PAWN AMONG WOLVES CH. 13

Gemma lay in lycan form along the tree branch, silently watching the huge white wolf running past underneath her. She was shivering in eagerness, and felt a quick surge of excitement pulse through her as she watched his intent chase. But however beautiful the powerful, rhythmic footfalls, the damn wolf wasn't sprinting nose-to-ground at anything like full pace, which told her he was thinking about her trail more carefully than he was supposed to. Considering how aroused she was with all this tearing around trying to evade him, he was supposed to be more fuddled than this by her mating scent.

Typical. Some annoying Alphas were disappointingly good at controlling themselves.

Gemma smiled to herself, liquid want seeping between her thighs as her mate disappeared again amongst the dense trees.

However controlled he is, Mr Alpha didn't notice me above him, she thought smugly to herself. Thanks to the imperfect scent-masking drug she was wearing.

He'd probably guessed that she'd use it, though, her wolf wasn't stupid, and he knew she could disguise her scent for a few seconds.

The werewolf felt a little fuzzy-headed, disorientated when she slithered down from the tree, but couldn't work out whether it was an unknown side-effect of the drug, or the very well-known effect of the delicious scent of her aroused Alpha, which almost knocked her over when she landed silently on the springy turf.

Triumph shot through her; the scent was richer than she'd smelt it in weeks, since he'd started exhausting himself chasing down the ex-Grey wolves. She bit back a whimper of anticipation.

Gemma stiffened the suddenly intensely wobbly limbs which just wanted to fold to the ground and wait for him to come back and find her- Not helping!, and made a mental note-to-self as she swayed, fighting the desire. If she wanted to keep a clear head on the run, avoid his musk. Her blood pulsed in excitement, the arousal knotting her belly tighter.

What was the point in running? He would catch her soon anyway.

Um... the longer the chase, the more heated the mating?

Her feet started to stubble along the ground, driven by the urgent nudges from the still slightly in control corner of her mind.

Just imagine him even more aroused than this!

Her legs started moving faster, slightly more enthusiastically.

Yum yum yum.

Gemma shivered in the voracious hunger, but managed to force her limbs back to full pace - she was learning which arguments the wolf within understood too. Although actually it was hard to tell right now which part of her wanted to run away from him (none), and which part wanted to run after him (all); reason was only an occasional wisp flirting through the huge swirl of lust roaring through her.

Hauling herself away from him felt like pulling a steam train uphill, and she was panting hard when her brain finally resurfaced, trembling as she ran slowly through the trees, back-trailing her scent. And his.

Wrong direction. Wrong wrong wrong.

He's a wolf. He likes hunting.

The wild shiver in her blood settled into an intense, bone-deep tremor at that thought, less uncontrollable, but richer, and she finally managed to break into a sprint on all four paws, careering toward her next planned trick-point, scrabbling internally to hold a lid on the stubborn surges of lust which were still urging her to just turn around and follow this delicious, rich musk trail. Pounce on him. Tie him up again.

No Argen rope.

As she ran, suddenly she caught the scent of him overhauling her rapidly, and the excitement flared through her, a jolt of pleasure mixed with annoyance when she realised just how little time her mate had wasted on that false trail.

Damn Alpha.

Yippee!

Now she was really running flat out.

Chase me, chase me. The excitement was coursing higher, higher; competitiveness churning in her heated blood. The beauty was, she could run as fast as she could, because she knew he would still catch her.

Eventually.

Gemma dashed out of the trees at the foot of a tall sandstone cliff which was basking in the late evening sun, following her own earlier trail, with Mac's scent overlaying it. This was the only other place she'd used the scent-mask, a minuscule portion of it, while she'd scrambled scentless up the rock face earlier, to quickly arrange the rope over a handy tree protruding from a crack half way up, before she had leapt back down again onto the same spot.

Gemma could hear her mate's excited breathing as he burst from the trees behind her and she bounded on winged paws up the brief, steep incline of short, bare grass to the foot of the rock wall. Flashing lycan, she yanked down the loose tail of the rope she'd hidden, twirled it securely, multiple times around her furry right wrist and clamped it tight in her fist. Her stomach was jumping in a strange mixture of excitement and nervous squirming when she heard claws scraping on the large boulder directly below her, just as she slashed the cord holding the rock-bearing end of the rope secure with her own left hand. Trembling with arousal, the slight wereem was jerked up into the air when the released counterweight dropped free, and instinctively swept her legs wide, almost horizontal, to evade the wild, magnificent pounce of her mate as he leapt to catch her.

Her eyes gleamed down into his, laughter in the warm brown depths, when, at the top of his leap, twisting lycan in mid-air, Mac just missed getting hold of her. His fingers at full extent, claws sheathed, just managed to stroke lightly along the inside of her thigh while he missed his catch. But the gentle glide of his fingertips along the sensitive, naked skin of inner thigh, brushing over her wet pussy, made Gemma's eyes glaze over, and she gasped in a harsh breath, vision blurring as her aroused juices pulsed out in a short burst of pleasure.

Her eyes jerked back into focus at the burst of fire that suddenly ignited in the green-flecked black orbs holding hers at her intensely aroused scent, and Mac let out an involuntary howl of frustration as his delicious, wanton mate was towed further out of reach by her makeshift lift while he fell back to earth. He landed back as a wolf on all fours, clawing the turf in intense need, glaring want up at her, while Gemma's eyes were held, mesmerised by the inferno burning in his. She was dimly aware that she'd halted at the top of her lift, more aware of the deep tremble beginning to shake her outer limbs.

They stared at each other.

Both panting short breaths of lust.

Gemma felt a little tingle of mixed pride and almost fearful excitement as Mac slowly licked her errant pussy juice off his lips where the drops had fallen, his amused, hot eyes burning higher, promise of retribution trembling through every alert hair on his shoulders.

That was unintentional; you stroked me, she conveyed on a whisper, her spine creasing in a ripple of pleasure again as she relived the sensation of his touch.

Her mate didn't answer, but instead burst in a leap toward the rock tied to the rope holding her aloft. Gemma heart pulsed and she spun and clenched her clawed fist around the tree just as the weight holding her up fell off the other end of the rope. She began to haul her way quickly up the easy rock-face, desperate to get to the top and get away before her mate caught her, excitement shuddering in her veins.

