PAWN AMONG WOLVES CH. 08-PT2

Gemma frowned, "Jasmine said she wasn't Alfamme yet - surely that means she is learning control?"

There was a slight pause, and she continued wistfully, "I can learn control?"

"Not weres. And not in one night."

"I'm not a were. And we could make a start."

"It's hard work."

"So? How did you learn? How did you practise?"

Mac sighed, and pulled her back down, turning her to rest on her back on top of him, snuggling her into his arms, wrapping her back in the rug.

"Well sexually, it's usually by porn. As ruggare - young male wolves - we used to spend evenings elaborating more and more on dirty stories, tormenting each other, me and a group of others in training, friends. The first to lose control fell foul of a huge amount of teasing, and was obliged to undergo forfeits for a day and wait upon the others."

"Did you ever lose?"

He was silent beneath her.

She tilted her head back onto the crown so she could see his face, reaching a hand up to cup his slightly bristly jaw, scraping her fingernail lightly, affectionately over the rough stubble. She found it bizarre that his hair never grew any longer as a wolf, but he constantly needed to shave as a human.

She softened her voice, coaxingly, "Come on, you can admit it. It's only me."

His chest reverberated under her when he chuckled, admitting grudgingly, "We all lost, Gemma. Sometimes."

"We?"

"There were five of us at the Academy together who used to hang about in a group, train together, play together, tussle together, challenge each other. We were a lot of trouble."

His voice had sunk a little in a strange blend of joy and sadness. She decided not to pursue that one tonight.

"How did you play? How did you lose?" she was almost squirming in his lap, cheeks firing. What she wanted, longed for, before he left, was to start one little step down the road to proving her control to him. Prove to herself. Provide a little jot of hope.

She could hear the smile in his voice as he replied matter-of-factly, "First to rub himself against anything lost. Or come - that happened once or twice in the early days. By the end of our five years at the Academy we all knew each others' most heated sexual fantasies, and would vie with each other, interrupting each other as soon there was a pause in the narration, to describe in the most vivid detail scenarios which would cause our friends to fail, to lose control. But over that time we had each also become very practiced at controlling our desire."

Her cheeks were burning, but her mind was wondering also who the close-knit group of friends were, what had happened to them. And if this was standard teenage wolf behaviour. Somehow it didn't sound too different to teenage male human - it reminded her of some of the fragments of conversations she'd overheard around both her older and younger brothers and their friends in their teen years. The similarity comforted her, their races were not so different. Maybe she could also glean a bit more about wolf culture, and weres, while she was at it.

"Well, Mr. Wolf," she said, settling back against his warmth with a sigh. "I believe you promised me a story, once I was no longer on heat."

Heavy silence reverberated from the male beneath her.

"Please share one with me now. A classic tale with bit of history, a bit of culture. And a lot of sex." Her voice dropped as she blushed. It was so ridiculous blushing, considering the week they had spent together in the forest. But she couldn't help it, saying the words aloud. Her voice was slightly huskier as she continued, "Let me learn?" She was stroking along his jaw wistfully, and there eyes met, caught. Mingled warmth and sadness in both of them. Shared.

Mac exhaled a long breath, then lifted to shuffle under her, pulling himself crabwise back to sit leaning against the chimney, bringing her with him, snuggled against his chest. He settled her slight frame more comfortably against his bulk, tucked on his crossed legs, and relaxed back against the structure behind him, resting a warm hand gently on her belly. Gemma rested back against his strong frame, the tension in her stomach unfurling slowly.

She'd known he'd keep his word.

"Are you sitting comfortably?" Mac murmured. The tease. She nodded, snug inside her rug and his arms, peaceful eyes reflecting the few stars visible above the faint glow of the city. A slight purr of anticipation in her stomach.

"OK. There is a legendary tale from what the humans call the dark ages, when the wolf courts in Europe were at their height; glittering, powerful, and everywhere we ruled vast ranges between the human settlements. A legend of Prince Hal."

"Wasn't he some English king?" Gemma was confused. Had he been a wolf?

Mac sighed again. "Not that one. We have a more famous Prince Hal. And ours came first"

Gemma sighed softly. Of course. "Go on."

"Well, after his natal won the Alpha succession, Prince Hal began travelling through the courts of Europe..."

"Natal?" interrupted Gemma. He'd become pretty good at supplying translations during their week together, it was unusual that she had to ask.

