PAWN AMONG WOLVES CH. 16-Pt2

They enjoyed that.

Desperately she began to count seats. The auditorium was almost circular, from where she stood there were rows upon rows of plush throne-like chairs dropping down to the central stage; hundreds of them, all occupied, almost all of the pale faces of their occupants turned towards her, eyes gleaming with malice and excitement in the low lighting.

More rustling above her hear drew her eyes up. A second sea of faces were visible above the elaborate moulding fronting the balcony. The faint smiles or sneers on those faces set her breathing racing in short pants.

The smiles grew.

Gemma shut her eyes and reminded herself: twenty-five minutes. All she had to do was prolong this show, keep the Louse and Nick absorbed for less than half-an-hour, so that her wolves could reach their vantage point and set off the diversion. The wolf slaves were never keyed to anyone other than these two.

Her guards turned her back to face the stage.

Disdain!

Slowly, slowly, she was drawn on, paraded down the shallow staircase, precarious on her heels, her breathing accelerating as they approached the stage. The rustling murmur grew, and the scent raked at her as she tried frantically to drag back over herself some stoic aloofness.

She couldn't. Her tremble was continuous now, and she feared she might actually be having a panic attack. Not that she expected any medical assistance around here, if she did.

Her ears were ringing as she fumbled the four short steps up onto the stage, and her guards passed her leashes over to the two ringmasters. Drawn to the centre stage, she was turned to face the audience, the lights thankfully blinding her to the sight of them. However, the scent was worse. And now the audience's lust was augmented by the predatory anticipation of the pair of sharks slowly circling her. She was too vulnerable like this. Nick slipped the tips of two fingers under one of the suspenders which crossed her left buttock, stroking them slowly up and down across the sensitive skin. She couldn't help but tense further.

Twenty minutes left? Gemma thought to herself desperately. Surely it's been five minutes since I entered? Her ears twitched to the sound of bitten-off cry of pain from above the balcony, followed by a murmur of wretched pleading slowly fading as the slave was taken away. Ginger's part was working.

Do your bit. For an instant, Gemma managed to steady herself.

Nick pulled the elasticated line of roses out to its full extent, and then released the band to snap back against her tender skin. Both sharks laughed as she flinched slightly, and Nick stepped closer to her side, facing sideways to her front, trailing his taunting fingers along her trembling hip to the next suspender band, stretched tight across the top of her right thigh. Gemma shut her eyes, reaching desperately for some kind of fortitude.

"You didn't really think that we didn't know, did you, little were?" the Louse's musical voice murmured behind her left shoulder, amused. "You didn't really believe that none of your little wolves would betray you?"

The taunt was ignored as Gemma strained to drag her façade of stoicism over her pitiful shivering. The Louse sashayed around her victim's front, trailing the soft strands of the multi-lash whip in her right hand across the heaving breasts, slithering the soft tongues slowly across the black, embroidered corset framing and barely concealing the taut mounds of the wereem's soft, golden skin.

"You don't believe me?" she drawled softly

Still Gemma ignored the Alfamme, furiously pushing her brain elsewhere, counting the seconds silently, wondering how far her assembled pack of her wolves had got, whether they were now slinking silently down to the second-lowest level, as planned, tiptoeing towards freedom.

A key slid into the Argen collar at the back of her neck, clicking it open. Gemma froze, her brain catapulting back to here-and-now and automatically, damned helpfully, filtering meaning from the last two taunts just as Madam the Louse added, "See for yourself," while she lifted the collar away.

Unbidden, like the elastic Nick snapped to sting against the tender skin of her inner thigh, Gemma's brain snapped to link with her pack. They had reached the second level. All of her Little Gems froze, momentarily distracted by the feel of the Alpha bond flaring awake, just as Gemma caught a faint hint of movement in the shadows to Adam's left. Too late, she shouted a warning. The dark hallways around the small group of rebels suddenly exploded into confused movement, and pain, blood, fiery anger and pungent fear began storming through the bonds from her pack as claws and teeth slashed through the dimly lit corridor.

Betrayal.

Gemma barely heard the chuckle, felt the second soft caress of the leather whip over her skin. Her mind was reeling as she swayed under the battering of images and sensation while her pack was swamped from all sides within a barrage of attackers, despair swirling as they clutched at their Alfamme instinctively.

Air raced over Gemma's skin, sucked away to the harsh whistle of the whip drawn back at full speed. The whipcrack was cut off to the accompaniment of a muffled shriek, but Gemma was barely aware of what was happening to her body. Eyes wide but blind, she was drowning in the pounding, powerful waves of happening smashing into her pack from all sides, sinking, struggling valiantly, desperately to hold them together, afloat.