She knew he would torture her with pleasure after that one.

A little bubble of glee clouded her mind, and she blinked, shaking her head to clear the lust.

Then she realised that she'd stopped moving, just clinging, heaving for breaths and panting, staring blankly into a deep crack in the stone while she trembled, trying to clear the fog of lust in her mind.

Her mate had disappeared from beneath her.

She shuddered again against the want, looked up, looked down, shook her head to try to clear it, judged the distances, and decided that she still had a better chance of reaching the top and carrying on than escaping if she headed back down, so lurched shakily back into a series of smooth, hurried moves up the slab. Maybe rock-climbing on the rut wasn't such a good idea. Her limbs seemed to have partially melted, and she was glad when she eventually rolled over the edge.

Running as fast as she could through the forest again on four paws, she knew she was making a racket, and her rich scent was leaving a trail a mile wide, but she couldn't help it, her blood was beating so wildly in excitement that she could barely hear, barely see, stumbling clumsily along the short grass under the trees. The anticipation pulsed higher and higher as she raced along, mind teeming almost incoherently through images of what was coming.

He was coming.

Think!

The rebuke- to-self shot into her head, and Gemma shuddered, swerving toward the deep river gully, blinking back into memory the only other trick she had left. A brief, coherent wisp pondered: how the hell was she supposed to do this when in heat, when his musk would make her even less capable of retaining a smidgeon of intelligence?

Mac footfalls were heavy behind her, she could hear him racing through the first fallen leaves in pursuit. Her spine was tingling at the noise, blood growing, impossibly, hotter.

Astonished. He never usually made any noise at all. But she could clearly hear him, getting nearer, nearer.

Slowly.

Her blood was thundering in her veins at the crisp crackle of the leaves under heavy, soft footfalls; the quiet, heavy breathing steadily gaining on her from behind, slowly, inexorably.

Dammit, he could run much faster than that, too, the thought surfaced through the racing excitement.

Realised.

Her mind blanked on a new surge of exhilaration and tingling trepidation as she recognised that her mate was purposefully running slowly, noisily. Overhauling her very, very gradually.

Letting her hear.

Letting her stay ahead.

For now.

Letting her know he could catch her whenever he wished.

Gemma collapsed into a roll, her legs giving out underneath her at the shattering excitement, the realisation of the futility of trying to outrun him pulsing through her veins. She sensed her mate pounce, gleefully; but a last, desperate surge of stubbornness shot through her, driving her roll to power back to her feet, then to dodge around a tree and tumble into an ungainly, uncoordinated sprint for the trunk of the fallen tree across the gorge. She tore across it at full stretch before turning at bay on the far side, rising to her feet as a lycan eyes glowing. A different, hotter fire melting her blood, stiffening her trembling limbs.

There was no other way off this grassy little plateau perched above the stream bed, apart from climbing further up the sheer hillside, which would take time, or climbing down into the ten-foot wide cleft the water had carved. Which would take her closer to him.

All right. Time to fight.

She was lightly swaying on her feet, blood pulsing, eyes gleaming, as she waited for him to try to reach her side of the gully. Guarding the tree-trunk bridge over the fifteen foot drop into the shallow, rocky streambed.

Panting, blood seething with want.

Mac halted on the opposite bank, drawing himself up to full height, lycan, eyes burning back into hers. Her eyes stroked over the rich colours of the tawny pelt; the strong, proud frame. God, he looked magnificent. Then his scent drifted across to her, and she shuddered, eyes losing focus for a moment.

It was a good job she was a bit stubborn too, or she'd just lie down right now in an enticing pose. Maybe on one side, with the curve of her hip clearly visible, one leg drawn up so that -- Concentrate! she cursed herself, and refocused on the aroused, gleaming eyes of her mate burning into hers across the narrow expanse separating them while he stepped closer, to the very edge of the log.

Caught you, he sent, in quiet satisfaction.

Glee simmered in her veins. Yes, he had cornered her. Caught her? Maybe. Maybe not.

So come and get me, she growled back. Daring him.

His eyes burned higher as he stepped slowly onto the log, still holding hers.

Another slow, meaningful step, those eyes gleaming hotter, hotter.

Don't be so sure of yourself, Mr Wolf.

When he was a third of the way across, Gemma bent and heaved the large rock lying at the edge of the gully over the side, watching as it snapped straight the thick cord she had tied securely to one of the sturdy branches, about a meter out from where it protruded from the side of the trunk.

The heavy weight swinging like a pendulum underneath the log began to twist it in a roll, and she looked up, her eyes burning smug, amused triumph at her Alpha across the gap between them.

What was that about having caught me? Bet I can climb off this shelf faster than you can climb out of that gully, she taunted.

Mac's eyes flashed as he exploded into a full-out sprint I wolf form up the falling log towards her, swift as an arrow, claws shredding the wood for purchase. The trunk was twisting as its downward momentum increased, but his paws kept pace effortlessly with the turning footing, eyes holding hers.

I knew you'd be up to something, he retorted, unfazed.

Gemma's blood pulsed, her own smugness faltering under an aroused jolt of trepidation, and her foot swept out to shove hard at the end of the log still rolling off this bank, pushing it over the edge in a surge of ridiculous panic as he swept nearer.

Then she leapt sideways and backwards, claws springing unnoticed from her fingers as she dodged the last, powerful leap of her Alpha, Mac springing faultlessly from the top of the falling trunk to land and roll across the grass at her feet, uncurling upright onto two legs in front of her, grinning at her.

His eyes were alight with pride and lust. Some of the pride, she realised, was in her.

Although the smug gleam at the back of his eyes was for himself, dammit.

Her blood was singing while she pounced at him, determined to wipe that smile off his face. She wasn't going to allow anyone that smug to mate her.

God, it was humiliating fighting him, she thought a few seconds later, a strange blend of frustration, pride and arousal churning through her each time she failed to dodge. Or connect.

The damn wolf kept kissing her.

She couldn't land a claw on him. Each time she launched an attack he evaded her effortlessly, then sneaked past her defences while she was still trying to work out where he'd gone. Alright, so he then gave her a good indication of where he was by the heated brush of his lips over her hyper-sensitive skin, but by the time she swiped for him again, he was standing back out of reach, his eyes gleaming, laughing at her, scorching her with ever greater smugness each time he paused to let her re-focus on him.