"Litter-brother. Twin. Like Gus and Jeremy. And you can't have two Alphas in the same pack, Gem. If both are Alpha warriors then when the succession opens, they fight the defasio and the defeated brother will leave."

"So your brother Karl isn't an Alpha?"

"He is a very good warrior - and could become pack Alpha if the occasion demanded, and he put his mind to it. He covered for me during my exile. But he prefers electronics, and wants to develop his own security products, set up a company. That is how he prefers to channel his drive."

Weird. A wolf geek.

"My brother-in-law Will is an Alpha to match Rebecca, but they're both Physes," he added.

Fizzes?

"Physicians. Doctors," he answered without her asking. "So there is no conflict with the pack Alpha. In the old days, when there weren't so many alternative professions, and there was a lot more fighting between packs, more warriors were required," explained Mac. "Most Alphas then were warriors."

"Anyway, to get back to this story you demanded: Prince Hal was travelling through the courts of Europe with his friend Egbert -"

"Egbert?" Wolves shouldn't be called Egbert.

"Do you want to hear this?"

"OK, sorry, Hal and Egbert, go on."

"They travelled up to the frozen north, where the humans were scarce and a wolf could travel for many weeks without hearing the cut of an axe. The snow drove icicles into their fur, and their noses ached with the sting of the wind, but the caribou were rich and fierce, and the pair delighted in the thrill of the chase; the echoing, empty horizons." Mac's voice was growing softer, lyrical, and Gemma glanced up to see him watching pictures in the stars, eyes distant. Her heart softened, and she seemed to melt in a strange sadness. She could sense that Mac had been there - to the frozen North where the wolf still ran free. She could feel the pull of quiet longing in her mate. Longing for that freedom.

"One night, a mighty ice storm blew up. The fierce wind scoured away their snow den and forced the prince and his companion from shelter. The cold ate into their fur, into their bones, and they fought to run through the blinding snow to sustain the heat of life. For days the travellers battled through the whirling whiteness, circling, staggering, lost in the fury. Then, on the fourth day, Egbert stumbled and fell into a deep, dark crevasse."

Well, what do you expect with a name like Egbert? But the humph in Gemma's mind was faint, and she could feel herself melting into this story, melting into him, her blood singing softly, soothed by Mac's deep voice and the quiet peace of his calm strength cradled around her while she concentrated on the tale he was weaving.

"Prince Hal stood on the edge of the gaping, shadowy tear in the ice, howling for his friend while the snow beat against him, but he heard only a mocking chorus of voices snarling the Chituk in reply. White hot, he leapt into the hole to rescue his comrade, and bounded down from frozen ledge to frozen ledge, into the bowels of the ice. At the bottom lay Egbert, unconscious in a vast cave, the walls of which shimmered with a pale, green light. To one end of the cavern loomed a glittering, crystal gateway, guarded by a pack of warriors forty strong. They set upon Hal like a hurricane."

"Chituk?" murmured Gemma. She didn't want to interrupt the spell of his words, captivated by the rich mosaic of images that his soft voice evoked, the feel of age, of wolf legend and culture steeped through the ancient story he was unfolding for her.

"Territory challenge," Mac rumbled back, pressing a lingering, gentle kiss to her hair. She was so relaxed in his arms, so soft - she had never lain as peacefully as this during the heat, not awake. Well, that would change as the tale progressed. He smiled gently to himself. She'd asked.

"The strange pack was ferocious, their pelts the colour of ice, their eyes pale ice chips in the eerie light, and they tore into the prince in a storm of teeth and claws. But Hal ... Hal was a Poignor. Born to war, he had trained with the sjo-jān in the court of the Emperor, and had fought the fiercest of wolves in every land in Europe. The ice warriors battered against him as the waves tear at the cliffs, but he stood stalwart and defeated them, one by one."

Images danced in Gemma's mind, images of a wolf - Mac - whirling and leaping in a green cave deep in the glacier, meeting and matching the ferocious attacks of a furore of ice wolves, holding firm and strong: fastest, fiercest, unconquerable.

"When the last guard was stilled, the glittering gates swung open, and a warmth of soft light and welcoming music danced over the prince. A huge, grizzled, black-haired wolf, dressed in rich clothing of fabulous colours, stood in the gateway, laughter rocking his muscular frame. "A warrior indeed," the black wolf cried gladly, and the echo of his fria - his howl of welcome - shook the great ice cavern. Prince Hal stood amazed, struck with wonder, then bowed the full courtesy of guest to his host. The travellers had happened upon the hidden court of King Magnus Blodtand, and the prince had defeated the fabled warriors of glass.

