PAWN AMONG WOLVES CH. 14-PT2

His eyes swept over the intent, quivering circle of wolves. Listening together. The beginnings of a true pack, they had melded for the first time tonight, instinctively, to protect their Alpha and Alfamme. Mac felt a pulse of pride in the Whites while he continued evenly.

"Now, Silback reports that two of his scouts have been killed recently on their western borders, without challenge, and without time to convey," he said. His fingertip slid down the little finger of his right hand, tracing a path to the centre-right of the palm. The surrounding wolves' eyes were beginning to burn. "And Vanilchov tells us that the game from his northwestern region has been migrating unusually early, and unusually briskly south."

The third movement of that fingertip followed the curving line mapped out on his hand, ending at the base, just above his wrist.

You could have heard a pin drop in the house.

Mac sat perfectly straight, looking around at the crowd of the waiting wolves. "Tonight we pulled the pieces together, and realised: Tzo is moving the bulk of his forces toward Medway." He gently tapped the vein close to the surface on his wrist. "For attack or rendezvous with Grey, his intent is not clear, but we know his overriding wish for he has stated it many times: that wolves would stop arguing with him and band together to attack the humans."

Gemma's head shot upright to his last words, startled, while the powerful voice dropped, silky and growling, continuing, "What if we could not argue? Fealden says that Senshal Lu seemed to be fighting within himself, even while attacking him."

The Whites half-growled, half-gasped, while Mac continued, hands dropping to flex and clench next to his thighs, leaning forwards in urgency as he bit out precise words: "We are all aware that somewhere near Medway - in Marsh or Grey range, Tzo's former ally Grey lurks."

He paused, then added, "And you, my Whites, are sadly well aware that Grey possesses a drug which can bind a wolf to his will."

A shudder rang through the collective circle.

"It would appear that Tzo knows of this also."

A harsh sigh.

"The Wolflord believes that Tzo is going for the drug," Mac stated darkly, the power pounding off him.

Snarls erupted around the room, fury raging from many wolf throats.

Under the echoing noise, the rising feeling of ferocity in the air, Mac conveyed privately to Gemma as he gently lifted her off his knee while hauling the duvet up from the floor, folding it on the mattress beside him so that he had a blood-free patch to put her on, Do you have enough travel drug to get the whole adult pack on the train to Medway?

No, she responded silently, startled. In a few days I could -.

No, you need to work on the other one as fast as you can, he interrupted. Very well: a war run. No-one can fly right now; there have been several explosions in the planes they tried to take to pursue Tzo, the fuel has been sabotaged. All fuel, at many different airfields; Tzo knew we would mobilise after him from everywhere, no matter what the outcome. This was a very well planned, co-ordinated assault.

Mac drew another breath, sliding off the bed and drawing himself up to stand at full height. The air seemed to thicken, tingling against the skin, and the Whites fell silent again abruptly. His voice when he spoke to his new pack was deep and slowly growing more emphatic. Gemma watched the wolves stirring ardently to the fire of his words, his eyes, the beating of power in the air: "Does Tzo know where Grey is hiding? Maybe not, but it is not a risk we are willing to chance. We must stop him. Yet the Marsh are divided: half at their Range, half at the front. And they are in disarray: their Alpha killed, his son too weak yet to hold a meld, and his daughter has never done so. The Wolflord is guiding them from afar, but the Marsh are at the moment alone, divided, distressed, and leaderless: they cannot do this by themselves. They cannot stop Tzo, cannot prevent him from uniting with Grey. From getting the drug."

He drew a long breath, looking around at the quivering readiness of the eyes burning around him, responding to his words, "We are the nearest pack. We have to get there first."

A collective, assenting snarl rang out from the quivering wolves, and Mac strode forward into the centre of the pack and was engulfed as they closed in around him. Gemma could hear him giving soft orders to groups of two or three wolves at a time, examining healing bites, sharing a soft touch, a gesture, a commendation, turning from one set to another, each group of them eagerly awaiting their instructions before exiting swiftly. Each departing pair also hoisted a body up between them as they left. The wereem realised as she watched her Alpha in pride - the wolves had to run in smaller groups. The humans would notice a pack this size if they streamed cross-country together.

So many basic facts about being a wolf which she'd never have thought of.

When all had dispersed, Mac turned back towards his mate, a strange, churning fire in his eyes. They were almost too fierce to read as he stopped in front of her, and he looked down silently into her face for a long moment. His voice was unsettled, dry when he eventually commented, "This is a strange situation."

Gemma waited, eyeing him doubtfully.

"You scented them; you defended me." He lifted her small, bewildered frame off the bed, crushing her in an intense hug as he growled, "You saved my life."

Of course I defended you. She was burning with indignation.

Mac bent and kissed her fiercely, bending her back over his arm in a painful arch, lips burning into hers, mouth greedy.

Then suddenly when she thought she would burst from the rising feeling of exultation, he lifted upright again, heaving a deep breath, and continued softly, "Yet you still have until midnight for your penance to run."

His eyes were troubled, frowning down into hers in doubt at the justice of maintaining her 'punishment'. Gemma smiled and relaxed, hugging him hard in return. She had accepted her penalty for her stupidity in tying herself up. She didn't want him to go easy on her. She wanted him to trust her to keep her word.

Besides, she liked it. Proving that she trusted him.

"I think the saving life thing was mutual. I might not have won if I'd been on my own," she replied tongue-in-cheek, eyes drifting over the remaining scattering of dead wolves strewn around the bed.

"I will continue to obey you today," she whispered, smiling up at her mate, touching his cheek gently. "I promised. Trust me."

A strange look crossed his face, then it settled back to amusement, and a little gleam of anticipation.

"All the better for me," he replied. "Then, picchu, what do you need to do with the drug Bethan and Kate salvaged for us yesterday?"