Her lips were burning with his kisses. Increasingly deep kisses. And the tremble in her limbs was growing to the light nips and suckling bites he also pressed to other parts of her body. She shuddered, trying not to melt under this onslaught. Tried to land another swipe on him while he kissed her deeply on the mouth, thrusting his tongue inside, but it took a second to break out of the fog of lust. Then he nibbled on her collar bone. Kissed her shoulder. Jawline. Stomach. Underneath her ear. Inner thigh. Damn him! Warm lips brushed over her palm, infuriatingly, millimetres from her deadly, purposeful claws.

Oh! She was burning with frustration. Both kinds.

And the kisses were getting harder. More sensual.

Her mind was beginning to swirl, losing to the lust.

"Nose," the husky, aroused voice drifted quietly into the air tingling against her skin.

While her fogged brain deciphered what he'd said, the melting wereem reeled backward from the feather-light kiss, exactly where he'd warned, and her eyes lit with a sudden surge of wrath that her mate was so damn smug.

She was in the air without thought, and her arms wrapped around his head as her powerful legs twined around his chest, trapping his right arm to his side when she landed on his back from behind. Her elbow was tight locked across his mouth, and she bent over to nip hard into his earlobe. The taste of him sent a little shiver of aroused possessiveness up her spine.

Mac was leaping and spinning even before she landed, the whirl so fast her head blurred, and even as her teeth closed on his earlobe she found that her legs were flying loose in the dizzying force, then she lost the grip on his head, then was held only by his arm cradled protectively across her back before she landed dazedly with her back against a tree, breath heaving one gulp of air before it was taken from her by the skilful, deep kiss of a lustfully hungry Alpha. His tongue was fencing with hers, forcing an entry, teasing around her mouth.

Her mind sunk in the pleasure of it, a wave of passion swamping her body when he began to thrust his stiff tongue down her throat, possessively, imitating his immediate intentions. The smothering lust was cut through by a flash of temper that he was so sure of himself, and Gemma's claws raked the air where he had been seconds before. She followed his swift retreat making furious, ineffectual swipes, growling in dissatisfaction before halting abruptly. This wasn't working.

Mac's eyes were gleaming with playful delight and he stood licking his lips, quivering in anticipation just outside of her reach. Then he leapt in again and immobilised her wrists, sweeping her legs out from underneath her with one of his, and twisting her to lower her face down against the soft turf, pinning her down with his weight atop her. He nudged his surging erection against the mound of her soft buttock, breathing hot excitement in her ear, and Gemma was washed over with a second surge of aching lust through which she heard the soft words against her hair: "Surrender to me." The wereem bucked in anger, snarling, wrenching free of his slackened hold as he sprang back to his feet and out of range, laughing.

Her legs were trembling as she rolled back to her feet, and she could feel the moisture pooling between her thighs.

Damn she wanted him.

But first she had to show him he wasn't boss. Bite him properly for being so smug.

She leapt again, this time aiming for his stomach, but found herself rolled onto her back, her wrists pinned beside her head, her bent legs held down beside her waist, feet almost touching her buttocks, stretched achingly wide by his weight as Mac leaned his weight against her thighs.

Her slit was completely exposed, stretched open beneath him. Her stomach clenched, the knot of desire cramping in a rush of excitement as a pulse of liquid surged urgently to moisten it further.

His heavy, throbbing cock was exuding heat and hunger just above her gaping, wide pussy lips. Every hair on her body tingled to alert and her eyes glazed over again as his scent thickened. The sense of complete immobilisation bowled her over. "You know you want to," he murmured gently. The anger flashed back and she blinked out the lust to glare back up into his burning eyes.

Mac held her gaze, his black eyes glittering with passion, and gently, oh so softly, slid the tip of his cock along the length of her aching, empty slit. He watched in deep pleasure as her eyes fluttered closed, an agony of craving washing across her face.

Then he laughed as they flashed open again, black frustrated anger glittering in the depths, and he leapt backwards off her as her long teeth snapped up into his face.

"Come on then, Picchu," he coaxed her softly.

She pounced on him.

He seized her as she landed, spinning her to face away from him, and immobilising her wrists briefly as he nibbled lovingly on her earlobe from behind, murmuring "mmm". She could feel the want, the excitement pounding higher through him, and he pushed his hard, racing erection against her thigh.

"I'll make it good," he promised huskily.

She growled as he released her and jumped to bounce off a tree trunk, twisting in mid-air to dive on him from above. Mac laughed softly while dodging aside and catching her swooping form, spinning her in his embrace, bending her back over his arm, hips crushed briefly against hers to emphasise the growing, insistent bulge surging against her while bruising her lips under his with a deep kiss, before twirling her on out of reach in an odd woodland waltz.

Gemma's head was whirling, the kiss and the feel of his muscular form pressed against her imprinted on her skin, panting through her veins. She blinked as she spun to a halt, free, swaying, trying to remember why she was fighting him.

Because I adore you, her mate whispered in her head. Because I'm aching to make you surrender to me, watch you melt helplessly under me when I win.

When?

She spun again as the fire shot through her, diving to grapple him around the knees, topple him, but he bent faster than she could see and grabbed her thighs, lifting them up, apart, so she was arched upside-down with her back to his front, her hands still on his knees, her thighs parted about his head, legs resting on his shoulders. He blew softly onto the aching, wet, wanting slit inches in front of his face, and Gemma yelped a long groan, heaving herself in an impossible strain of her abdomen to sit upright, grasping at his hair for balance.

She was sitting on his shoulders. Her legs were parted around his head, and Mac moaned in lust and clasped her buttocks in both palms hard, hauling her forwards to slide his stiffened tongue into her wet pussy, probing deeply, thrusting urgently.

Gemma arched backwards again with a gasping shriek. Her mind was lost, shimmering in heat; the distant sensation of cool turf against her back was a welcome contrast to the heat pouring through her, tide fighting higher at the swirl of his wet tongue licking, licking between her legs. Little snuffled grunts of excitement sounded in the air and a shock of pleasure seared through the girl lying legs splayed on her back, moisture rushing to coat that wet tongue as she realised that the eager noises weren't hers.