And then she steadied, her links with her pack stabilising, strengthening, her self-control slamming securely back into place, and she braced against a stable rock that seemed to rise within her, holding firm the maelstrom of frantic thoughts. Her mind still reeled, but expanded, steadied. Gemma began to get a wider sense of the pattern of the battering attacks on her wolves - where the successive waves were exploding from, retreating to, where to stand strong.

And where the attackers were weak.

A surge of swift thought, and she felt her small pack responding instantly, hurling themselves together against one single, tight-packed rank of the enemy, crashing in an all-out fight: teeth, claws, a slammed shoulder, twisting, elbows jabbing - and through.

They burst as one unit into the empty corridor beyond; Gemma's pulsing awareness simultaneously flickering to where they were now, where was best to go, and where the enemy were following. She spun the rear guard to crash into the first followers, destabilising the solid line, distantly only semi- aware of the feel of blood splattering warm across her own naked skin, a firm arm around her waist holding her fast as air whistled through her hair.

The pack were running to a dancing reel in her head; front ranks poised in guard positions at vantage points while the remainder ran past, followed by the clash of the defence at their heels, breaking the spearpoint of followers, then turning to run at the rear as they hurtled through the familiar, hated corridors.

The enemies seemed disjointed, slow, fumbling in the dark beside each other.

Her pack were one unit, bursting in fluid movement through her screaming brain.

Gemma's nerve-endings were shredding in pain, tearing apart with the ripping of thoughts from all directions, but she ignored the agony and held on desperately, held together as her wolves burst clear into the lab, splitting instantly for half to race across to secure the other door, the second half wrenching the iron guttering from the wall to slam it as a lever underneath one of the heavy, concrete-lined furnaces. They all heaved together, and the massive box juddered in a screech of protesting concrete and metal across to the main doorway, all but the last six inches of the opening blocked just before the heavy weight of attackers slammed against the opposite side and smashed the door back into the oven.

Someone was missing.

ALAN! she cursed.

The damn wolf. He had shut up and shrunk quietly on the wrong side of the door so as not to be noticed by his Alfamme, pulling hard against the meld. So he was now in position to defend the entrance, gain them the extra moments needed to manoeuver the oven into place and thoroughly seal their refuge. Alan was jubilant: defending his pack.

Fury exploded in Gemma - she would not lose Alan - and under her sharp call the pack were back together again in the familiar confines of the lab, leaping in practiced grace into the wolf pyramid. Opal raced up to the peak and burst through into the tiny metal vent, ignoring the claustrophobic fear as a second, stronger feeling pushed her to wriggle along to above the other side of the wall and cut a new opening above the heads of the furious melee of wolves struggling to overcome Alan in the tight confines of the corridor.

What?!

Opal wiped the blood from the fur over her eyes with her forearm. Gemma felt as though her brain was melting in bafflement and pain, and blinked. She was looking down, through Opal's eyes, at two large, blood-drenched wolves attacking the enemies now. No, three. A second large warrior was slashing his way through to where Alan was fighting with his back to the door, barrelling attackers aside faster than they could pile onto him, despite being slightly hampered by having to defend the small figure he held clamped to his side, and deflecting several slashes aimed at the spinning shadow of Ginger fighting at his side. Abruptly the tawny-haired newcomer spun and flung his burden up toward where Opal was staring out of the new opening in the metal ducting above their heads.

Gemma blinked again, disorientated by a nauseating double vision as her own eyes met Opal's while she was still looking through Opal's, seconds before their hands locked wrist-to-wrist and she was yanked painfully up half-into the duct. Reeling, wincing at the backlash as her flabbergasted mind just dropped the pack meld, she was suddenly starkly aware of where she was bodily, as well as mentally - how the hell did she get here?!? But despite the disorientating pain of the searing piquant slashing in her head, she knew damn well how she had gotten here. The firm imprint of that arm about her waist was too damn familiar to mistake.

How did HE get here?

But he smelt wrong, felt wrong.

Fear hit her like a blow. What the hell was he doing here in this death-trap?

The fight was raging more fiercely below them as Gemma snapped a series of painful mental orders and wriggled furiously into the duct, following Opal at speed back to the lab. The dusky wolf dropped hurriedly to the floor and Mo flung a bag of hackdust up to his Alfamme, while Gemma, mind bleeding pain, shrieked again, Get Them OUT of there.