"I just need to run my samples through the spectrometer this morning," she replied, distractedly deciphering the numbers on the face of the bedside clock lying upside-down on the floor, half covered by the fur of one of the remaining dead. Too early to call her friends yet. She also couldn't spot her bracelet, and was unsettled by the empty space on her wrist, eyes darting around the floor.

"I bisected it as far as I knew last night and the tests I prepared of the remaining links should be ready by now," she added absently. Then her eyes began sparkling in anticipation. An answer.

"Good," he replied, releasing her and turning away to scratch at a patch of drying blood on his thigh while he walked around the foot of the bed, glancing out of the window at the four 'men' in the back garden , just visible behind the juniper hedge, vigorously spading up a large area of the vegetable patch. Several other White koiru paced back into the room to begin lifting out more furry bodies. "But can't Ada do that?"

"Yes, but -," she began. She wanted to do it. Gemma didn't lift her eyes from the carpet, scanning it for a gleam of gold.

"Then please ask her to. I'd like you to come and wash my hair in the shower," her mate said over his shoulder as he walked into the en suite. I'm phrasing it as a request because the Whites need to trust you to stand up to me if necessary; it's not one really, picchu: not today.

Her head jerked up at the sudden pulse to his scent. The wolves hefting bodies toward the door tried to hide smirks as Gemma rolled her eyes and walked past them, blushing faintly while she followed her mate. That was the trouble with mating scent. His burning musk made it blatantly obvious to all the wolves in the room what Mac really intended to do in the shower.

Oh you can wash my hair too. After.

*

Less than ten minutes later Gemma was panting harshly, leaning her forehead against the side of the shower cubicle, hands plastered flat against the glass beside her shoulders. She was trembling, trying to recover her breath and force some stability back into her wobbling legs. Strong fingers were massaging shampoo into her human hair while the warm water showered over the tingling alert skin of her back and buttocks, and a separate, slow glide of her mate's cum began to trace its way down the sensitive surface of her inner thigh. She felt his fingers drop to run gently along the pattern of squares on her buttocks, fingertips following the raised lines standing out on her taut skin. A smile hovered on her lips. Well, if he would pound her into the tiled wall that hard, what did he expect?

Don't think I should relax you that often, she thought vaguely, legs almost folding, still waiting for her head to stop spinning in time with her pounding blood. Kind of obliterates my ability to stand.

The half-awake cock brushing against her thigh rose to stiff attention.

Mm mm mmm.

Mac sighed.

"I love you," he murmured in answer, and nipped her ear lightly. "And I am well rested, thank-you, and my blood is up but -"

"I'll say," she interjected, grinning into the glass.

He swatted her arse gently, amusement in his voice despite the mock-reproving tone, "-but you'll just have to wait for tonight for me to play with my slave properly - we have a busy day ahead."

Gemma pussy clenched in delight and she half-twisted and looked down at the engorged cock waving in the air just above her buttocks. She pulled a disappointed face.

Mac pulled her left hand off the wall and slapped the bottle of shower gel into it.

"Stop drooling at my cock and wash my hair, woman," he growled. Suddenly the small cubicle seemed even more cramped when he shifted, and the looming lycan towered beside her. Gemma's eyes widened as she stared. He really was larger everywhere, in wolf form.

"That was an order, Gemma," her mate reminded her silkily. Her head jerked up, and she looked into the gleam in his eyes, startled.

I told you you wouldn't like them all, he added silently.

No drooling at his cock? But couldn't she just look? she protested.

You are incapable of looking without drooling, he grinned as he replied.

Gemma pouted and squeezed some soap onto her palm. Damn it was hard not to look down. The scent was driving her crazy.

"Johnson says Kate and Bethan are still asleep at the hospital," her mate announced, clearing the lust clouds abruptly from Gemma's mind. "The doctor will see them between ten and eleven, and we're assuming he'll pronounce them good to go - there was nothing really wrong with them last night but they wanted to keep them under observation."

"Go where?" Gemma asked.

"I have a couple of safe places in mind, but we'll need to ask them what they -."

Safe?

Mac stopped abruptly, looking down, a sombre light in his eyes, nose twitching. The gel bottle landed with a soft thud on the floor, sliding from Gemma's suddenly numb fingers. Mac took in the glazed, distant, pained look in his mate's soft eyes, the shudder starting to shake her frozen frame. Her fingers were digging into his skin. Gently Mac eased her desperate clutch from his fur, and Gemma felt herself lifted, cuddled against his frame while her mate sank smoothly onto his haunches, leaning back against the shower wall.

The water beat down upon her drooping head.

Gus was dead. It had just seemed to hit her, crushingly. Bright, teasing eyes empty. Gone.

The shudder was deep, cold in her core.

Images of all those other dead, tossed in undignified heaps around their bedroom, danced behind her glazed eyes. Vicious teeth descending. The thick blood soaked deep into the mattress. The reek of it. That tiny scrap of the brown fur sprawled over the cabinet, neck at an impossible angle. Gemma's eyes were glazed as the sickening images flashed repeatedly through her head, her blurred gaze caught by the rivulets of dark red water running across the floor and down the drain, running from her mate's fur.

Grey eyes glaring hatred at her through the windscreen as he drew back those long, vicious claws. The tearing sound of those claws raking deep through the flesh of Hakan, jerking the heavy body lying over her. Blood oozing around her fingers, pooling on his stomach while she cut into her bodyguard herself, deeper, deeper, tears falling as she couldn't close the tweezers around the damn slick bullet.

The shaking was growing stronger. So cold.

In lycan form, Mac stank of blood.

Death.

A nudge of his mind, and she was also lycan, the water plastering her dark brown fur to her shuddering skin. Caressing hands began to massage the gel along her limbs, and she just watched, trembling as the foaming bubbles rinsed down through her fur and snaked across the floor under the sluicing water. Her limbs lifted as directed by his touch, turned, or held themselves steady in the warm, cleansing shower. His touch slid soothingly along every inch of her body, massaging heat back into her. Love.