"Mac," she sighed, mind disconnected, focussed only on the skilful swipes of his tongue against her achingly aroused, melting flesh, fingers tangling in the thick, tawny locks

He stilled and lifted his head, eyes burning in arousal and satisfaction as he uncoiled above her, crouching astride one thigh, trembling in want.

"Is that a please?" her mate asked softly.

The anger flashed and Gemma was sitting upright, her teeth in the join of his neck, hands clamped around his shoulders. Mac remained perfectly still, an arm cradled across her back, a low moan escaping into the air as he trembled. Her stomach clenched at the checked power in him, the thickening, breath-taking scent of achingly aroused Alpha swamping her. Her Alpha. Who had just allowed her to bite him: delighted in it. His arousal was swelling impossibly against her thigh, and she trembled weakly in the rich scent of his pleasure flooding around her.

You are so delicious, his words scorched into her. This want hurts.

The words, the feeling behind the words and in his scent, the tremble of his skin were scorching through the wereem; she felt the tremble in her growing, melting through her as she pulled her teeth back, licking apologetically over the small wound, sealing it, her eyes losing focus as her limbs began to shake.

"Sorry," she almost whined. It was his own fault for being so damn smug. Licking gently over the bite, Gemma felt a strange, curdling mixture of guilt for hurting him, and intense pleasure for marking him. Her stomach was melting with a wish to surrender and pounce at the same time.

"Please?" Her voice was a gentle breath in the air, mind softening, melting, delighting in the knowledge of who she belonged to. Her mate had caught her, fought through her defences. She was so his.

Mac laughed softly, arousal and sheer joy pulsing stronger through his scent, and pulled back to kiss her gently on the nose.

He breathed harshly for a few seconds, pressing his forehead against her while she delighted in his struggle for control, feeling the burn of it across her skin, melting her.

"That was a beautiful dance," the deep voice was hoarse, rich with a deep note of joy, release. "May I have the next?"

Gemma moaned quietly into his chest widening her legs, silently pleading, but found herself in bewilderment on her feet, shifting human to a gentle brush of suggestion from his mind. Mac was humming, humming in delight, she could feel him fighting all of his carnal instincts in order to draw this out, savour the moment. She whined needfully while his right arm slid down to clasp her waist lightly, and his left pulled their clasped hands out. Gently, gracefully, he began to waltz through the first fallen leaves in the shimmering rays of the setting sun, twirling her skilfully around their small grassy stage.

No! Gemma's mind was thundering with lust, and she groaned and struggled to get closer, press against him, but he laughed huskily and twisted, guiding her instead through the steps of the dance until her blood began to pulse with the rhythm and her feet to move to his movements. Her blood was keening, melting down at his scent, his strength and grace, his gentleness. Mac, alight with lust, wanted to dance with his songmate.

A little smile was trembling on her lips and Gemma could feel her heart melting further, even as she relaxed fully into his embrace and spun, swayed, stepped delicately under his guiding hands, feeling his fierce tremble increasing as she danced to his rhythm. The gentle grace, heat and strength of her mate was penetrating every part of her, driving the heat higher, higher, and she had never felt so totally, completely melted by his touch. There was a low, continuous moan on the air, a counterpoint to the music he was humming, and her legs suddenly collapsed underneath her. She flopped onto the grass on her back, gasping in want, and groaned, "Please."

The word only surfaced as a hoarse pleading sound.

"My picchu," Mac murmured, dropping on one knee beside her and clasping her hands with his, drawing her back onto wobbly feet as he rose to his. "You led me a fine dance; I can still taste you on my lips as you escaped up that cliff," he murmured softly, a slight gravel hint to the words as he spun her so that her back was to him. "You don't think you're getting off that lightly, do you?"

Oh-oh.

His hands were cupped just in front of her naked breasts, delicately brushing the nipples as he swayed his hips against her from behind, now humming a soft dance tune.

"I love your breasts," he whispered. Gemma's glazed eyes tried to focus on the strong fingers teasing around her nipples, and she moaned at the tortuous brush of the fur on the backs of his fingers against her naked, aching flesh; her breasts were hairless, and very sensitive, as was her groin, only a soft, short band of fur outlining the top of her abdomen. His hands were large enough to cup the entirety of both mounds, and his hands closed tight briefly, squeezing aching flesh out between the fingers before he lifted them again and pinched the protruding, aching nipples, pulling them delicately outwards.

"Mmm", he murmured.

She moaned, "Please," again, almost incoherently, tilting her head back, sliding her hands up to clasp his head so that she could bend it down and kiss those smiling lips.

His hands drew hers gently over his head and a large palm clasped both of her wrists together, pulling them until her arms were stretched to almost full extent, only a slight bend in her elbows, while she was lost in the kiss.

Then Mac lifted his head as his other hand dropped to play with her aching breasts and nipples, holding her back against his achingly aroused form as he continued to bump and grind his heavy erection against her back, still humming softly.

"Oh I intend to please," he promised softly.

Gemma moaned, the shimmer running through her while his fingers brushed over her and she strained against the clasp around her wrists. She was panting heavily, squirming; her breasts were growing so tight under that light touch they felt like they would burst, the heavy, pulling ache painful, rich. Liquid arousal was coating her thighs and her belly was tightening, tightening in desperate want, making her grind back against him, trying to tempt him, tease him.

"Oh god Mac, please!" she gasped, tears lighting in her eyes at the tight, aching need in her skin, the surging need in her belly growing. "I'm sorry if you didn't like that dance I led you; that you were miserable with my juices on your lips because I escaped you."

Mac laughed softly, and lifted her off the ground by the grip on her wrists, pulling her gently back against him to rub his straining erection teasingly in the cleft of her buttocks, his naked, hard pole brushing lightly through her soft pubic curls from behind, agonisingly close to her begging, melting entrance . "I don't call this escaped, picchu. And you'll have to say sorry better than that," her mate teased, his breath gently gliding over the tingling skin of her neck.

Gemma moaned softly, feeling a flash of excitement and heated trepidation as she was held suspended, struggling to press closer to that hard throbbing flesh , but she managed to gulp, "You wish."

Then she yelped a groan as his cock slid gently over the entrance to her wet pussy from behind, gliding over her labia, tormenting her.

