lying curled on her front, cuddling her pillow, tucked snugly into her rug. Her fingers were tangled lightly in the soft folds, seeking, missing the warm down of her wolf.

A curl of disappointment writhed through her. He wasn't there.

Gemma blinked the bleariness out of her eyes and sat slowly up upon the leafy bower he had woven to keep her off the ground, gingerly stretching her over-used muscles. Way, way, over used. Deliciously so. Mmmm. Her eyes swept around the clearing, disappointedly verifying the absence of wolf. He had rebuilt the fire, she could see the transparent swirls of heat rising from the rough circle of cleared turf, but there was no wolf crouched by the flames humming as he cooked.

Gemma grinned to herself as the happiness bubbling inside her drove her to roll to her feet, stretching out her aching leg muscles. Ow. Too many, too, too intense orgasms.

Double mmmm.

She knew why he was missing. Now that she was reaching the end of her heat, both her doft and her urge to mate were becoming more intense, unbearably delicious, and it was driving Mac wild. Even wilder than before (which she hadn't thought possible). Moreover, his musk was getting more irresistible in response, so she wasn't able - or willing - to stop herself from pouncing on him constantly either. With the result that they were extra starving, and had wolfed down so much between recent couplings that her mate had had to go hunting again. An in-betweeney hunt, based from the same camp. And he disliked hunting the same area twice, calling it irresponsible.

His own fault for inspiring so much exercise.

Her blood was simmering, stomach beginning to growl volubly, and the flush of desire on her skin was almost painful in its tautness, but Gemma couldn't stop smiling. She picked up her second dress and pulled it over her head. The soft fabric slunk enticingly around her hips, hugging her curves and she spun excitedly on the spot to make the knee-length skirt fan around her in a whirl of rich autumn colours. It also gave her another reason for feeling giddy than just - Mac.

Thinking about Mac. He loved this dress on her. And off her.

Stop it.

Right.

She had to get moving or she'd go insane, just mooching here thinking about him. Thinking about what they'd do when he got back. Do with her on her back. Maybe.

If she collected some firewood, then they could spend more time together on the more important things when he did get back.

Life was good.

So long as Mac didn't catch her doing any chores...

Her blood pulsed with excitement and she grinned again. She liked the way he stopped her.

Her mate was being damn intractable about her helping out with the day-to-day looking after of the pair of them. So he was stubborn. What a surprise. She had tried, several times, but he went very still, eyebrows twitching into a frown whenever she tried to do anything useful, and he would either lift the backpack she was trying to pack out of her reach or pull her to him and distract her from cooking or lighting the fire. Very damn successfully.

She was on heat, he'd explained once. He was her mate. So he would look after her every need right now, not just the most burning, urgent one. A green-black lazily heated eye had slanted sideways. He was rewarded enough for his trouble. Then he'd bitten gently on her pouting lower lip and she'd snorted with laughter, pulling him closer while her pussy clenched in renewed need. She liked rewarding him. Loved it.

Gemma quickly forced herself into movement, and began walking through the trees, picking up the driest sticks she could find, desperate to move before she melted back into a heap of aching need on her bed. Humming to herself, she forced aside all the heated memories of how she'd woken up every other morning in this forest. Sort of. They didn't really budge, so she resolutely ignored them. Almost. Nearly almost. And desperately tried not to succumb to the fire seething along her skin. Knowing Mac would return swiftly, brilliantly eager to fuck her, made it so much easier to wait.

Well, a little bit easier.

A very little.

This drive was so damn compelling. If only she had as much energy as he - but she kept keeling over into a little heap after each series of orgasms. Not that she was really complaining, here. And nor was he, but she was aware that if she really had been a wolf he wouldn't have had to restrain himself quite so much, and it made her feel faintly guilty, inadequate. She had a feeling a lot of his restless energy came from wanting to fuck her a lot more often than he did.

Lip protruding broodingly, Gemma stepped forward and leaned down to pick up a long dry branch just beyond the bulk of a large beech trunk. And froze, startled to hear a shattering wolf howl sound directly in front of her, a howl screamed through the air like an expletive. Her head jerked up, and her shocked eyes met the flaming green ones of the white wolf mid-leap, just before Mac collided with her heavily, tumbling her back to roll in the short grass between the trees.