Her eyes focussed on the smooth gold band dangling around her furry left wrist. A wisp of warmth curled around her heart. Where had that come from?

Eventually, the shaking subsided.

Settled on the floor with a soft kiss on her lips, Gemma pressed her back against the side and curved her arms around her naked legs, watching as Mac rose back to his feet and began to briskly soap his torso and powerful arms. His hands were scrubbing hard over the muscles in his thighs when she rose on her own shaky legs and took the bottle off him, sliding around behind him and squeezing gel onto her palm to massage it into his back.

"I love you too," she murmured, and felt the taut muscles under her fingers relax a little.

Mac sighed deeply, leaning against the wall as she worked on his shoulders.

"I'm sorry, picchu. I would have kept you clear of this if I could."

"I know. You'd have left me a lonely, ignorant human." Heart lifting, she swatted a pleasingly loud slap on his furry buttock. "Bad wolf."

Her eyes blurred at the speed with which he spun, then a second later she was plastered against the wall in front of him, lifted by a firm grip around her upper arms so that her playful eyes were level with the green fire of his.

"Some things I don't accept, even from you, Gemma," Mac growled, only half-amused. Then his mouth twisted in a grimace as they both sensed Hakan sprinting up the stairs in a panic, conveying something about police and a news crew. Her Alpha dropped her on her feet, promising, "You'll pay for that tonight."

Yippee!

She leaned in and kissed him on the chest. Not very contritely.

*

Fierce blue eyes met brown through the weblink. It was late morning, and Gemma was sitting at her desk in the lab in the basement, discussing the morning's findings with Valerie. Mac was at the top of the house making final plans for the clean-up and the war-run with his senior wolves. She had thought that the Whites had already left, but not all. There had been a great deal of organisation to plan, besides having to deal with the police and the press - apparently this morning's local newspaper headline was "Dogfight at Old Kentucky St Corner".

She was astonished again at how much Mac got arranged, and how swiftly his wolves carried out his orders. She had gotten out of the shower to find the bedroom teeming with wolves. Half had been carefully staying out of sight from the street window while holding furniture off the floor, and jumping lightly over sections of the blood-stained carpet which the other wolves had been swiftly crawling over, shredding and bagging. The mattress on the bed-frame which two of them had been holding aloft had by then already smelt of Hakan and Penny - they had obviously disposed of the old one and grabbed a replacement.

While Mac had been out in the road taking to the police, and Gemma had watched astonished while she swiftly dressed, all scraps of fur and stains of blood had been wiped up with the same woody-scented concoction they used on wounds, the large rug from the attic rolled across the centre of the floor, the furniture replaced, and the saved window glass shards artfully scattered across the clean floor by the broken window, together with a couple of bricks.

The same metamorphosis had already occurred throughout the rest of the house, by the time she'd been called downstairs by her fiancé to speak to the cops. And there hadn't been a single sign of a wolf body, just a crowd of panting, sweating Whites silently gulping down water in the kitchen before slinking back out through the smashed-in back door and disappearing to the human eye in a blur of speed.

Gemma was still red-eyed now. She felt so guilty, the fresh mound of the grave in the back garden praying on her mind. Her tears had fallen ceaselessly while she had watched the police examine and photograph the mongrel pile of the dog corpses, some tiny, scruffy scraps smaller than Rowan, which had been strewn along the roadway in front of the house.

Mac had somewhat forcefully dissuaded one nervous policeman from shooting the three limping survivors who had clustered slightly hesitantly around his legs as soon as he'd emerged from the house. The dogs showed no signs of disease, and the local vet he had already called to come and attend them before the cops had arrived had confirmed that none of the corpses or the living dogs showed signs of rabies or anything else dangerous. Mac had lied convincingly that they had just been guarding the house of the couple who'd taken to giving them some food and a bit of affection, especially since the gang who'd attacked had brought some dogs with them too.

The officers could see that he and his fiancée had suffered from a break-in; more than that, a smash-your-way in. He had had a turn-up when they'd first arrived with a guy called Samuel, who ever since then had hung about at the end of their road, watching. Perhaps they could ask him if he'd seen anything - although he seemed to be notably absent this morning.

The police hadn't commented, but their silence had been quite eloquent: apparently Samuel was well known to them as a suspected member of a gang, and this was a standard intimidation/payback form, although not usually in this area of town or with any dogs involved. Gemma had been horrified at the suggestion that Samuel might have had anything to do with this, but Mac had shot her a sad look as he had turned away to speak to the vet again.

Someone betrayed our whereabouts, picchu.

Gemma had retreated back to her lab. She had been sorting out her samples with Ada when the humans had eventually left. The Alpha had then called them both out to witness the dogs being lain gently together in the earth by the senior Whites, to show respect to the strays who had been ripped to pieces trying desperately, hopelessly to defend their Alpha's home until his wolves could arrive.

Mac's tone had been sombre, and he had conveyed gently to his mate: the Whites have already asked to expand the mourning song to honour these their cousins at the next full moon. And many like Ada and her cubs are giving homes to the survivors, or to more strays, bringing them in, loving them for what their brethren did last night. Mourn them, yes, but do not regret badgering me into acknowledging them. They died happy, no longer outcast.

Gemma had gulped, squeezing his hand tightly as she had watched, the tears rolling silently.

Afterward, she had sent Ada home to prepare for the pack exodus. She didn't think her assistant had had any idea of the consequence of the results which they had finally managed to isolate this morning, and hadn't wanted the ex-Grey sjeste to hear this.

Valerie did understand, instantly, and was again staring at the copy of the results spreadsheet on her own screen, a little red dot appearing on her cheekbones as the glow in her eyes grew.