"Tonight begins the celebration of Bock Hufvud," declared the king. "Never before have I permitted an outsider to attend our feast, but I would gladly welcome such a warrior as you, Hal Poignor." The Prince bowed again, deeply, the curve of gracious acceptance.

The weary travellers paced softly, awed, through the glittering, splendid halls. The rich scent that curled into their senses, tingling through their blood, smelt alien to their frost-burnt noses. Egbert laughed with delight in the light and warmth, and stepped forward eagerly as they were led to the pools to bathe, and then to the sumptuous guest chambers to bait lightly and sleep. In the evening when they were awoken, they found that soft, rich clothing had been provided. Wolf-cut clothing, and so courteously the pair shifted to wolf to dress.

But the Prince felt faintly uneasy as he eased a soft leather waist over his broad, furred shoulders. An unrecognised tension was building in his spine.

His alert eyes had noted the myriad of small bite marks, some fresh, in the wooden rung of one of the ladders at the poolside. Cubs did live here. But where were they? Why were there no fresh scents? Why could he not hear their high-pitched squeals of play, even as a whisper, echoing down the long stone hallways?

He teased out a small, scarlet thread of silk from where it was caught on the frame of the mirror in front of which he was dressing, and lifted it to his ice-burned nose to scent the faint milk-rich echo of the asage who had once worn it in her hair. Where had the suckling mother-wolf gone? She couldn't have left such a scent long ago. The melting fragrance of female wolves of all ages was steeped in the soft furnishings throughout the halls, mingled with the milky scent of cubs. A soft, homely purr of a scent, curling through these halls, diluting the harsher tang of males burning with rut lust. Where were they now?

And what was that other scent? The strange scent that teased his damaged nose and heightened the fire in his blood?

Fria-welcome and guest, Hal knew that they were under peace. But something was odd.

The great feasting hall was cavernous, the warmth, glittering lights and mouth-watering scents of rich meats swirling under the murmur of a hundred hoarse wolf voices, melding in a hum of palpable excitement. Egbert was quivering with anticipation and hunger beside his friend as the king called to them in welcome, and the beta lightly, eagerly followed a young sjeste who bowed him to a place at a table of warriors. Hal's sharpened gaze lingered on the vivid, enticingly curved silk-clad forms of the multitude of sjeste splashed among the duller colours of the wolf pelts seated around the room, even while he courteously answered his host's call to be seated in pride of guest place beside him at the central, raised table.

Crossing the packed room, Hal's blood leaped in his veins when the scents around him coalesced and his brain slammed to a halt in shattering, breathless realisation. Mating doft. The females were on the brink of their heat. All of them. His incredulous brain was fighting the knowledge his damaged nose was passing him, and the prince lifted semi-angry, questioning eyes to Blodtand even as his loins sprang to eager life and cock hardened at the luscious, taunting scent.

Impossible. Two sjeste on heat, if not kept apart, would fight more viciously than any wolf except a cub-mother, often to the death of one or both. Wolf evolution had somehow therefore ensured that rarely did the heats of even two sjeste living in proximity coincide. Yet here was a whole room, full, teeming with thickening female lust and the answering rut-tang of the quivering males. A bloodbath was brewing.

Moreover, they all smelt Alfamme. Impossible. There were not that many Alpha females on the planet. And they would not live together. Impossible.

Alfamme mating doft.

The prince quivered as he felt the blood pulse longingly in his veins. His erection tempered to full, straining readiness even as his hackles wrenched to full alert, and his mind swam as he forced down the searing, simple urge to seize the nearest female, fold her under him, mount and rut.

Hal was lifted from his seething preoccupation by the feel of a gentle hand sliding into his, and swayed under the opposing forces pulling at him. A beautiful little sjeste faced him, her hand in his, dark brown eyes melting under the fire of his gaze. Her long, dusky tresses danced like cool silk along her back."

The spellbinding voice deepened, becoming slightly more husky, and Gemma was distantly aware of Mac's fingers smoothing lightly through her hair as he continued to describe her.