Stunned and out of breath, she lay as the sky spun through the trees above her. What the hell?

It was only a few sticks, for Pete's sake.

Simultaneous, angry snarls sounded left and right around them among the beeches, and Mac whirled to his feet over her in lycan-wolf form, facing the other voices aggressively.

"She didn't know!" he snapped angrily, the last word muffled under the fur of a huge brown wolf who leaped onto him from one side. Her Alpha rolled easily onto his back under his antagonist, grasping his ruff in both hands and catapulting the brown wolf back into the trees with a violent heave of his bent legs, almost too swiftly for Gemma to see. But her shocked eyes did focus on the two large grey wolves who then pounced on her mate simultaneously from either side as he continued the roll back to his feet. Then she was distracted by the third light smoky yellow wolf diving over her own legs to join the attack. Suddenly, Mac and the challenging wolves were a blur of whirling, snarling fur and she watched frozen, heart in her mouth. And a bit perplexed.

Yes, they were big. But she'd seen him throw off six large wolves as if they were pieces of fluff, and it had taken at least ten to hold him down that evening back at the flat. What was Mac playing at?

A shiver lit down her spine, and she staggered back to her feet, fumbling blindly on the ground for one of the sticks she'd collected while her eyes were held by the beautiful, raging torrent of teeth and fur tumbling together in front of her.

How much silver was Mac carrying? There wasn't anything noticeably wrong with him, as far as she could tell in his lycan form, except for the pvc patches taped to his stomach that were renewed somehow, somewhere, every night while he was out on hunt. He claimed that he was fine, kissing aside her questions. He would say that.

The brown wolf reappeared at the side of the clearing again, shimmering into lycan form, and his eyes were dancing amber-black flames of fury while he streaked back to join in the fight. "Tooth and tail, MacKeld! Slighting the sjestval? For shame!" he cursed, as he leapt onto the back of the fighting Alpha and locked a brawny, furred arm around his neck from behind, slowly forcing back the head to expose the throat.

Mac tossed one of the other wolves across the clearing, and brought a clawed hand up to clamp onto the lock around his neck, halting the arm. "She didn't -!" His gasp was chocked off as the elbow around his throat tightened. The grey wolf who Mac had thrown easily in a long arc past Gemma's nose - see? Piece of fluff - whirled even as he landed, diving to leap back into the fray. Then he twisted again in mid-air to swipe a heavy paw at his new adversary, sensing rather than seeing the side-attack to his flank. His sharp claws raked deep cuts into the back of Gemma's hand with a blow that sent the branch spinning from her grasp, and she yelped involuntarily, more from surprise at the speed of his counterattack than due to any slow following-on sensation like pain.

At the sound, every wolf in the clearing froze in a moment of shocked stillness.

Then Mac exploded to his full height with a furious snarl, shedding the two hanging-on wolves effortlessly to their light yowls of pain, and hurling the brown hulk over his shoulders in a spinning throw which smashed the lycan into a small tree so hard that the trunk snapped.

"She doesn't know!" he yelled wrathfully, shimmering with anger while he leaped to snap his palm around the throat of the wolf who had injured her. Mac spun and slammed the wolf off his feet against a nearby tree, his long, deeply furious growl rolling around the clearing. The attacking wolves all shivered involuntarily and shrank at the rage in the sound, in the air.

"What don't I know?" echoed Gemma frustratedly.

There was another frozen pause. Then the brown lycan rolled wincing to his feet, murmuring, "Fuck. Tell her, MacKeld." He turned his eyes soberly to blink a moment of sympathy at the wolf pinned against the tree, then slunk off painfully into the forest. The other two wolves shook themselves lightly, shivering at the fury emanating from Mac, rolled to their feet, and each also sneaked a compassionate glance at the light grey wolf while they silently retreated, melting into the trees. That left only Gemma, Mac, and the hefty wolf suspended by his throat against the beech, choking purple inside the angry Alpha's grip, feet scrabbling desperately in the empty air.