"That bastard," she spat out. Gemma jumped, and her heart constricted as her hope sank.

A little corner of her mind noted sadly that some things discomposed even Valerie.

"There must be another cure," the wereem insisted softly.

"Like what? The only way to counteract the fix is suicide, so the fix is impossible to eradicate - all he needs to do is inject them with the barbiturate compound again, and they will again be bound by the strength of that damn fix," she growled.

"But Mac fought them free - it is possible to free them!"

"Temporarily. If they were injected again, with the compound keyed to Grey - or Tzo -," the blue eyes glared across into hers, anger scorching, "Then your Alpha would have to fight them again. The whole damn pack. How many do you have now? Surrounding you. And you cannot get rid of the fix."

"Just because the obvious antidote would be suicide for a wolf, does not mean it is the only option," protested Gemma stubbornly. "We can't leave the ex-Greys - and the Whites, if he manages to re-dose them, this vulnerable to manipulation. We have to find a way to eradicate the fix."

They were her pack.

Her heart was burning fiercely.

"A dose of the required potency to counteract the fix - that much silver would kill them," stated Valerie coldly.

"Mac carried more than that earlier this year," retorted Gemma.

"Mac is an exceptionally strong wolf with an immunity built up from previous torture - would you really advocate that? Most of them would die," answered her mentor scathingly, and Gemma shuddered, a little shamefaced. Was that what had happened to him?

"Moreover, this fix has been built up over years, it is woven into the Greys," added Valerie furiously.

"There are other possibilities!" insisted Gemma, frowning at the physician on the screen. "One - the possibility that the silver in the antidote would bind with the fix and pass harmlessly out of the wolf."

"Yet even if that were true, if you got the dose wrong, you would kill the carrier."

"You could build it up, increase test doses -," began Gemma.

"No you can't, that's the vileness of this," growled Valerie. "A little dose would just strengthen the damn fix. Testing to find the right dose would be equally lethal. Stop clutching at straws, little were. Think scientifically, not hopefully."

Gemma growled back, "Stop snapping my nose off!" while hearing Mac calling from upstairs: "Time to go, picchu. We need to pick up Kate and Bethan!"

They had no time. They were evacuating - this house was no longer safe. Yet to run with the Whites - was that safe? Were they all bound to her and Mac still? She didn't know what it would feel like if one circled. Would that happen if Grey did manage to inject them? All of them?

Life was so relentless.

"We have to try something," she snarled, mind echoing, empty of ideas as she reached for the switch to turn off the computer. She could hear the emptiness in the house upstairs, the solitude of her mate's footfalls padding quietly downstairs. They were the last to leave.

"We cannot block the fix - maybe we can block the key," her mentor mused. "How far have you got with deciphering it?"

Ah.

Gemma's mouth opened, and she paused, her heart thudding in sudden dread as her mate stepped through the lab doorway across the room, so her right.

"Um," she said.

"Have you deciphered the key, Gem?" he asked, eyes alert, fierce. She had not shielded this conversation from him. Now she was suddenly, fiercely, shielding her thoughts. No longer he looked suspicious.

"I haven't worked out a way to block it," she proffered, but the realisation of what she did have hit her, and she suddenly lifted intent eyes back to the old physician.

"That isn't what I asked," replied her mate dangerously. He could no doubt scent her guilt on the air. But she now also felt a wisp of hope.

Could this work?

It was easier to come clean to the alert blue eyes scorching her from thousands of miles away.

"I have worked it out - and synthesised it, keyed to Mac. And tested it - on myself," she admitted. May as well get it all out in one go.

"WHAT?" exploded behind her, and she felt a strong clasp clamp above her elbow, preparing to wrench her around, anger surging through the air. And - sadness?

Blue eyes clashed with black-flecked green, and Valerie barked, "Later, Mackeld. We have very little time, and I need to get the facts before you beat your mate for her stupidity."

Mac snarled. Valerie glared, eyes flaring in reply, and she growled out, "This may save your pack of Whites. And more."

Gemma could feel her mate shuddering beside her as he hauled in his rage.

The scorching, scathing black-flecked blue eyes switched back to hers.

"When did you test this? And what is the formula? How long does it take to synthesise?" The scientist at work. There was anger in her eyes also.

Gemma answered the rapid staccato of questions, and Mac suddenly realised what the chemist and the physician were discussing and snarled again, face twisting in anguish, "I am not having a pack of slaves. I am an Alpha. A wolf has the right to CHOOSE."

Valerie snapped her head back to meet his gaze and Gemma swayed under the resounding clash, twitching herself out of it to unlock and send through to her mentor her secret notes on how to create the Mac-keyed drug.

"These Whites have had that ability torn from them," the slight Frenchwoman answered the Alpha angrily, in no way discomposed by the tower of rage confronting her. "And they have chosen you. But if we do not reinforce their choice, Grey may remove it."

The aged physician unfolded slightly stiffly to her feet, while clicking open the file she had just received, scanning it.

"I will NOT-," began Mac furiously, but fell silent as Gemma heard the Wolflord rebuke Mac harshly in his head. A startled look appeared in her Alpha's eyes, and he looked a little dazed, the grip above her elbow slackening as he took several deep breaths and calmed down, meeting the black-swirling blue eyes of the woman on the screen with a flicker of disbelief.

"You cannot rejoin your pack until I have created enough of this to make it safe - maybe tomorrow, maybe the day after," stated Valerie calmly. "I will have it couriered to where you can plan to meet your wolves, if you let Fealden know."

Mac's face twisted in distress again, eyes shadowed, and Valerie added gently, "You know what your pack will choose, Mackeld."

"I may be able to find an antidote to the key, with more time" encouraged Gemma softly, hopefully.

The rage flared back into Mac's black eyes as he looked down at his mate, but he didn't say anything, just began to haul her toward the doorway leading outside.