"Her perfect, deliciously enticing curves were sheathed in a dark yellow silken sheath, and the rich, beautiful scent of her lust rose around him while she drew him gently toward his place to the left of the king. His blood leaped as he watched the taut, delicious mounds of her buttocks gliding in front of him, enhanced by the soft whisper of fabric. His mind was demanding that he remain in control. However, his body was refusing to listen to the order to re-locate his eyes, and he felt his own lust raging higher as her intoxicating scent thickened, melting into him. He could also see her light trembling, sense her blood reacting to the tang of his thickening rut doft.

Then as Hal slid into the chair beside Blodtand, obedient to the light pressure of the small hand pressing on his shoulder, male rut doft invaded his nose, and his eyes shot challengingly to the powerful figure of his host, his closest, most substantial rival for the mating right for the bewitching little sjeste.

Blodtand's fierce eyes met his, a glittering awareness and answering lust burning in the blue depths, but his only response to the challenge was a gleam of amusement.

"You are bound under guest-courtesy, Prince. I will have no fighting here," Magnus' deep voice was slightly hoarse with lust. "That is the first rule at Bock Hufvud. Otherwise, you are my guest here. Help yourself to whatever you wish."

The king then turned his attention back to the tall, blonde, royal-blue clad beauty sitting sideways on his thigh, legs dangling between his, and he leaned leisurely toward her to bite into the joint the sjeste was holding for him, delicately tearing off a small mouthful. The blonde girl's mating scent intensified, and Hal noticed with a rush of heat that the king's hands were both on her, one around her waist, steadying her on her perch on his leg, the other between her parted thighs, beneath the soft folds of blue silk, fingers stimulating her into full heat. The king turned his head and offered the morsel of meat between his lips to his chosen mate, smiling as she leaned forward and her teeth closed gently around the small portion.

"There are enough wereem to go around," he added softly as he lifted his head, while his mate abruptly swallowed the juicy mouthful and began to pant, arching back over his arm, her legs widening to the stimulation of his fingers."

Damn you, fumed Gemma inwardly, how dare you watch another woman, even in fantasy? However hot it is. Wereem sex slaves, huh? My turn.

Her voice was soft, breathing slightly too fast, but relatively calm, "The dark beauty, melting in lust, felt a shiver of sad disappointment when she failed to keep the attention of her chosen mate. She sighed softly as she leaned against his leg, rubbing her moist crotch lightly against his thigh to relieve some of the deep, aching burn while she lifted her eyes to scan the room for a more satisfying partner."

Mac dove back in, the millisecond after she paused for breath, a slight growl to his voice.

"Hal was jolted from his lustful witness of the king arousing his blonde wereem by the soft curves of the little dark beauty pouting jealously as she leaned against his leg. Heart pounding in anticipation, cock throbbing, he turned. The rich scent of salmon teased at his nose as she silently lifted the plate of fish to offer to him, but her trembling figure was more enticing. Her scent was ready, liquefying - no rut-run, no wrestling, just a melting, begging Alfamme-doft rising from every pore of her delectable, soft curves. His erection was fierce, beating demandingly against his belly as his eyes fastened on the swelling curve of her bounteous breasts. Licking his lips, he watched in rising excitement as her trembling grew while she carefully replaced the dish on the table behind her."

Mac had to pause for breath too. Gemma grabbed her opportunity, slightly breathless,

"His cock surged with powerful, incredulous excitement when the little wereem slowly traced her fingers back up her own curves, between her breasts, and gently parted the rich, soft silk over her chest, revealing the perfect, lush mounds to his fierce gaze. Her large, dusky nipples tightened under his fierce stare, begging for touch, and his breathing grew harsh as his eyes devoured them."

Damn. She'd had to swallow after the last sentence, and Mac slipped into the gap, continuing seamlessly.

""Touch them," the hoarse sound of his own voice was a twitching discord in the wolf's ears, but he soon forgot the interruption as the sjeste obeyed, swirling her fingers teasingly, enticingly, around the hard, puckered peaks while he watched, his breath growing more harsh as hers quickened. His own fingers soon joined hers, and in moments he was unaware of his surroundings, concentrated only on enriching the mouth-watering lust rising from the girl, the liquid welcome between her thighs. His calves were folded around the back of her bare legs, ankles hooked in from behind to hold hers apart. She was leaning back, legs parted, buttocks braced against the table, and the soft, beautiful creature was sighing repeatedly while he played with the deliciously curved mounds and pulled at the shivering, hard tips, her dress parted down to her waist."

"Do you want me to stop, Picchu?"

After a couple of silent, aching seconds, Gemma realised why he'd asked and yanked her hand back from where it was stroking down her body towards the junction of her thighs.