She spun on a swift, practiced motion, hanging with alternate hands off the opening, then torpedoed back through the short length of tube propelling the dust-bale ahead of her. In seconds she had ripped the bag open with a claw above the new opening, and showered it over the majority of the Faulk wolves crammed into the corridor fighting to get within range of her mate, packmate and her koiru. Forewarned, Ginger, Mac and Alan held their breath where they were fighting with their backs to the door, the slight sjeste wedged between the two breathtakingly deadly Alpha warriors.

Within the lab, at her command, half of her pack had levered the heavy weight of the oven to teeter on one edge, skidding sideways slightly, leaving just enough room for the three exiles to scrape through the door while the majority of their adversaries were doubled over, coughing and shaking themselves desperately to rid their fur of the debilitating dust. Then the rest of Gemma's wolves slammed into the furnace from the opposite side and it smashed back onto all four feet just as she dropped from the opening above their heads. Cables snapped as the oven screeched across to slam the heavy metal door fully closed with an echoing clang of finality while their enemies hurled themselves again into the opposite side.

The faint green glow of the emergency exit sign above the door shone on the panting group of stationary figures, eyes shining black and feral in the dull light.

They all just stood, shellshocked.

Gemma stared at him across the group. He was leaner, more compact, explosive-looking. But for all the tension of his frame, this was a pale, faint copy of her mate. He looked drained, empty, as though all that was Mac had been leached from him: a mirror image, not the real, live version.

Her heart was beating frantically- she still couldn't feel him there. His fighting - it had been superior, skilful; but slow, for Mac. He was - dimmed. What had happened to him?

And he smelled human . Maybe her nose was confused by the colouring of sweat and blood in the air, the fiery scent of anger mingling with the sharp scent of fear, but no - Mac did smell human. As she sniffed, her nose was swamped by a heavy jolt of despair that suddenly pulsed from Gemma's right.

"We are trapped," whined Ellen, her breath short and fast. She inhaled a humourless gulp of laughter, "Lab rats caught in a trap."

"Who is this?" hissed Rupert aggressively, and the swirl of anger, distrust, and fear thickened the air between the small group of wolves .

Something was wrong with him. And now he was caught here with them. Anguish clenched around Gemma's heart, and a half-bitten off howl escaped her throat as she launched herself at the dimly seen figure, grabbing his arms to shake him, voice keening higher to disappear into a screech: "You shouldn't be here. This is hell. No. You should've stayed AWAY,"

This close, she caught a faint whiff of her Mac exuding from him, and the tears began rolling down her cheeks as she slapped her palms onto his chest and pushed, hard, trying to push him away. He didn't move. His hands came to settle over hers, but all he did was hold them gently.

"Someone betrayed us," growled Andrea on a wavering note, and the suspicion thickened in all nostrils, wrenching already tense hackles higher.

"We can't get out!" wailed Ellen again, while Rupert burst out with a furious counterpoint, pointing an accusing finger. "Is he the one who betrayed us?"

"NO!" snapped Gemma, spinning to glare at her koiru.

The emergency light flickered out, and the sprinklers snapped on, lashing freezing cold water on the small, dismal group. There was a collective harsh intake of breath.

A pause for a heartbeat, two.

Then suddenly the dark vault of the room was echoing with a chaotic, rising maelstrom of howls and bitter accusations, despair and fury and fear egging each wolf to higher, louder cries while voices rose and claws and teeth began to slash in the air. The deafening chorus was rising, their hacking, slashing, wailing voices beating off the walls, doubling back at them, when a deep, menacing growl cut across the cacophony, the low, admonitory note curling up each wolf's spine and snapping his or her mouth shut instinctively.

Gemma's spine tingled in recognition. This was Mac.

Into the sudden, deafening silence, her mate's voice, pitched low and brittle with feeling, was barely audible, "What I most loathed as the Grey's captive -," he began. And stopped, his breath hissing in the air. The chaos in the scents was suddenly charged with a different electricity, each wolf reeling him or herself in to listen fiercely, barely breathing.

Gemma could feel her Alpha trembling behind her, and his voice was low, hoarse when he continued, "- is that captivity teaches one to accept this life, teaches you that you are worthless."

The conveyance cut into them all. Heart creasing, Gemma swayed, wanting to turn, but not sure, not wanting to break this. She was frozen by the quiet wave of loathing, anger, knowledge, tingling between her pack and her mate.

"There is no way out of this place; it is inside us all," agreed Ellen bitterly, her voice tight with tears in the darkness.