"You certainly make life interesting," the wereem heard Valerie commenting calmly as she was towed away. "Look me up again when this war is over, mon petit garou."

Mac halted at the broken door, and turned back. Gemma blinked as she saw him flicker the salute of respect to the aged woman on screen, who grimaced, snorting elegantly, and shook her head at her mate.

The grip on Gemma's elbow was released and she stepped back to face the blue eyes on the screen, heart beating sickeningly against her ribs. "Thank-you so much for everything," whispered Gemma, holding the blue eyes sadly. That was so inadequate. She received a calm nod, and abruptly yanked the cable from the wall. Then she closed her eyes in a wince at the screeching cacophony as Mac shredded the body of the computer.

She turned huge eyes up to her mate, uncertain.

His eyes were jet black as he grabbed her hand and pulled her roughly after him to exit the house.

The silence was eloquent. She shuddered.

*

Sporadic rain was showering against the windows of the car as Mac drove carefully along the overgrown gravel backroad through the dark trees in the middle of the afternoon. There was silence in the cab: Gemma's ears were still ringing from the thorough chewing out her mate had wrung her through. Her heart was a little sad. He saw her secrecy as proof that she didn't trust him. Not the human part of her. She would have to do her utmost to prove that she did. Both today, in this game of obedience, and in future, properly, learning to share her thoughts even when she knew he'd come down with a heavy no on an idea she knew was right. But she would learn.

He was learning to do the same.

And at least he didn't hold grudges - his scent was now clear, relaxed.

A brief flash of heat flared through her as she wondered where they'd stay tonight. They couldn't yet join the Whites in the war-run, but could catch them up by public transport, thanks to her drug. A brief second honeymoon? Her insides squirmed in delight.

Then a sigh from the girl leaning against her re-awoke Gemma to the here-and-now.

They'd had to use a different hire company for the SUV Mac was driving; the Porsche was still hidden in the garage back at the house. Did wolves always leave houses and cars in that state?

She was on the end of the long, front passenger seat, nearest to Mac. She and Bethan, to her right, had their arms each other, huddled together staring out over the hood. Kate was squashed against the door on Bethan's far side, her head turned away to look out of the side window, one foot up on the seat and her hands clasped lightly around her jean-clad knee as she hummed to herself.

They had driven in silence for a while now, after the initial babble, and the humans' uneasy scent was souring the air in the cab.

Bethan sighed, slumping, drumming her feet lightly on the floor. "I hate cars," she muttered, staring gloomily at the raindrops sliding toward the corners of the windshield, a light shiver running through her frame. Her voice lifted into a childish whine, mocking herself, "Are we nearly there yet?"

Kate's hum broke off in the middle as she coughed, staring out into the stretches of damp forest. Her hands tightened around her knee. "I hate forests," she muttered in reply, very low.

Mac glanced over, sad understanding in his eyes as he surveyed them both, and he rumbled, "Gus's cousins live in the forest. If you want me to find you another safe house then -."

Kate sighed and whipped her head around to send a twisted grin across to her friend. "Nope," she said. "If this is the safest place, then that's where I want to be. I'm just a grouch - forget it."

"How can we forget it," murmured Gemma, slanting her eyes across at Kate, falling back in relief into old familiar teasing.

"When you remind us every opportunity you get?" finished Bethan, with a little smile.

Kate smiled even more broadly, shoulders relaxing as she grinned across the cab at the driver. "I believe I just won," she announced slyly. Mac rolled his eyes. Kate's gaze turned to Gemma, "Mac and I had a bet on over how long you'd manage to be nice to me. He was so unrealistic."

"I was being nice!" retorted Gemma indignantly, hearing her mate snorting with laughter beside her. "I was trying to relax you, make you feel comfortable - just treat you as politely as you ever treat me."

"Excuses, excuses," said Kate.

"Well, I was just calling you a grouch," interpolated Bethan with a disarming air of frankness. "Any excuse you get, you just lapse into soulful gloom."

In a second, Kate turned angrily on her fellow victim, eyes flashing with unusual anger, "And haven't I got reason?"

"You bet!" agreed her friend with light-hearted enthusiasm. "If Gus's cousins are anything like him, I'd want them feeling sorry for me and all protective too."

There was a second of shocked, startled silence. Then Gemma couldn't help laughing at her outrageous friend.

"Maybe you don't care what happened over the last two -," began Kate furiously, but Bethan talked over her, her powerful, trained voice rolling around the car.

"If you're feeling gloomy that you outsmarted, floored and left that vicious bastard in your dust - well frankly, I think you should be shouting Hooray for Kate, Kate!"

The last phrase was a full, tuneful cheer as Bethan flung back her head and yodelled to the ceiling.

Kate's face was white with anger as she gaped at her friend. Then suddenly she gulped, snorted, and started to laugh weakly.

"Hooray," she gasped into the cloth covering her knee, jamming her face against it as tears leaked from her eyes.

"Hooray for Kate!" catcalled Bethan again, rolling her head around on the headrest, tears also sparkling at the corners of her eyes.

"Hooray for Kate!" echoed Gemma feelingly, clapping her hands in the air in front of her face.

"Hooray!" came from Kate, still muffled, but stronger.

"HOORAY!" cheered all four of them, in harmony, almost raising the roof of the car with the volume. "HOORAY!"

"RAAAAY!!"

"Woooooo!!"

"I think Bethan should be feeling just as proud," interrupted Mac suddenly in a pause for breath, a grin on his face. "All those weeks of Grey's scheming confounded by her grabbing the package. Foiled again!"

"HOORAY!" yelled Kate, while Gemma warbled "YIPPEEE!" drumming her feet on the floor. They both nudged the girl between them, and Bethan coughed, and chimed in with a weak, "Yippee."