Mac's chest was still rumbling, and the fury in him, the heat, was firing the whole clearing, seeming to flare through the air, building as he breathed harshly, eyes burning into the whelp, hold tightening. The sense of his anger against her skin soothed Gemma, wrapping her in his warmth and strength, and she stepped in behind her mate softly, laying her unhurt left hand carefully on the arm holding the wolf aloft. Mac's skin was trembling, lip constantly lifting as he glared at the cur who had wounded her.

"If I didn't know - nor did he, Mac."

The grip tightened further and, wordlessly, Mac slid his free left hand down to lift her deeply scored, bleeding right up into his line of vision. His eyes brightened in anger, boring into the other wolf. The grey lycan began to choke painful, pitiful-sounding breaths into his lungs, eyes rolling back in his head as his struggles grew more feeble, eyes wild in panic.

Gemma stepped in closer, leaning lightly against her wolf's back, laying her head against his powerful shoulder from behind, snuggling her face into the long, soft fur.

"Please, Mac. It's only a few scratches. Let him go. Please."

The choking sounds were growing softer, fading into feeble wheezing rasps while Mac gently lifted her hand to his lips and swept a warm tongue over the deep scores. Gemma felt the tingling, hot pain as the cuts closed, keeping her face buried into his back, trying to escape the tortured, panicked eyes of the choking wolf. The raging tremble of fury in Mac slowly lessened as he licked over the wounds, until the last cut sealed, and Gemma heard a heavy thud hit the grass under the tree, followed by the broken wheezing of the light grey wolf at their feet, desperately pulling air back into his burning lungs.

There was a brief pause, broken only by the pitiful gasps, and then Mac growled, low and cold. The choking wolf managed to hunch himself into a roll onto his back, and curved his head back and to the side, throat exposed in a deep arch between Mac's feet, holding still while the breath wheezed painfully through his partially crushed larynx.

Evidently the posture meant something in wolf, because Mac barked, "Yes. Get out." The light grey wolf licked gently at Mac's ankle, then lurched to his feet, turned, and loped unsteadily for the trees, halting breaths punctuating his footfalls.

"Thanks," murmured Gemma, squeezing her wolf's muscular torso from behind. "What was all that about?"

Mac sighed slowly, relaxing as the final tension left him, and spun to lift her up in his arms and squeeze a light squeak out her with his own breathtaking, relieved hug.

"I would've told you before, but you have never shown the least signs of wanting to go for a wander." His voice was slightly louder than necessary as he replaced her on her feet and carefully let go, and he seemed partially to be addressing the surrounding trees. Gemma straightened slightly, and peered out into the green gaps between the trunks. Nothing.

"Are they still there?" she asked softly, running a hand up his arm to loop over his shoulder while she stepped back closer to his bulk.

Mac snorted at the ridiculous idea that they wouldn't be there.

"You are still on heat, picchu. Every time I step out of the ruhkreis to hunt, the three who have won the most recent desafios attack in turn," Gemma listened incredulously, and with rising anger, to the slight tinge of smug pleasure in his tone, her mind darting along avenues opened by his stark commentary. Desafio she knew was the Spanish for fight - a defiance, a challenge. So, the other wolves fought amongst themselves? For what - the right to challenge him? Challenge Mac for what - for her? Three at once?

She shivered, and a tendril of anger lit along her skin. Like that was going to work. Just how many wolves were there out there? And - she and Mac had been wrapped around each other for six days now. He must have hunted at least ten times, more. Did he really mean that he was attacked by three wolves every time he went hunting?

There was no fear on her skin. This was Mac they were fighting. But she was steamed that they thought defeating Mac would get them anywhere with her. And why hadn't he thrown those latest four out of the clearing instantly? Why were they holding back in the trees?

"What? Rue - what?"

"Ruhkreis, Gem. A circle of peace - it's part of the mating. I mark one around you every time we halt, and the others would never come inside to bother you, or come closer when we are together. The mating peace is an absolute among wolves. Moreover, most would usually never challenge an Alpha." She could hear the smile in his voice, and he bent his head to nuzzle her neck. "But your doft is so delicious, my picchu, that before every hunt I have to fight my way past three cocky idiots who think that they would be better mates for you."

Mac was exuding smug satisfaction, and it was patently obvious to Gemma that her mate revelled in fighting off his rivals. Wolves.

"And you love it," she growled back.