Her mate nipped her ear, and through the fog of lust she heard his voice soft with amusement, but with a note of challenge. "OK, I will now accept your apology when you say:" the tone dropped into a breathless, panting falsetto, ""Oh my most beloved Alpha, please accept my most wanton, worshipful apologies, and pray enjoy my body howsoever you desire, to atone for my fault"," he whispered. She could feel him smile against her ear as he finished the sentence.

Hah.

"Oh my most smug Alpha," cooed Gemma on a breathless, sarcastic warble, and then her breath left her entirely on a choke of feeling as his cock slid gently over her labia again, heat bursting in her head.

She whined.

God, no. She tried, she honestly tried to hold on to some semblance of reason, but his aroused scent was melting her defences, her body surrendering to the gentle brushes of his fingertips on her aroused, painful nipples. His fingers were tweaking the little peaks, she heard a long groan in the air, and felt the soft brush of that hard length between her thighs, surging against her, but not inside her. Torture. Squirming from her position suspended by that grip around her wrists, she hooked her feet on his knees to give herself some leverage, desperately trying to bend forwards, pushing her buttocks hard against his throbbing, huge length, bending further. But just as she almost hit the right angle he laughed softly and released the grip on her wrists, his hands dropping to grip her hips while the cool air rushed by her falling torso and her palms landed on the grass, head spinning.

Mac hitched her slightly higher, her legs were opening pleadingly, and he rubbed the moist tip of his hard, racing cock against the rigid, tingling bundle of nerves at the head of her cleft. Gemma yelped, almost unable to gasp in a breath against the choked feeling of need, "Please, Mac."

"Oh my most beloved Alpha," he prompted teasingly, lifting her legs wide to that he could see the head of his cock rubbing gently against her clit, his breath rasping harshly. Gemma groaned and collapsed, her arms giving way, welcoming the clean, moist scent of the grass in her nostrils as she nose-dived to the ground. Anything to dilute the haunting scent of his core-deep, heavenly enjoyment, the damn scent of aroused Alpha trembling through her, clouding her mind, obliterating her control.

She was not going to say that.

Want a bet?

"Licking your arousal off my lips - my cock was so hard that I hurt, picchu," he murmured gently, continuing to torment her with little nudges of his hard length against the erect, aching bud. "No-one has made me that painfully hard and left me; have you ever tried to run in that state?"

"Yes," she groaned the mumble, little pants of lust escaping as wriggling shocks of tight, painful lust rocked over her skin. She was going to come. She was going to come now. Ow, such a huge, tense explosion was building. Unimaginably vast, uncontainable. Any second now.

She screamed, "Oh!" in frustration as he dropped her legs and straightened to just walk away. Panting harshly, her eyes fastened greedily on the huge, swaying tower of taut, throbbing flesh standing between his legs. God, she needed him. Needed him now. Now.

Damn the wolf.

He stopped three paces away, smiling down at her, and she growled, but the urgent need in her belly was so tight, sucking away all her strength, all her will, focussing her solely on the desperate, throbbing ache between her thighs.

"Well, that was the first word," he smiled.

Grr.

Her fingers almost reached, almost managed to brush against the aching, slippery nub of her clit when he grabbed them and pulled them behind her, twisting both hands into a grip in one of his palms as he chuckled softly.

"Oh no, little mate," he said, "You are the one who badgered me into teaching you sexual control. So you have to accept my teaching methods. Only I get to give you release. And I'll give it when you beg properly."

She didn't want training NOW!

Damn him. Damn him. Damn him.

But a little wisp of admiration nudged at the back of her furious mind; her mate knew exactly what phrase she was going to struggle against for longest, hold out until she could barely see.

She was never going to say that.

Oh yes you are.

His free hand dipped between her thighs and he began to tease her aching flesh with subtle strokes of his fingers, pulling gently on her labia, tweaking her bud, intent on bringing her back to the brink.

Her legs parted wider, involuntarily, and she heard him take a deep, appreciative breath, inhaling her melting scent, his own simmering harshly through the air in response.

Dammit, her mind wisped as another surge of pleasure trembled through her aching flesh, he was so damn aroused too: why couldn't he lose control?

Her hips were lifting to the dance of his fingers, her voice panting hoarse begging noises as he dipped one inside and began to stroke her inner walls, then began to probe deeply, curving the digit to rub against her sweet spot from inside.

A plaintive, whimpered gargle from her tight, tight throat.

Her hips were desperately humping his fingers, the feeling building again, higher, even tighter coiled than before. Beautiful; just out of reach; one step closer; nearly.

And he snatched his fingers back out.

Gemma gave a hoarse, yelping snarl, wrenching her hands from his slackened grip and twisting in the air to snap at her tormentor while the rage flashed across her skin and mind, but she ended face down across his knees, wrists pressed together against the back of her neck, holding her head turned sideways on the grass, bared teeth and claws immobilised. His other hand was resting on her squirming buttocks, stroking gently.

"Oh no, my little wereem," he told her gently, "You cannot bite me either: not now. Maybe later I will allow you to."

Then he bent closer, hand caressing over her soft buttock cheeks and his chest pressing against her back while he whispered directly into her ear, "Oh picchu, you are going to be so hot and tight and wet when I mount you."

A tingle roared along her skin and the wolf in her simply melted at the heated words of her mate, flopping into surrender, whining with the need to present to him. Now. Damn.

A vague echo of despair: she was on her own in this. Help!

Another smile against her shoulder, and a finger tingled down between her thighs, teasing light caresses millimetres from her aching, throbbing empty core.

"Oh my most beloved Alpha," he purred, kissing her shoulder blade.

No no no no.

Oh my god.

His finger just grazed the edge of her slick labia, and Gemma jumped in his hands, a hoarse, harsh sound of need escaping.

"I surrender. I surrender," she gasped, opening her legs wide to him, balanced on her knees across his partially bent legs.

He kissed her skin softly again, and repeated, "Oh my most beloved Alpha."

That damn finger was now tapping and swirling lightly on the painfully erect bud, in time with the demanding surges of his rock-hard erection against her belly and the crease of her hip. Her blood seemed to be raging behind her eyes, blotting out the gathering dusk while her body shuddered as though in a fever, legs pulling wider, wider, silently begging. Her voice choked, hoarse sounds of pleading, and she thought dammit, before managing to gasp out, "Oh my most beloved Alpha, I surrender. Please."