"YIPPEE!" cheered Mac insistently, while Kate and Gemma swayed violently from side to side, shaking Bethan between them, drumming their feet on the floor and chiming in, "RAAAY!"

"Ok! OK already. HOORAY!!" shouted Bethan, laughing herself. The cheering chorus echoed around the car for a few more moments, before they had to break off, gasping for breath and laughing.

"But my favourite," gasped Kate tears shining on her smiling cheeks, "Was his face - just after he'd slammed us back off the road and was wrenching the door open, when he looked up and saw you sprinting down from the trees." She grinned across at Mac.

Bethan laughed, crying out, "I have never seen someone turn so white in my life!"

"Or turn tail and run faster!" sang Kate, delighted.

"Hooray for Mac!"

"HOORAY!"

"YIPPEEE!"

Not being able to kill Grey is driving me insane, cursed Mac silently under the cheering in the car. Gemma slid a hand onto his thigh and squeezed it gently, before turning to kneel up on her seat and holler, "HOORAY!" insistently into his wincing ear. As second later her face was smothered against the side of his jacket, nose grinding against his shoulder.

"I shut Gemma up!" her mate catcalled triumphantly. "HOORAY!"

"HOORAY!" chimed in Kate and Bethan, hiccupping with laughter.

Gemma wrenched herself free of his slackened grip, panting as she sank back onto her seat, glowering at her mate.

"And hooray for Gemma for driving Grey into the ground!" warbled Kate cheerfully.

"HOORAAY!" called Mac proudly, flashing her a grin. "RAAAY!" echoed Kate. "GO ME!!" yelled Gemma.

Bethan interrupted the cheering in a calm, conversational voice, "So, when's the wedding?"

Kate choked, mid yippee.

Gemma gulped a half snort, mouth hanging open, and turned to the abruptly silent Mac. She knew he hadn't said anything either.

His eyes were amused as he glanced across at their dark, fiery friend, grinning. "After we drop you off, we're on our way to Gemma's parents', to tell them," he corroborated.

Kate sat bolt upright. "You are getting married?" she asked. Her eyes dropped to Gemma's hands, "Where's the ring?" she demanded indignantly.

Gemma also jerked bolt upright. What? she demanded. Her mind suddenly slammed to a halt, heart pulsing wildly, and she turned burning, incredulous eyes up to her mate.

Bethan's eyes slid to the astonished friend quivering beside her. "Looks like you didn't know you were getting married, Gem."

Flashing, furious brown eyes glared at Mac as he responded, grinning even more widely across her at Bethan and Kate, "It's not that - she'd just forgotten it's her father's birthday tomorrow, and we'd agreed to go down the night before to tell them."

"Tonight?" squeaked Gemma. She couldn't believe it. Not tonight - damn herself for losing track of time. Damn him, he knew she didn't pay attention to stuff like that any more. Had known when he had made her swear to obey -ooooh.

Her skin tingled, blood pulsing as she also remembered what he'd promised to do to her tonight. She had happily packed the tooth caps, her underwear and the box he'd forbidden her to peep into inside their case. She'd thought that they were going to have time out from the pack somewhere secluded tonight, but now she realised that he had never said as much.

Not at her parents' - he wouldn't. She couldn't.

Oh my little slave, Mac reminded her smugly.

"Yup," he said aloud, for Bethan and Kate's benefit. Tonight.

Her mouth opened. She breathed harshly, once, twice, wondering where to hit him, completely oblivious to her avidly watching friends.

Hit him quickly, before he ordered her not to. Then her lips twitched, heat curling through her. Dammit. Damn the damn wolf.

The smug little smile deepened in his eyes, "Your parents will be delighted," he promised.

To see how devoted you are to me, he added silently, gleefully.

"I wouldn't bet on it - you've met Dad before," she growled back, breath coming in little pants.

I only promised to obey you until midnight: you can bet I'm going to make up for it tomorrow, she threatened silently, mind seething, despite the arousal firing her blood. Mac, I can't.

I think you'll find that you can, he purred.

"He disapproved of you fancying a bartender/ photographer," her mate agreed casually, aloud. "He'll come around when he sees how happy you are."

I am not happy, she grated.

You promised, her mate reminded her again.

And he glanced down at her, eyes sparkling. "Just look happy!" he ordered.

Gemma grimaced out of the windshield, then managed to wrench her face into a beaming smile, eyes crossing in effort, before she straightened them out into glazed adoration, mind seething.

Kate broke into fits of laughter. "Oh Gem, it's good to see you've met your match."

Gemma turned her fixed beam across at her chuckling friend, and received a hard hug from Bethan, also grinning, "But you need to work on that devoted smile a bit."

"Like this," the actress added, and turned her face down a little, peeking admiringly up a Mac out of the tops of her eyes, a coy look of wonder on her face.

Gemma smirked, and copied her, then glanced across at Kate, who promptly leaned in against Bethan's shoulder, her expression also nauseatingly adoring as she gazed at up at the tawny wolf.

Mac glanced down at the trio of worshiping faces and a spasm crossed his face. He snorted, "Oh cut that out," irritably, and the cab echoed with laughter.

*

"Why did you have to get engaged already?" complained Jamie late that evening, sloshing dishes vengefully in the sink. "Mum only keeps mentioning it in passing every five minutes."

Gemma and her older brother were in their parents' kitchen, washing up after a celebratory supper. Jess, Jamie's girlfriend, was in the lounge with their mother, probably discussing fashions, while Mac had been marched off to the garage by his future father-in-law, to undergo preparation for an initiation ritual tomorrow to see whether he was worthy of entry into the family. Trial by fishing.

You can't tell me that fish are really fooled into swallowing one of these squiggly bits of rubber? Mac conveyed to his mate in exasperation. They are so patently fake.

Fish are thick, Gemma replied, a little smile on her lips.