"Haven't fought this many desafios - formal challenges - in years," he agreed happily, nibbling her earlobe.

Gemma's eyes were sparkling in anger as she glared out into the woods. "Don't I have any say in this?"

"Of course." Mac slanted a sobering eye down at her, and moved back, releasing her from his hug but keeping a light hand on each arm. She swayed and unthinkingly stepped back towards him, leaning in, but he held her away and nodded toward the large beech she had been about to pass on her way to collect firewood.

A small smile tugged at his lips when she whined softly. Of course she whined. He was holding them apart. Why?

"Can't you scent it, Gem? My ruhkreis borders at that tree. If you cross outside, it means you are looking for a new mate." His voice softened, tinged with shame, and his shoulders hunched a little as he glared at his feet, bare toes tapping. "It's your choice - I am not allowed to stop you from stepping out - that's why the wolves around here were so furious that they attacked together. Usually on the rut males will never work together, each views each other as a rival. But they protect the circle and the sjestval - your choice - and I didn't allow you that." He halted and swallowed, looking down searchingly into her eyes suddenly. "I wanted to explain to you what you were doing first."

Gemma batted his hand off her arm, suddenly livid at how close she'd been to plunging herself back into - that. That maelstrom of bitter, desperate warring between need and right, lust or - Mac, that had raged through her before he'd finally turned up.

"You didn't think to explain this before?" she glared at him. Stupid wolf.

"You've never shown any interest in moving out of my protection before," he responded tersely, a light growl to the tone as he glared back at her. "But it is your choice, Gemma." His face contorted in a brief rictus. "Although I do have to warn you that I'm not going to accept it in a civilised, human fashion. If you step out, I'll just have to standing fight all of them down to prove to you that I am the best mate you're going to find." His eyes were gleaming a light, intent challenge down at her.

"Idiot," snorted Gemma, glancing away from the call in those eyes before she swayed back into him. She knew he was the best mate she was going to find. Ever. Her blood was keening to get closer to him, but the anger suffused her and she stepped further away and walked gently up to halt just this side of the tree, eyes searching the blank green woods beyond.

She caught a hint of it - a very faint wisp of his musk, but honestly, if he hadn't told her, she'd never have noticed.

Mac was quivering in tension, poised to fight beside her, and she could feel the hurt growing in him that she stayed apart. But the anger was boiling through her - anger at all of the other wolves for this ceaseless, senseless fighting over her. Anger at herself for the little curl of excited heat coiling in her belly at the thought of them fighting. Of him fighting. For her. She was also angry at her mate, for not explaining this earlier.

He's been busy, her subconscious reminded her, flashing a full-colour replay of just how busy they had both been, and her skin flared with renewed heat. Mac stiffened further beside her when her doft strengthened with lust. Idiot. Who did he think she was thinking of?

"They won't come in?"

"No. Never. Even if some worthless, faithless cur tried, the others would set upon him. The peace of the circle is an absolute, Gem. The only way in is past me, by winning the desafio, one on one. They would never have dreamt of invading it if they hadn't seen me stopping you from stepping out, disregarding your choice, the sjestval. Except I thought that it wasn't one." His voice was soft, apologetic.

Mac was apologising on behalf of the other wolves? That must be why he had gone easy on them - until one of them inadvertently hurt her - he had kind of approved of what they were doing. Defending her choice. But was he apologising for himself also? For stopping her from doing something she would never, ever in a million years have dreamt of doing had she known what was what? Idiot. Did he really think she wanted someone else?

Gemma thought of shouting rude things to the obtuse wolves lurking in the trees, but honestly, there were stronger urges building in her. Unstoppably. He defeated three wolves per hunt to keep this peaceful, glorious, heated time together? Maybe it was time to reward him again?

Yes!!

She lifted one foot, softly, feeling the shudder of increased tension ripple through Mac when she did so.

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

Then she swooped in a turn, ducking past him and sprinting back towards the campfire, hooting. "Hah! Fooled you!"

There was a hissing growl behind her, before the pad of footsteps approached at breathtaking speed, and her blood leapt in anticipation. He lifted her easily off her feet from behind, wrapping unmoving arms around her torso as they twisted in midair, but this time she landed suspended in his arms above the short grass, before she was rapidly rolled beneath him, pinned spread-eagled under his weight.