"Please accept my most wanton, worshipful apologies," he reminded her.

Gemma flung back her head and howled, writhing in his grip, trying to get away, away from those damn, skilful fingers that were teasing her closer, closer to abject, pitiful surrender.

I won't tell anyone else you said it, he promised gently in her head. This surrender is just to me.

Dammit, she knew that! And he so wasn't getting it.

No no no. Oooh, those fingers expertly teasing her. The hard, delicious cock pressed promisingly against her stomach, the touch of it throbbing through her.

Oh god - now it sounded like there was an escaped wookie in the forest. Pleading, pleading with herself not to give in - but no, no, but she couldn't bear - he was going to stop again before he let her come, so close, so close. So huge, magnificent, the approaching explosion. Unbearable. Unmissable.

"Please, please accept my most wanton, worshipful apologies and enjoy my body however you wish: PLEASE," a little, desperate voice groaned in the air.

An incredible, beautiful melting feeling rushed along Gemma's skin with the scent he exuded when she finally gasped the words, heat flowing through every pore, a warm, delicious bubble of surrender relaxing her into total, burning pleasurable anticipation.

Thank-you, my picchu.

Mac was pressing soft kisses along her shoulders, breathing harshly against her skin as he gently folded her onto her knees on the grass in front of him and knelt between her legs, edging them wider apart to give him entry.

"I haven't had this painful an arousal in years," he murmured, his voice tight with control, "You are one deliciously stubborn little mate."

His throbbing erection was pressed tantalisingly at the entrance to her pussy, and arousal coursed higher through Mac at the sight of his wereem's wide open legs and trembling taut buttocks, the scent of her shining wet, fragrant pussy begging him silently. "I can't wait until you're on heat again," he growled softly, and began to coat the hard, swollen head of his organ in her slick juices, a little smile lifting his lips as he watched her sway and moan while he brushed against her swollen, aching lips.

Then he held her still, tilting her buttocks up slightly so that he could enjoy the sight of his thick, swollen cock slowly forcing its way into her slick passage. Finally. His skin tightened in pleasure when she moaned, a long sigh of wordless satisfaction and mingled pleading while he slowly impaled her. He halted briefly, closing his eyes as her walls clamped hard then released around him, the beginning of her orgasm trembling through her, massaging bewitchingly at his rock-hard length. So, so good.

"I was so right," he groaned, holding still, trying to hold out. "You are so hot, and tight, and wet. Soft. Indescribably perfect." Her passage contracted again to his words, the scent of her arousal pulsing into the night, increasing the burning tremble along his skin as he struggled against the need raging in him. He nudged his cock a little deeper, felt the flash of her igniting, almost there, and began to pump soft short thrusts into her, pushing her higher, higher, his. His rhythm.

His wereem yowled her need plaintively, rearing up and back against him as she tried to push faster, harder, deeper. Mac growled and ploughed deep into her, grabbing her hips and slamming her buttocks back against his thighs as he thrust home. Mine. He stilled, enjoying her squirming, gasping, soundless pleas, fighting for more. Then he held her still as he slowly, steadily withdrew to the very tip. She was trembling on the brink, struggling against his grip, begging, growling with need, and her scent was glorious. So close. He thrust hard to slam home again. Her passage clamped as his thick cock penetrated, the ripple of her pleasure quivering at the edge of explosion, halting as he reached full depth and pressed hard against her inner walls. He looked down at her, his breath hoarse as he strained to hold back. Then he melted, a surge of delight trembling through him, pulsing along his straining cock.

His mate's head was down, drooping, parted thighs trembling in want, and she was just waiting, waiting for him to withdraw and thrust again. Awaiting his pleasure. Mac sighed and bent to kiss her shoulder gently, his cock swelling in painful arousal. His picchu had relaxed into the wolf: surrendering completely now, accepting that the fight was done.

Mine, he told her.

Her scent in response.

Mac felt his eyes glaze over, his own wolf beginning to engulf him, and he began to withdraw and thrust slowly, fully, enjoying the glide of her sweet slick flesh over his aching length. The walls were tightening, tightening to his slow, relentless rhythm. Delicious. Then pleasure flashed along his skin when he felt her explode into exquisite release, her skin flaring heat and colour, slick liquid gushing around his buried organ while the walls of her pussy shuddered in sweet, tight surrender.

Too much.

Mac groaned, lifted back onto his knees and grabbed her hips so that he could pull her off and slam into her properly, forcing the rhythm fast, faster, aching to drive as deep as he could. Then abruptly he rolled her onto her side, lifting her upper leg to press it back against her shoulder, thrusting hard into her with a groan for the new angle. He bent down and sucked the nearer breast hard into his mouth, tonging the nipple, and heard her aching cry as she arched suddenly and a second rush of liquid bathed his rampaging cock, muscles sweetly milking around him. The tingling rush shot down his spine but he jerked out before it hit, breathing harshly, trembling.

Gemma groaned out a pleading sound.

He rolled her over onto her back, growling in need, swiftly parted her legs and pressed both thighs back hard against her chest where she held them while he slid his hands under her knees to close around the beautiful, soft breasts while he mounted her again, panting hoarsely. The tingle was back on the second thrust deep into her wet softness, and, straight-backed, he squeezed her breasts hard, pulling on them for purchase while he thrust desperately deep while the release rushed at him. More.

He growled and began to stab hard, short thrusts down into her melting passage, the angle perfect, the yielding softness sucking at his control, the sweet moans as he roughly gripped her bounteous mounds heightening his pleasure to furious need. A third scream of release leapt from his little wereem's throat as she arched her back and burst into bucking ripples of mindless pleasure; his eyes blanked over and the fire flashed down his spine, the rippling massage of her passage sucking the amassed seed in a long, exquisite series of jolts of pleasure from his aching balls. His thumb and forefinger were clamped hard across nipples while he melting under the shuddering bursts of release swamping through him, his buried cock swelling hard to pulse spurt after spurt into her rippling pussy.