A fingerful of soapsuds landed in her cheek and a hard hip clonked against hers, jerking her awareness back to the kitchen. Jamie was making retching noises. "Will you stop drooling about him?" he said irritatedly, rolling his eyes. "Mum thinks it's sooo womantic, but Dad's getting seriously worried about what a worshipful little doormat you've turned into, I think he's considering pushing Mac overboard in the middle of the bay tomorrow."

Gemma grinned. Ah, tomorrow. Maybe she'd continue like this, and see what Dad did to Mac. He was already bristling with suspicion, and treating her fiancé with a distinct air of wanting a shotgun.

"And now Mum keeps admiring your ring, while looking challengingly at me," her brother complained, vengefully sloshing dishes in the sink, "To which Jess just sighs and looks mournful and martyred and long-suffering."

"She does not," said Gemma.

"Why the hell did you have to get engaged?" James grumbled again, ignoring her interjection.

Gemma wiped the bubbles off her face, shooting an amused look up at him, then struck a pose, clasping both hands at her bosom and assuming a soulful expression while she cast her eyes skyward.

"We love each other," she murmured throatily. Then she laughed, quickly dodging the double handful of soapsuds aimed for her face.

Whoa, picchu, slow down, she heard the soft warning in her head underneath the laughter and swearing echoing in the kitchen. Human speed, remember.

Dammit, Mac had distracted her. Now she had bubbles dripping off her nose.

Serves you right. Little sisters should be more respectful.

Do I detect a little wistfulness in that statement, oh oldest in the family? She returned sweetly.

That wasn't a statement, picchu, her mate purred in return. That was an order.

Doh - Gemma's brain seethed, while she stood still in the kitchen with her eyes closed, feeling Jamie holding a plate over her head so that it dripped suds down the back of her collar. She sighed and picked up the dishcloth again, wondering what the penalty for wolficide was. Alphacide. Whatever.

I order you not to kill me until tomorrow, he teased.

Two and a half hours en counting, she intoned, wiping off a cup.

Hmm, not much time, I think you should go to bed early, Mac mused, his thoughts humming with an edge of excitement. You can plead tiredness. Then sneak into my room. I'm feeling a lot more energetic than last night.

I'm not sneaking through the house! She protested. Dad might catch me.

Better you than me - he doesn't like me anyway, her mate replied.

He'll probably set a tripwire in the hall!

So avoid it. I'll expect you in my bed within an hour, Gem. Wear what you did last night, and bring my present - I've got my secret box - and something that'll keep you quiet while you cum, that moan would be a bit of a giveaway.

"That damn smug grin," growled Jamie beside her, slapping a dripping plate into her hands and jerking her out of her fiery thoughts. "Would you cut it out?"

Gemma just managed to stop herself from whimpering, rocking back on her feet while she blinked the kitchen back into focus. Her pulse was beating in time with the throbbing ache between her legs. Then she remembered to be a respectful little sister - whatever that meant - and tried to wipe the smug grin off her face.

It wouldn't budge.

She sighed happily and went on wiping plates.

"So did you and Jess decide on a new car?" She changed the subject.

Ten minutes later, in the gathering dusk, Gemma's wolf eyes spotted the slow-moving, tall silhouette cresting the high hill behind the house, threading casually through the sparse trees on the old track they all used to take to school.

She recognised that gangly lope.

And the independent spirit.

She smiled. Mom had offered Adam a lift from the station, of course, but despite having been hiking for almost the past month, her little brother had preferred to walk. Or he'd just preferred, like many an independent teenager, not to be picked up by his mother at the station.

Humming happily, Gemma cast the wet dishtowel over the back of a chair to dry, and opened the back door, stepping out into the fragrant spicy scents of the night, the faint edge of decay of the beginning of autumn.

Then she grinned over her shoulder at Jamie and set off at a lope to greet Adam. The whole family was home!

"Slacker," she heard her older brother mutter half-heartedly as he swilled the last two pans in the rinse water.

"Slowcoa - um. Sorry," she replied, stopping her sarcastic retort half way through as she remembered her order to be respectful. She heard her mate laughing in her head and set off at a run down the garden to burn off some of the fire in her blood. Irritation and anticipation. Fifty minutes left. Mmm.

She was humming again.

Her limbs were just made to move like this. As she ran past the current bushes and casually vaulted over the low back gate, Gemma felt a glow of pleasure warming through her, delight in the ease with which her body followed her wishes, joy in the rich scents of the night curling around her.

Mac nudged her with his mind, a little brush of acknowledgement and appreciation.

Oh my most beloved Alpha, I humbly suggest you pay attention to Dad, teased Gemma, trotting up the long hill easily toward where she kept catching glimpses of Adam's white baseball cap in the settling dusk. He's more than capable of testing you on those knots.

Well, this all seems a bit pointless, considering how I catch fish, replied Mac. And if I get stuck I can always ask you.

I'd tell you the right answer, too, promised Gemma sweetly. Today.

Then she settled to run smoothly up the rest of the long hill, a little cramp of half-worried, half-excited anticipation powering her blood. You realise if Dad catches us tonight, I'll expect you to manfully accept all the blame? she conveyed.

Mac was laughing, I'm not a man. And you're the one who's going to sneak into my bed. Tsk tsk.

Gemma growled under her breath. Last time I promise to obey you.

I knew you'd learn, her Alpha replied happily, making a rueful grin twist her face.

The path crossed a tiny stream near the brow of the hill; it was an easy step across, but Gemma leapt over, beaming at the tired frame of the nineteen year old walking towards her.

Adam looked up, saw her, and half-smiled, quickly shrugging himself out of his backpack and dropping it on the ground as he carried on walking.

"Hewaaaw," Gemma drawled their traditional Elmer Fudd greeting.

"Hewow big titch," her brother replied quietly, his voice hoarse. He walked closer, sweeping his cap off his head and rubbing his forehead while he dropped it beside him.