The uncanny tinge to the scent of him shot a jolt of panic down her spine, and she shivered lightly, muscles spasming in shock, just before she met jet-black, furious eyes, and her heart shrank within her even as her mind lit in response.

"That was not a good idea, Gemma," Mac growled out tersely.

Honestly - he was so damn autocratic, so possessive at the moment. Did he think the outstanding, constant sex had turned her into a malleable, submissive doormat? Her melting pussy squirmed in delight, shrieking yes! She ignored it and tried to stare brazenly back up at him. It was a little difficult with the quiver in her stomach. And that bitter scent was sending a warning through her, increasing the panic pooling inside. He was so angry. With her, this time.

"What?" she managed to respond coolly. "Did the wolf lose his sense of humour?"

The black, glittering sparkles in his eyes took on the eerie back-light, sending a shiver through her whole body, and the next second he was on his feet, hauling her to hers.

"When you flirt with other wolves? Damn right."

"I did NOT flirt with -."

He lifted her mid-sentence, so that they were now nose to nose, and she was caught by the power of that glittering fury, falling silent, feeling his angry breath against her cheek, sensing, scenting the towering rage he was holding in check. But his voice was soft, the control paramount. "You stepped towards the ruhkreis, Gemma. Full of lust. Free of me. We all wondered what you were going to do, and their excitement spiked in anticipation, hope, desire."

"Then they're idiots," she snapped back the interjection, although her heart was shouting Shut up! at her. Then she caught it, just a hint in the corner of his eye, the hint of something else, a little droop of - hopelessness. Sadness? She hadn't seen that sadness in days, but she recognised it, and it stopped her as nothing else could, her heart plummeting, stunned into silence.

"You teased them." The anger was purring through his voice, but she could now also hear the faint edge of pain. Gemma felt cool air against her skin and realised that he was moving her, but couldn't look away from the powerful black glitter in that burning gaze, the internal tremor growing while her eyes searched his for that hint of soft despair. The smooth bark of a tree pressed against her back.

"They have been burning, aching, fighting for you desperately for six days, tortured by the music of your scent," the quiet words were deadly, searing across her skin, making her remember the agony of unfulfilled lust that she herself had struggled against for just one day. The painful burn of that unfulfilled need. She was caught by the wordless black anger of his eyes. "And you - you taunted them with your fully aroused doft."

Gemma opened her mouth, dropped her eyes, looked up at her wolf, then just drooped her head again, wordlessly. The heat flared across her cheekbones. He was right. Shit. She swallowed. Human teasing had no place among these scorching fires and furious lusts. She would get burned - she had burned them. She felt deeply ashamed, writhing internally. She hadn't meant to, but she had teased them. Although it had been intended for Mac. She had just forgotten how sensitive all the wolves were to her scent.

"I am aware that you are not a wolf," he seemed to answer her thoughts, letting out a small sigh. She felt tears gathering in her eyes and kept her head down, not wanting him to see them. The sadness. This sadness. She had reminded him of what she didn't want to think about herself. That this was time out, this perfect week. Human and wolf joined. Otherwise incompatible.

Must be a way, the wistful thought surfaced briefly.

"More or less at the moment," she whispered the protest, "I smell like a wolf, no?" Her mate sighed again, his anger releasing when he heard the remorse in her voice, and placed her back on her feet, gently tilting her chin up so that he could read her glistening eyes. "But you don't fully understand us, Gemma. I am an Alpha - I protect the other wolves, and maintain pack order, my own, and, when necessary, others." He tailed into brooding silence, pondering how to continue, how to explain to a human what was self-evident to a wolf.

She knew that. She saw how the other wolves reacted around him, the respect, how they trusted his judgement and looked to him for guidance, even just now, when fighting him. And she could hardly forget the time his attention had been wrenched from her in the middle of mating. He'd been shuddering, thrusting inside her one second, and the next had been motionless on his back beside her, body twitching all the way down to his toes and fingertips, utterly still concentration on his face. She had panicked, thinking he was having some kind of silver-induced fit, and had shivered for several long minutes, arousal swamped in cold fear while she had just watched him. It was dangerous to interrupt a seizure. Eventually, his glazed eyes had refocused, and her heart had sent a shock of relief though her, stunning her with the realisation of how much she cared, when he had smiled apologetically at her.