Panting, panting, hoarse, rasping breaths as he slowly released her breasts and leaned forward on his arms to lift his weight off her. Her eyes were glazed, glittering black, unseeing as she continued to shudder in endless little ripples of delight under him. Lost.

God he never got enough of her.

Gemma snuggled up inside Mac's arm and flicked a pebble into the glistening dark waters of the lake, leaning dreamily against her mate's shoulder as they sat together on the rock on the shoreline, their bare feet sticking out over the edge above the water. His back was resting against a tree, and she was, as usual, resting against him. Her clothes, such as Mac had managed to retrieve, were skimpy and torn after their chasing through the forest, not much protection against the cool night, but she had a big furry blanket handy. OK, so the bearer was a bit hard and muscular but there were compensations.

You weren't complaining about me being hard and muscular earlier, taunted Mac.

The bearer is also quite useless when it comes to respecting private thoughts.

My deliciously wanton mate is useless at holding her shields together under sensual assault, replied Mac cheerfully.

"Need more practice," whispered Gemma, and felt him smile as he cuddled her closer.

"I'll - um- enrol you in an intensive training session soon," promised Mac huskily, his voice giving new meaning to the verb. Gemma groaned at the atrocious pun. "You're a wereem; you'll heat to the rut within the next month at the latest." Her mate's voice was a deep, joyful breath directly into her ear, his words whispering along her sensitive, sated skin.

Gemma's blood pulsed in delight, skin tingling with an almost unbearable shimmer of feeling, although her aching, exhausted pussy throbbed protestingly: Not right now.

Her mate was exuding happiness, relaxation, and she could feel the shimmer of delighted anticipation rising off him. No. But soon, he replied.

In the middle of a war? she queried doubtfully. He had no time for this. They had no time for this.

We're not at war currently - and we'll just have to take time out. That's why I'm training up Hakan as my second with the Whites; Karl is used to leading the Mackelds when necessary.

Then Mac continued aloud, changing the subject: "So, picchu. Anything happen today while I was out? Apart from lots of delightful scheming." He turned his head again, nuzzling and kissing her ear, and whispered, "Thank-you."

Gemma sighed and tried to drag her unwilling mind away from her tingling ear, the feel of his breath on her neck, the muscular, warm chest rising and falling behind her where she sat perched on his right thigh, and turn it back to science. When she finally managed, she felt a surge of familiar irritation.

"I've been looking back over all our results - what we have found out doesn't make sense," she grumbled, feeling the I-am-so-sick-of-this frustration surging in her. At least she'd get a break from this everlasting frustration when she came into heat. Then she would do nothing but laze around in her rug and let Mac feed her. Oh, and other things. The antithesis of frustration. Gemma smiled. Despite the exhausted, sated lethargy plastering her lazily against her mate, her blood was beginning to smoulder again in response to her thoughts.

"How doesn't it?" asked her mate softly.

Gemma blinked, and tried to remember what he was talking about. Then she remembered and another flash of irritation shot through her. She hauled her thoughts together again, reeling in the errant fingers which were sneaking south through his fur, and settling back against him, blinking her eyes to clear her mind.

Think.

She drew a long breath and rattled off the gist of the mismatching results of the myriad of skin and hair tests she'd evaluated, a habit she had fallen into with her mate every evening they could. It cleared her thoughts and he often put forward helpful comments.

They had found a variety of pieces of the puzzle, but couldn't fit them together. Mac, her current control until she received another packet from the fort, was carrying some of the elements she thought were attaching the scent-masking to the ex-Grey adults, but his scent wasn't affected. The cubs weren't carrying them, but their scent was still fainter than it should be. The mismatching pieces were driving her up the wall.

Mac sighed a long, deep breath, and his arm tightened around her waist.

"Maybe we're looking at this wrong, picchu," he grunted, his voice soft. "Maybe it's not the drug we think it is."

"Grey is desperate to get it back, we are definitely on the right track," protested his mate. Her mind flashed with rage at the worry over Bethan and Kate; what was happening to them. She had to work this out.

Mac soothed a gentle palm across her skin. "We definitely have something he will kill to stop us getting," he agreed.

"That masks scent," added Gemma.

"For a few seconds," interposed Mac calmly. "We always knew that silver masked scent, but you say that it's the barbiturates and other compounds which have that effect. Well, silver isn't a binding agent, but it's present in all - which makes no sense at all, if you already have a mask to scent."

"I'm the chemist around here!" she growled sitting angrily upright on his thigh and twisting to scowl at him.

"I'm quoting the chemist," her Alpha returned, unperturbed. "What if the reason you can't work out how to get from A to B is because the map you've got only covers A to C?"

"Oh, quit with the map metaphors," grumbled Gemma, turning and leaning back against him again while she thought. "I did not get us lost."

"No, because I was here with my infallible nose," replied Mac.

"Infallibly smug nose," muttered Gemma.

"You seem to confuse the words 'smug' and 'right', picchu," he murmured teasingly.

"You seem to have no concept of the term, 'modest'," she retorted, the corners of her mouth turning up in a faint smile as she rubbed her head against his shoulder, telling her brain to think. It was hard after the night they had shared. She just wanted to melt back against her mate and purr.

"Mo-dest," he enunciated quietly, slowly tasting the word, as though an alien concept. Gemma treadled her claws into the arm snuggled around her waist and her wolf bit her earlobe gently in retaliation, his lips smiling.

"Let me think," she grumbled, and her teasing mate stilled underneath her.

Gemma stared out across the dark waters of the lake, distractedly admiring the gleam of the stars on the gentle swell. Mac sat silent, chest rising and falling peacefully at her back, his cradling arm warm around her waist, and he turned his head to rest his cheek against her hair.

So if it wasn't a scent-masking drug she was testing for, what was it?

Having exhaustively discussed the range of ways of concealing scent with Valerie, Gemma had been a little blinkered to any other possibility.

"You said that there is a clear pattern of the contaminants in the hair of the adults, and a different set, faint, but visible, in the cubs," mused Mac.

"Yeah, but some of the adult ones, you also carry," murmured Gemma. "Background pollution that obviously any wolf picks up leading a normal wolf life, so it can't be those."

Mac tensed violently. His skin shuddered and his arm was a vice, clamping her to his side convulsively.