Gemma bounded forward to hug him, smiling a teasing grin, but the fierceness inside her yanked to alert at the last second, jerking her to swerve backwards slightly. Bewildered, she felt the whistle of air past her jugular and an agonizing, deep rake of pain across her left shoulder and breastbone.

What was that scent?

Dazed, disbelieving, she felt herself dodge again automatically, not understanding. This was Adam. Her little brother, not an enemy.

But she saw the glowing glitter light his eyes, watched the fur on the back of his clawed hand spreading like lightening up to his shoulders, across his broadening torso, rippling across his face to outline his soft brown eyes.

The mirror of her own eyes: their mother's eyes.

Tortured, sad and bitter, wet with unshed tears.

Adam.

She blocked his next attack on auto pilot, staring as the claws raked the air inches from her, her heart creasing and bursting into flame as she recognised through the rising black fury in her brain what he was. What he had become.

The scent: half-human, half wolf; the fur; the glowing, angry eyes.

The white Alpha sprinting flat out up the hill towards them, terror in his heart.

Wereem facing werewolf.

The churning feeling in her stomach grew as she read the look in those eyes. The pained misery in the depths; she had a lifetime of sharing thoughts with those eyes, and memories were streaming through her head, stabbing her with the difference.

A clumsy blow caught her as she stared, heart echoing in despair and anger, fighting belief. Her own eyes were burning, throat tight, and the black clouds were beginning to shadow her sight as she was sent spinning across the grass, while the realisation sank in of what someone had done to her little brother.

Because he was her little brother.

Anguish crushed through her.

Please don't! the conveyance from Adam tore into her while she sprang out of his way, and, startled, she met his tortured eyes again, wet with tears as he leapt towards her once more, claws extended.

Then her heart burned while she dodged easily, realising what he meant , hearing the whisper of an order at the edge of her mind. In his mind.

He wasn't talking to her; his burning eyes were distant, inward, but she could hear the words he conveyed. Her brother was pleading with the voice in his head, begging his mordeur to stop forcing him to try to kill his sister. Through the blots of black rage, Gemma saw matching tears rolling down her brother's scrunched face.

Her heart was howling, and she snarled at the tangles in her head clutching at her, the bonds of her pack trying to soothe her, hold her steady.

Why didn't Adam break into rage himself? She thought wildly as she rolled out of the way of his deadly leap. Two small salt drops landed on her burning skin, wept from the terrified eyes of her attacker; terror that he would succeed. Why didn't he break the damn hold? Guilt and pain were rising through her, shaking her to pieces, and she yanked to free herself from the minds clutching at her, the others holding her in this damn pain.

Too new, the reply from her Alpha was muffled by the black, seething clouds of gathering anger. Gem, please try and hold it together. You won't help him by falling into rage yourself. Mac was aching with worry; terror and fury burning from him as he tore flat out up the hill.

Help him? I can't help him. He is a werewolf.

The tears were running freely down her cheeks as she leapt aside again, wracked by the guilt-steeped fear churning in the depths of the glittering eyes of her opponent: his fear that she would never understand this, never accept why he was driven to attempt to take her head off with his claws. Deep, miserable self-hatred because there was no excuse in his understanding. He didn't understand.

There was no reason Adam's human mind could accept; he couldn't accept himself. The knowledge of what was happening to him arced through her as she rolled away from a new, clumsy attack. The bewilderment, the misery, the tearing, wrenching emotions of the werewolf; and he had no songmate. No love.

Alone in his head with that damn mordeur.

She loved him. Their eyes met again, pain echoing deafeningly between them. Gemma's heart was lanced with a deluge of further bone-deep memories dissolving her: flicking images of pushing his pram; running races out to meet Dad together on the driveway; agreeing silently with a look not to tell on each other across the lid of the half-empty cookie jar. Her brain was seething with misery and rage, the inferno rising overwhelming within her, unstoppable, and she yanked furiously again, tearing loose from the pack holds still whispering reason at her. Adam couldn't even escape into insanity.

She had broken into rage on her first night as a werewolf. But her mordeurs weren't Alpha. Adam's would be.

Pain and fury were building to an obliterating power as her mind suddenly glittered with purpose.

Which Alpha? Which Alpha had condemned him? Condemned her brother to this short, sad life. No songmate to hold him, soothe him, restrain him. Nothing but insanity, fear and self-loathing.

Because he was her brother.

Her blood was juddering in fury; her heart, her head couldn't hold this pain.

Soft words were whispering beyond the barrier of the rage that torched higher through her. This time she didn't want to fight it, she wanted to burst free of the bands of pain encircling her, smothering her. Just like the wolf within her, Gemma's most burning desire was to break free, to track down and kill that Alpha.

She swept a leg out at the half-seen, half-sensed approach of the next attack, tumbling the uncoordinated new werewolf to the floor, and fiercely ordered the wolf sprinting up the hill, Look after him, while she sprang easily over the flailing limbs, desperate to escape the anguish in her mind.

Picchu! The cry was a distant echo, forcing its way through the fury. She shook her head and raced on along the track, hunting, back-tailing the eerily familiar, yet different scent of her little brother: the werewolf scent.

Picchu! Come back! Gemma faltered at the fear and grief powering the resonating words through the dark fog in her mind, a wisp of sad apology bursting through her at the deep love in the voice. Mac. I'm sorry, she replied softly, but the pain and rage in her soul were breaking her apart, and she felt the order slide away, unconnected.

Please! Despair.

Rippling through the trees in a full-out sprint, the wereem tore free of the last thread holding her, welcoming the blanket of black anger that smothered the shattering pain.

Then a silvery net twisted tight around her limbs, sweeping her up into jarring, swinging immobility, and the last faint mote of killing purpose in her head burst into berserker rage.