Apparently a patrol of his wolves had been ambushed, he had reported. They had called for help - their Alpha could mind-merge and direct all twenty of them together as one seamless unit, infinitely increasing their chances of survival as each knew, through him, exactly what their companions did. They had all survived, although there were some serious injuries.

Protecting the pack was part of being an Alpha, and she had learned, then and the two other times his focus had disappeared, to just accept it. It was part of him. Now Mac continued to explain his position, the awkward position she had put him in, choosing his words carefully.

"Pack boundaries are open during the mating rut, and there are few boundaries between the Aster allies at any time. Most of the wolves out there are Aster - my allies in our war against Tzo. I rank them all, and have defeated the majority of them - definitely the strongest of them - during this week. So to all intents and purposes, in this gathering in this forest, I am currently the Alpha - of this pack of wolves fighting for you. That is how they see me." He sighed again, deeply troubled.

"But now you - my mate, you have just taunted, aroused, and hurt the eight wolves within scent of the beech. They don't understand that you are unaware of their rutdoft - they are so damn aware of yours. They are confused, angry, upset, unsettled, and therefore dangerous." His brow was furrowed in concern.

"But they are still waiting to see what I will do before they decide how to act. It's my job, both as mate and Alpha, to sort this out so that they understand. And so that they will remain allies to us, to me, and to my wolves."

Gemma blinked. Oh. Damn. She looked up into his eyes, watching the green filtering back into the angry black, warming her slightly through the shiver of shame that was building. She hated that she'd been a tease. Accidentally. Hated putting him in this position, with that furrow of concern creasing his forehead. There must be some way out of this?

"But wolves must make mistakes sometimes? Apologise?" she pleaded softly.

"Uh - yes," he admitted slowly, "But I don't think you would like our way of apologising, Gem."

Her chin lifted slightly.

"Try me."

A glimmer of humour lightened the eerie glow in his eyes, an anticipatory challenge gleaming in their depths while he straightened his head and lifted one eyebrow.

"You just saw me punish a wolf for the mistake of injuring my mate, Gemma. If you were a wolf, I would punish you, you would acknowledge and apologise for the mistake, as he did, and all would be forgotten." His mouth twisted. "But humans hold grudges, are not good at healing, and I can't think of a single person I know less likely to acknowledge a mistake and apologise freely like that."

Hah. I can do anything. And there was a time and a place for everything. Although the comment about healing made her insides tremble. However, if it would remove the faint glimmer of sad distance from the back of his gaze, she would do what it took, Gemma decided.

She looked back, straight into his eyes, meeting that challenging sparkle with a straight, serious look of her own, feeling her insides melting with hope, a quiver of trepidation, and some weird, arousing anticipation. "I do acknowledge my mistake, Mac," she responded, low. "I know I shouldn't have teased them, now that you've explained. If you can sort this out, then I will accept whatever method you - um - think best to settle it. Please?"

There was a humming pause, and her words seemed to hang in the air between them.

Shit. Shit. Shit. She really wasn't sure she wanted to know what that gleam in his eyes meant. She could also still see the doubt in their depths. Well, she'd now seen two wolves do this, and if she really wanted that joyous harmony of the last few days back, then she could do it too. And yes, she was sorry if her unthinking teasing of Mac had flared into that agonising ache for the wolves around here - idiots, whispered a small internal voice - when she had never had any intention of following through.

On that thought, Gemma forced down the mutinous dregs of pride and dropped to roll onto her back at Mac's feet, tilting her chin back to expose her throat. Damned if she would do this for anybody else. Ever. Or for him even, ever again, for any reason less than a first degree separation order.

As their eyes met, Gemma's blood pulsed in screaming excitement, shocking her with the level of delight that shivered through her.

Mac's gaze softened as he stood looking down at her, and she caught a faint tinge of surprise - respect? - cross his face. After a moment of silent appraisal, he lifted his head and let out a kind of lilting croon towards the trees outside his circle. A cacophony of hacking barks, snorts and growls answered almost instantly, and Gemma was suddenly in the air, draped over his shoulder with one buttock smarting from a hard slap while Mac sauntered off with her back toward the beech bordering their haven, his marking of the edge of the rue-circle-thingy.