Gemma felt the wild feeling inside her explode to its feet: quivering, alert, poised. But instead of fighting it automatically, she listened - the black anger wasn't bound with the wildness, her mind was instead smothered in a reaching, calming, settled feeling that rolled through her from nowhere. A desire to calm. She felt her fingers stroking gently over his, where they were clenched around her left hip, her fingertips tracing the faint hairs dusting the backs of the tense fingers.

Mac?

His mind was barricaded behind an impenetrable, fierce shield-wall, separated from the world. The lonely echo of distance sank into her senses, the shield of distance within him, the distance which he had always held around himself. Or which he had used to hold around himself, before they started this.

The scent rising off him told her of his internal revulsion.

Gemma was smothering under an internal keening, the fierce pull of the wildness within her, the dragging sense that she needed to comfort her mate submerging all sense of self. A different kind of blankness, but just as frightening until she let go and allowed it to just turn her to wrap her arms around him and settle under his chin, her senses smothered under the blanket of calm. She cuddled close, cradling him, to wait with more patience than she had thought her internal wolf had.

Several long, silent minutes passed. Mac stayed deathly still, something inside him raging.

Eventually she heard him swallow, and another deep sigh. His arms tightened, and he curled around her, burying his nose in her hair, breathing deeply, quivering lightly in tension as he released the iron control he'd clamped down on himself. Gemma had a sudden, vivid memory of Marsh scenting his daughter's hair to help him retain control, and felt a shiver of pride as Mac did the same, with her. Love and trust. She gently drew her mate's hand up until it was cupped inside hers, nestled between her body and his, and kissed the palm.

As her lips explored, a memory drifted idly to the surface of her mind, a memory of the sheer pleasure of loving his lips joyfully when they had finally rolled together in a sated heap earlier, of pressing a light, gentle flurry of kisses over every inch of his face to reward her mate for catching her oh so satisfyingly.

The lips against her hair quirked, and Mac took another deep sigh.

"Maybe," he said, and then stopped. He cleared his throat, sighing for a third time, and she felt him relaxing his control further, settling back into himself. He pulled away, sliding around in front of her and rolling onto his back to rest his head in her lap. Gemma sat up, cross-legged, and began to run her fingers through his tawny mop of hair, massaging his scalp gently, caressing, tracing the beloved features.

"I thought I would have healed completely by now, regenerated the hair and skin," he said softly, his clear, star-deep eyes meeting hers staunchly. "But maybe we had better ask Valerie's volunteers, or more Fealden wolves, to be your control, Gem."

Mac added a last, barely audible phrase, his eyes now distant, looking past her shoulder, "I was experimented on by Grey many years ago."

His mind was calm, but the door to his emotions was tight closed, holding back she knew not what explosion of feeling, memories. Gemma shuddered, then looked down into his still face, her fingertips sliding over the bones and the soft skin. She bent and kissed his nose softly. Cheek. Chin. Along the line of his jaw. He didn't need her anger just now.

Light, gentle brushes of love. She could hear the lapping of the waves against their rock, the light rustle of the wind in the trees. The water scent was clean, clear, this far from the city, and the pine-fragrance was strong. The only other scents were herself and her mate, and she could feel and sense him relaxing , enjoying the warm tingle of deep feeling that welled through her with each touch of her lips on his warm skin, her mind adrift, holding apart the burning anger.

"Well, we were going to kill Grey anyway," murmured Gemma eventually, almost as an aside. Mac pulled her head down to kiss her lips.

"It was a long time ago," he said. "I'd pretty much forgotten it, it wouldn't have occurred to me - I didn't realise it might make a difference in your tests."

"But you have no loss of scent."

"No, that wasn't what they were trying to do. They were trying -," Mac stopped. He slowly curled to sit upright, stomach muscles rippling effortlessly, thinking furiously.

Gemma moved to sit cross-legged beside him, staring, waiting. Crossly she twitched her thoughts away from the molten flash of bewitchment woven by watching the smooth, easy strength of that hard, flat stomach pulling him upright, and distracted her internal wolf by focussing on the bleak, barricaded look in her songmate's eyes as he sifted through vile memories. Then she responded to the much stronger urge to slide closer and hug him again.

"They?" she breathed quietly, leaning against him.

"Nicolas and his father," Mac murmured absently, his arm slipping around her waist. Gemma felt an ache growing behind her eyes, the fiery wish to kill trembling through her, but she breathed deeply of her mate's scent, concentrating on what he needed - her, sane, listening, and the feeling subsided.

Blazing green eyes stared off into the night for a long time, and then turned to look down into hers, the scorching feeling humming across the short distance between them. Her heart jolted at the fully alert, intense scent exuding from her Alpha, the power raising the hairs on her skin.

Looking back, and knowing what I now know, I think," her mate breathed, "That they were trying to control me."

They stared at each other, breathing hard.

Gemma opened her mouth. Closed it again. Opened it, and whispered, "The cubs don't carry what you have. Only the adults."

"I - yes, that makes sense," replied her mate quietly as he thought. "It also explains why the Grey cubs were only isolated until just pre-pubescent. Before its shiele develops, a young cub is as vulnerable to control as you, picchu; predominantly protected and controlled by the parents, but any strong adult can prevent a whelp from doing anything stupid. He would have no reason to drug the cubs."

Then Mac blew out a sudden long, harsh sound, "No wonder Grey's taking such risks to retrieve the drug; before, you had no idea what it did. Now, with both cause and effect clear in front of you..."

"I might be able to map out the route from A to C," Gemma finished, and unwound to her feet, quivering with excitement. A vague gem of knowledge flashed through her and she added, "Humans use barbiturates to control fits too - they affect the mind."

"My beautiful little genius," responded her mate, eyes gleaming with burning, fiery pride into hers as he rose beside her. Burning his pride in her. His hands suddenly slid up her back to clasp her head firmly, urgently, and he bent over her to crush her lips under a passionate kiss, bending her back over his arm.

"C'mon," said the Alpha when he finally lifted his head. He steadied her breathless sway on suddenly wobbly feet, a hand sliding down to engulf hers and tug her off the rock.

"I take it controlling you was a non-starter," laughed Gemma as she stumbled along through the heather, trying to keep up with him on her still shaky legs, feeling the delicious, sated ache between her legs throbbing to the urgent power shimmering off him.