No, she bloody well did not, the words shrieked in her mind.

It had taken Gemma a few seconds to realise that Mac was speaking to her now, on a rooftop in the present, not as she'd been imagining herself to be, propped before him against a table in an ancient banqueting hall while he toyed with her breasts. She hadn't realised that simple words could be so damn powerful.

"No," she growled in desperation. This was how he dreamed of her. Oh god, no, she did not want him to stop. Her voice was breathless as she took the tale back off him.

"The girl moaned in rising lust, body beginning to shudder, and suddenly her half-shut eyes flew fully open, catching the lustful gaze of the wolf pleadingly, and she stilled, trembling hard, sliding her hands down to the hem of the silken dress. Her fingers curled into the fabric and she drew it softly up, begging eyes locked onto the his, melting in pleading lust. The wolf dropped his gaze as the fabric skimmed softly up above the junction of her thighs, and his lips parted to allow a heavy sigh of lust as he absorbed the sight and scent of the wet, wet curls glistening over the entrance to her pussy. His cock was unbearably taut, balls tightening to throb almost painfully, delighting in the welcoming sight."

Her throat was too dry. In the time it took her to moisten her lips and swallow again, her wolf had taken over. Thank god his voice was hoarse also, and she could feel his arousal pressed against her back. She couldn't stand this if it was all one sided. It was so hard not to reach down and stroke herself. Even harder not to beg him to do it for her.

"Gently, eyes delighting, cock hardening impossibly at the view, he lifted her and seated her fully on the table, watching the pink valley of her pussy open enticingly as she slowly leant back to lie on the sleek wooden surface, spreading her legs for him. Through the lust pounding in his blood, while he eased her back so that her buttocks were resting off the surface then rapidly unlaced his codpiece, Hal was faintly aware of the envious, aroused scents of the other sjeste who darted in to remove the dishes from the area surrounding his little dark beauty."

Gemma growled, unaware, her fingers digging into his thigh as she melted back against him. Mac smiled as he continued to breathe heated words into her hair, a little shaken by how much concentration it took not to rub his painfully erect cock against his mate's soft skin.

"He knew how delicious that tight little passage would feel about his straining cock, the soft wetness parting as he pushed into her, and he swallowed hard, a pulse of excitement shocking down his spine as he shuddered, eyes fixed on the entrance.

While he watched, a rich bead of liquid swam down from her glistening pussy mouth and ran to tremble on the end of one of the curled hairs lining her cleft. He advanced a finger slowly and caught the gleaming droplet, scorching eyes lifting to hold hers while he slowly raised his finger, parted his lips, and touched the bead of her liquid on the tip of his tongue, tasting her hot, hot lust."

No, she couldn't manage words. All that escaped was a little breathless moan. Damn she wanted him. Please, Mac.

"His girl moaned wantonly as he gently licked her taste around his lips, savouring her, smiling at her, and her eyes fluttering closed. Her back rose into an arch, breasts and pussy lifting pleadingly, and she parted her legs a little further, moaning her want."

Dammit, he was describing her exactly. What she was dimly aware she was doing right now. Every begging, wanting movement. Damn damn damn. DAMN, she wanted him. No. Hold on. No. You can hold a bit longer.

"A delicious cloud of the scent of her deep desire closed around the wolf, and his lust surged in answer. His mind was clouding in intense anticipation of the feel of her, of the feel of plunging his rampant cock into the depths of her, sheathing himself within her again, again, and again. Feeling her soft, wet passage stretch around him, her lithe form arch under him in pleasure as he thrust into her. Trembling, he stepped one pace forward and slid his hands around her calves, pulling her legs further apart for his advance, and pressing her knees back to tighten the mouth of her pussy for his cock."

Gemma yowled protestingly as she felt her mate's grip close, gentle and implacable, about the hand that had sneaked between her thighs and was stroking through her wet folds.

"I believe that you just lost, Picchu."

She moaned again, and turned against him, biting hard into the skin of his upper arm to keep herself from screaming while he lifted her hand and began to suck on her wet fingers, murmuring something about to the victor belong the spoils. Damn her smug wolf. There was some very hard evidence that he wasn't so indifferent himself.