God, she let him get away with murder. What was he going to do?

Her insides squirmed in anticipation, liquid heat beginning to pool at the junction of her thighs.

Mac abruptly set her back on her feet, grinning down at her, on the very edge of the clearing. She hovered uncertainly just beside her pile of discarded firewood, looking doubtfully back up at her mate.

"Now that that's over with, it's time I fed you, picchu. Wait here while I get my kill."

That was it?!

She stared incredulously after the white ghost wolf who had just melted into the trees beyond the circle, feeling absurdly cheated.

Was it really over with?

Was he teasing her now?

She didn't want it to be over with. Yes she did. No, she didn't. Oooh. She could scent her own arousal, it was strengthening into a hot, taut coil in her belly.

Damn.

She hovered from one foot to another uncertainly, waiting, quivering in tension as her eyes scanned the trees. But she heard his breath beside her before she saw anything, and felt his hand engulf hers to tug her back toward the campsite before she'd even had a chance to turn toward him. She glimpsed the dead goose hanging over his opposite shoulder when she turned to walk with him. She'd gotten used to the reality of life with a wolf in the forest. And after all, she loved roast goose, as he knew.

His nostrils flared lightly, and ears twitched in excitement at the melting lust in her scent. He pretended to sigh.

"It seems like food will have to wait - you seem to be in need of a little exercise before we eat, picchu."

Yes! Yes! Yes!

"Complain, complain." Damn. However casual and steady she tried to hold it, her voice had accelerated to breathless instantly. "Is my poor ickle mate tired? Is that why we're walking this slowly?"

A happy little laugh escaped her when suddenly she was scooped up to sit on his free arm, her fingers curling tightly into his shoulder fur while he streaked through the trees toward her bed.

Yippee!!

The excitement of his musk caught her, and It was impossible to stop her lightly tingling fingers from stroking softly, deeper into his fur, tracing the hard muscles pulling and stretching easily as he sprinted, the light ridges of old scars hidden under the pelt.

His blood was racing under his skin, and it had nothing to do with the speed he was running at.

Gemma's fingers dove into the thick fur of his shoulders, caressing joyously through the healthy, soft, warm, delicious glide of it over her skin, mesmirised while he slid her around to his chest and bent his head to kiss her fiercely, dissolving her ability to think. A brief sanity flickered - what if they ran into a tree? - then her toes brushed in the warmth of her rug when he lowered her gently, his lips never leaving hers, and she realised that they were already standing on her bed.

She sank again into his kiss, fingers delightedly gliding along the hard muscles of his upper arm, until he winced lightly when they were halted by a glazed patch where the fur was stiffened with a hard, smooth varnish of - what? She twisted aside from his expert mouth and tongue, leaning her head away, trying to pull her wits back together. Dried blood? What on earth? Her fingers were lightly tracing the almost healed scab underneath when she looked back up, startled, worried, into Mac's face.

He bent forward and kissed her again hard, smiling a little smugly against her lips before he wrapped his arms more tightly around her and fell onto his back on the bed, cushioning her with his arms then spreading her on top of him. "Don't worry, my picchu."

Don't worry about what? Dammit, why did she always lose the power to speak when he kissed her like that? And he knew it. Mac was smirking again at the little squeak that was all she had managed to emit in place of the question. Her pussy was throbbing pleadingly - who cared why he had had blood on his shoulder? He was in pretty fine shape all in all.

Mac inhaled deeply, a satisfied, slightly predatory gleam lighting his eyes when the scent of her arousal intensified, and he rolled them back so he could slide himself up over her, cuddling her into him, sliding a thigh between hers while he nibbled small, savouring bites on her neck.

Hah, he wasn't going to distract her this time. And neck nibbling was less devastating to her vocal chords. Slightly.

"Worry about what?"

No idea whose was that faint, breathless bimbo voice.

Her mate sighed exasperatedly into her skin, raising a chain of goosebumps, and without thought, Gemma responded by lifting her chin and rubbing her cheek contentedly against his, melting further under the weight of him.