She rubbed her thigh against the jutting erection pressing against it, and was lifted, swung and cradled once again into his shoulder, out of reach of him cock except by extending her toes. If she really stretched them, they could reach. See? And it was remarkable how well she could control her bare toes. Like this. And this, And ... His arms cramped around her legs and he folded them up, tucking her in a ball against him, "No. I can't afford my control to slip any further." His voice was breathless.

Good.

Then his fingers slid down into the crease of her thighs, sliding into the wetness, tweaking her nub. "But you could let me -."

Abruptly, Gemma rolled over, clamping her thighs closed, excluding his touch. She could do this. Damn did she not want to. "No." She growled back, shuddering from the want, the desire coursing through her. "I can't afford it either." She could control this.

"Gem, there is no shame in letting your mate pleasure you. Giving me that pleasure."

"I am learning control," she growled, and he fell silent.

They lay together while she fought the raging arousal searing through her, panting lightly, feeling the whine inside herself. Why was she doing this again?

When she finally lifted her head out of the crook of his shoulder, Mac murmured gently, "Now do you see what I mean? You see how difficult it is?"

Gemma growled slightly, and stared back unflinchingly into those green eyes. "Just because it's difficult doesn't mean it's impossible. Or that I can't do it."

She would learn this.

Mac sighed

"Gem." Her mate paused, and sighed again.

"Gemma, before you get too hopeful, let me warn you that no wereem has ever managed to learn control." The pause after that statement echoed.

Ouch. Damn him for seeing through this. Cutting through this.

"And believe me, some have tried, with the very best of help."

Gemma swung to her feet to stare out across the rooftops, then turned wary, challenging eyes back to his, "How would you know?"

Mac was sitting up, cross-legged. The green gaze shone sadly, and for a third time he sighed, slowly, eyes reflecting the distant stars.

"I did not know, before. But Fealden conveyed, shared his private memories with me."

A pause. Mac continued softly.

"Long, long ago, he loved a human mate, Rosalie. She loved him too, delighted in him, both as human, and wereem. At first. But - he still burns under the hate that overcame her. Hatred for her mordeur, for the power he held over her, for her loss of control of herself, although he never once gave her an order. Despite the warnings in the legends, he tried everything in his power to teach her self-control, she was a strong woman, a strong werewolf, she was sure she could learn." He paused and then added softly, painfully.

"Wolves do not change. He still holds the love for his loving little human mate, and her loathing scorched him every second, every day before she died, insane. The memory still does. He did that to her."

The silence after his last sentence was shuddering with unspoken feeling.

No.

"I am not a wereem," Gemma murmured, stepping back in and tilting his head up so that she could stare challengingly into his eyes, frowning at him. "I am me. And I will not have my choices made by you. If I want to learn control, I will."

Mac shimmered with leashed power as he smoothly uncurled to his full height to tower above her, not moving his gaze from hers, eyes brightening, both sombre and fierce with black flecks rising in the green where he glared back at her. "No, you are not a wereem. And you never will be."

Before she could react, his breath purred over her skin and he had leaned in and swirled his tongue over the light marks of his naulu, tasting, savouring the scent on her neck. "My picchu," he growled possessively as he lifted his head back.

"What does it mean? That mark?" she grated up at him.

"A naulu is an ancient sign not used for centuries - wolf protection for a human. Essentially, it means that you are as one of my pack. That anyone who harms or seeks to harm you will answer to me, and that I will kill anyone who turns you," he replied.

Then he added pointedly, "Including me."

She stared at him. He stared back. Her voice was a little gritty as she responded, "Thanks for asking."

To her amazement, her wolf's eyes flickered in shame and he looked away.

"Oh, come off it, Mac, you think I really disapprove of you giving me added protection?" she said exasperatedly, feeling a little guilty. Although she was a bit angry about the 'kill anyone who turns you' bit.

"It sounds as though I wouldn't have survived the night you and Vanil were in a coma if it hadn't been for this. Some of the other wolves thought I'd shot you both, but didn't quite dare act on their belief because of the Alpha's protection mark on my neck, so waited for their own Alpha to come and pass judgement instead."

Mac snorted at the idea of Silback daring to challenge him. But then he sighed again, and his voice was soft, wary, "It's not that - it's -. I didn't give you a choice, before, when I conveyed to you before that. I commanded you."

Her mind flickered to the please which had burst from him to resound in her mind when she'd been arguing with him over digging the bullets out of Vanilchov.

(Digging out bullets. Eugh.)

The please had felt like just that - a plea. She was confused, frowning.

"That "please" - did I not act of my own free will, then? Are you saying it was just a sugar-coated order, so that I would obey without friction?"

His shook his head, still looking away, murmuring, "Not the please, no." Stunned, she stared at him as slowly, haltingly, his head turned back and ashamed, apologetic green eyes looked down into hers.

"I told you to hold still, earlier, when Nick was -," a flash of fury crossed his eyes and he clenched his teeth closed. For a fraction of a second, Gemma saw the searing rage swell, shivered lightly at the power of it, before it was clamped back down under his control. "Many werewolves - hell, many wolves do not sense an order of that strength, urgency, they just think that the compulsion comes from within."

His eyes closed, a wince appearing between them, "I'm sorry, Gemma, I had to, had to make you hold still so that he would withdraw his bite, I couldn't have attacked with you that vulnerable."

The soft words flowed on, but they echoed outside a ringing tide rising in her ears.

That had been Mac.

For six weeks now, she had flinched away from those memories - the fight, the near-rape. Not because of physical disgust, but mental. Disgust at herself, for submitting to Nick.s mental order to hold still.

It had been Mac. Her brain was lighting up, realisation shivering across her skin,

"The second order wasn't you, was it?" she breathed, delightedly, interrupting his continued explanation. Yes, she got it. He had had to get her to hold still so that he could yank Nick off her without tearing her neck open further. Fine. Thanks. No problem. Appreciation, in fact. But more importantly -.

"Was it?" she repeated insistently, turning her head back to look deep into the eyes of her wolf. Mac's eyes were slightly hooded, still holding back burning anger, and she could feel a faint tremor at the base of her spine in response to the looming threat, despite not being the culprit. Her wolf was furious, the incandescent rage at his memory of that sight of Nick poised over his mate was still scorching through his blood, enhanced now by additional anger at -.

"What second order?" he growled.

It hadn't been him!! And - she hadn't obeyed that one. Grinning uncontrollably, sighing with relief, Gemma collapsed back against the chimney stack behind her and catcalled delightedly to the stars, whooping, "I didn't obey that one!!"

"What second order?" her Alpha growled again, his raised hackles evident in his voice.

Gemma curling her legs up to spring into his arms, laughing delightedly in relief as he caught her and she hugged as much of him as she could as hard as she could while he swung her around with the momentum of her leap, a little smile crooking the corner of him mouth despite the anger in his eyes.

"It doesn't matter. I ignored it. I can control myself, Mac, it will just take more practice, and I bet in time I'll be ready to -."

"You will only become a wereem over my dead body," he interrupted her exuberance, voice clipped with tense, angry feeling. "I will not risk you."

She stopped her headlong plunge of relief, and leaned back in his arms, staring up into those steady, burning, implacable eyes. Deep, deep, and oh so unshakeable.

She knew that look all right. There wasn't any point in saying anything more. She knew when he wouldn't budge on something. Mr Stubborn.

"If that's so - what did you mean by the "Every war must end"?" she growled, a faint edge to the tone.

The green eyes blanked opaque, and he glanced away again, then abruptly she was stunned, crushed to him in a fierce, longing hug as he pressed his face into her neck and murmured roughly, "I love you."

While her mind reeled, melting under the brusque declaration, she was suddenly standing swaying alone on her feet, bewildered eyes clinging to the back of this fierce wolf who loved her where he stood on the brink of the roof and stared down into the city night. His fists were clenched at his sides. His voice was soft, clipped with enforced control.

"But I - the Mackeld, Mackeld Alpha is betrothed to a wolf. Vanilchov's sister. If I break the betrothal, if I even come near you now that you are no longer on heat and I have no acceptable reason to, well - after we were caught together at the university, and my actions at Himelsky, then everyone, not just the council circle, will begin to wonder where I am going with this. Will I break the betrothal? For a human?"

The large figure sighed, head dipping, fingers tapping on his thigh as he stared down bleakly into the night, "They are our allies, Gemma. My people are beleaguered. And desperate, and terrified that I am more attached to you than I should be to an old human friend." His shoulders hunched and he twitched on a shudder of feeling.

"Vanilchov - his fury at my apparent disloyalty has subsided, but he is related to half the Russian packs, who are currently lending a portion of their power to the Aster, shoring up our defences. It would be suicide for my people if I broke with her right now. And -." He swallowed a wretched sound, half a word that Gemma couldn't make out, but she knew, could see him hurting as he stood hunched in his little pool of isolation, fingers clenching and unclenching at his sides.