"One of idiots challenging me for you earlier was just an overgrown puppy." His nibbled kiss on her collarbone prevented Gemma from speaking the question that formed in her head at that statement. Dammit.

"He was a danger to himself." Another kiss, slightly nipping her flesh while his hands angled her neck for access, and his thighs ground her lightly into the ground. Gemma lost the thread of his words for a moment, pressed back up, aching, squirming against his pleasing, flattening bulk.

"I had to let him bite me." Um? Uh? The nibbled kisses were working lower, and the words soaked through Gemma's brain, finally making sense about two minutes after her mate had murmured them into her skin.

"He was falling over the edge of a drop." Who? Ung. Oh, the challenger. God, Mac, please. Ooh.

"I could smell the hornets at the bottom." His mouth was now teasing oh-so-softly over the very sensitive area on her neck where he had bitten her during their first mating, and her blood was pounding, pleading under the light touch of his aroused breaths, alight to his hot, hot musk.

"I didn't think he'd survive landing on their nest, it was too far back to the river."

The silence echoed when he finished the last sentence, and it took a long while for Gemma to realise that her mate had stopped talking and was now intent on other things. He was skimming light little kisses further down her neck, rubbing his engorged cock gently in the crease of her thighs. Gemma was trying to think, to respond to his explanation, but was distracted by his thigh nudging her knees further apart. She helped.

But damn if he wasn't evading her questions again.

"Werewolves can be killed by hornets?" She was quite proud of how intelligible that high-pitched sentence was, considering.

Mac growled back, low, as he slid his nose back up her achingly sensitive skin, snuffling into her neck and making her shiver, liquid pleasure pulsing between her thighs, "Wolves, Gem. And yes, there are a few natural hazards we find difficult to heal - most of them poisonous." His lips were moving back along her collar bone, each word breathing more heat into her quivering flesh, stoking the trail of fire in their wake. "Hornets are not as dangerous to us as to humans, but a large swarm like that would probably kill a cub or an askele - an aged wolf - and enough stings can take down even a wolf in his prime."

Then he abruptly rolled her above him, suspended by his arms, and lifted her forward so that he could reach his proud head up to gently suckle and nibble around her breasts, circling toward the aching peaks of her nipples. Oh. Oh. Oh. Wow.

She knew he wanted her to stop asking questions. So she stubbornly forced another one out.

"You can smell hornets?" Squeaky, squeaky. There must be a lot of helium in the air around here.

"I can smell all other living creatures, outside water." His breath on the wet skin of her peaked nipple while the tip of his tongue circled gently around the aching bud- oooh.

Really, really breathless. "Uh. Right - so you weren't. Uh. Surprised. At all." She could manage this in little words. "When I pow - oh. Oh. Pounced on. You. From that tree two nights ago?"

He had already lifted her, was positioning her for his cock, and her blood had started to pulse through her body like a tide - advancing, receding, advancing while his eloquent tongue circled softly over her aching nipples where he held her so that they were suspended above his face. He growled low in satisfaction while he delicately scraped the tight, tender flesh with the very tips of his teeth, and she cried out and arched urgently against him, writhing, a breathless, wordless plea.

"Do you really think I wanted to stop you, picchu?"

Damn smug wolf.

She moaned as she tugged his head closer, spreading her thighs wide while he lowered her gently, carefully, over his throbbing erection, and his mouth engulfed one breast to suck furiously hard on the burning, aching peak of her nipple.

Gemma lost all desire to speak, and just sank into sensation, sank onto him. Wow. The burn of him breaching her. Perfect. Always.

She braced her own palms against his shoulders, skin trembling from the twin, exquisite sensations, and he smiled up at her, sparkling black eyes, still sucking hard while he gently slid his hands down to cradle her hips when she came to rest with his organ fully embedded in her tight pussy. The stretch. Oh. She groaned as he let go with his lips, then after a broken pause bent sideways, breathless, and lowered the other breast into his reaching mouth, moaning when he captured the neglected peak and began to suckle hard, trying to pull the whole mound in. The hands on her hips tightened, and he began to thrust upwards, holding her at just that angle where the invasion of his cock stroked oh so deeply, penetrating the heart of her.