"Despite the attraction, I never intended to build this kind of relationship with you, but after my initial loss of control, it just kept escalating. I had to heal you, protect you, and then you came into heat and - you are my mate. But - I can't put you before the alliance, my people, the devastation that this war will bring. Not now. When I know, rationally, that you are in no danger, not with the twins guarding you. Please, please Picchu. Will you, can you just trust me, and wait? I know it sounds - cold - but there's nothing I can do. Even I can't be that much of a selfish bastard."

She didn't actually know anyone who was less of a selfish bastard. Gemma had slowly approached through the tumbling torrent of increasingly anguished words, and she laid a gentle hand between his shoulder blades, stroking down the shuddering tension. He stopped.

Her arms slipped around his waist from behind, and she hugged him as hard as she could, before softly kissing the centre of his back.

"Stop belittling the wolf I love," she said quietly into his skin, blushing, feeling a quiver run through him at her oblique declaration. "He'll sort this out when the war is over."

They stood quietly together for a long moment, Gemma with her head turned sideways against his back, dreamy eyes resting far away on the first gleams of the sun fighting to clear the clouds to the east.

"Thanks," he responded eventually, hoarsely, a faint tinge of amusement returning to his voice.

Damn stubborn, smug, stupid wolf.

He swooped around, lifting her away from the edge of the roof with a shudder of unease, and settled them both on their feet a safe distance away from the drop, lifting her rug to wrap it around her snugly.

"Although how?" she asked, looking up at him. "If I can't become were? How can we sort something out?"

His voice was matter-of-fact. "There are old, old legends of wolves who became so human, so humanized, that they couldn't shift any longer. Stuck. I don't know how, but I will try and find out."

Her heart shrank within her, and she broke into protest, "But you can't give up your people, your pack! Not - your wolf, yourself, Mac, I love you as you are."

His mouth quirked a little, although there was sadness in the corners of his eyes where they gleamed back down into herself. She felt a shimmer of deep feeling run through her at the warmth in those green depths. "You wouldn't love me if I was only human?"

Burning eyes. "Now you see why I won't turn you were, picchu?"

Softly, he echoed, "I love you as you are."

Damn damn damn copycat wolf. Why did he always repeat her words back at her to support his own arguments?

Then Mac turned his tawny head, glancing away across the slanting roofs, squinting into the gleam of sun peeking over the horizon, and added, "I don't know how we'll sort this, picchu. But we'll find a way. After." As she relaxed in to hug him again, she heard the rumble of the words he added under his breath, "At least I wouldn't go insane."

Gemma felt a little chill settling in her veins at the calmness of the last murmur. The stubborn wolf had thought this out, and she could sense a serious fight brewing over who got to change species here. He would give up his life, his culture, his pack, his Alphaship and move back into the bizarre, half-life role of a human. For her. He had decided, she could feel it in him, she knew him.

Definite, definite major fight brewing here. But not yet. Not now. Not when there was a much more widespread, vicious war going on, and he needed to concentrate on that. As did she.

She looked at the sun, sighed, and turned her glistening gaze up to her mate. "You'd better go." Her sadness was reflected in the green depths. He sighed.

Then suddenly her eyes sparked angrily again, "And you'd better survive," she warned him fiercely. "I'm not having you reneging on sorting this."

Mac's mouth quirked, and he bent down to softly kiss her forehead before scooping her up.

"I promise. C'mon, picchu. Let's get you home. Before your guard begin to get suspicious of the weakening scent in your room."

Gemma was worried, suddenly. A lot more rested on their staying apart than she had thought. Like his alliances - and hence his pack's survival, and through them, his.

"But they'll be able to tell I was with you instantly, from the fact that your scent is all over me, won't they?"

Mac nuzzled her nose lovingly as he walked, his breath sending goose bumps over her skin. He was carrying her carefully across the sloping rooftops, and his voice was smiling as he replied, "Why do you think I sent you the rug via official channels, picchu? Of course my musk envelopes you - you've had that rug wrapped around you all night. And we left your window open too - the city smells will confuse them when they first scent you in the morning, making it harder to assess the concentration of my musk on you."

Gemma's mouth quirked. Sneaky wolf. Her sneaky wolf.

"I'll soon wash it off in the shower too," she reminded him, smiling at his cunning.

Mac grimaced in response, mouth and arms tightening in brief, irrational dissatisfaction.

"If you must."