A wave of awe rose inside Gemma, awe crested with sadness as she understood what her mate was doing. An Alpha led my example, but she couldn't lead her wolves out of this. She was trying to lead them out, but she had never really been in.

"I have got out once: all the way out," contradicted the Alpha firmly, his soft growl again silencing the hissing chorus of murmurs around them. "I will do so again," he stated implacably. Gemma felt a wisp of longing exude from her Little Gems, mixed with cynical disbelief. But some hope. The hope lifted her heart.

A hand closed around her wrist, tugging her around to face Mac. "And take you with me," he promised the pack while he pulled his mate towards him, unerring in the darkness.

Suddenly she was in the air, her legs closing around his waist as his arms plastered her to his chest and palms found her cheeks. Then his lips were over hers, so sure, so soft, the trembling in his limbs bringing tears to her eyes and her arms around his neck as he explored her lips with aching, gentle longing, tracing every contour, every nook over and over.

A flickering spark, and a small jumble of dim lights came on, sheltered from the drenching downpour in one of the fume cupboards, highlighting Ginger calmly taping firm the electrodes attached to wires and bulbs that she had just dipped into two large beakers of liquid. The pale light shone across to where tawny fur remained wrapped around brown, water beating down on the pair, their lips glued together, impervious to the light or the audience who watched silently, with increasing amusement or indignation. Then Rupert finally growled for a second time, his voice resigned, "Who is this?"

Gemma sighed, and wriggled to get free.

Mac sighed, and lifted his head reluctantly.

The deluge abruptly dropped to a trickle, then mere drips. Gemma landed back on her own feet and she grinned at Mo as she spun to face her pack. The old wolf was twisting tight a clamp to crush closed one of the exposed water pipes running floor to ceiling on the far wall.

This is my mate, she conveyed to them all proudly, wincing against the scrape of pain through her mind at the simple phrase. Stating the obvious.

"Save your shiele," growled Jorgen. All of the wolves hovering some paces back were frowning in pain at their own headaches. None of them were used to melding.

"Where is Ben?" Andrea suddenly asked, quietly. A frisson ran through the small group. They all straightened, and looked around.

"I don't remember sensing him in the meld," growled Mo, striding back towards them.

The eyes all focussed on Gemma, and she was instantly aware - Ben had not been with them. No. The taste of betrayal was sour in her mouth, brain echoing in shock, hurt.

"Oh, what does it matter?" snapped Ellen on a wavering note. "We're all deadwolves now anyway. There's no way we can get out of here. Even with the Mackeld."

"That might matter," Alan responded quietly. "How did he get in? Find us? Her? The Alfamme said that they no longer shared a link."

The glowing eyes turned to the Alpha, who was standing quietly, holding closed a rip in his upper arm as it knitted.

"Explain," gritted Rupert. The suspicion in his voice had lightened, but it was still tainting the words

The quiet green eyes lifted.

"Please," the wolf chemist found himself adding automatically as he met that cool gaze.

Mac sighed. "The mental link was broken," he agreed quietly, his sombre eyes turning briefly to his mate's. "But love doesn't break that way, so I was bound to try to follow her. Or avenge her." The words of the explanation were quiet, matter-of-fact, but Gemma found herself suddenly biting her bottom lip to keep it steady, eyes glistening as she dropped her head so that she could listen without being overwhelmed by the loss behind those bleak, echoing eyes.

"I had hunters out who were close enough to run across the trail of your escaped humans, and suspicious enough of their strange scent to follow it," Mac continued. "The humans told us of the setup here."

He paused. "But the major offensive against Tzo is far from here; I could not divert my warriors without either alerting your captors that we were on our way, or risking losing the wider war against Tzo. So it had to be subterfuge."

Her wolves were all still, breathing lightly as they listened intently.

"I have a warrior with inside knowledge of Madam Faulk's - lifestyle, who managed to infiltrate it again and obtain an invitation to tonight's show. I came as his human guard," Mac explained. His eyes slanted to Gemma and he clarified, Samuel, silently.

Gemma growled softly, and Mac smiled grimly as he continued his explanation aloud, "I knew Gemma was melded with some wolves as soon as they lifted her collar tonight, my - mind called to hers, but she was busy, enmeshed, so I held myself back as long as I could. But when her scent changed to fear and they were about to whip her - I had to get her out of there," he finished on a growl.

"You smell human," Jorgen agreed tersely. "How the hell did you manage that?"

There was a smile in the Alpha's voice. "Before she was captured, my mate isolated the fix Grey uses to hold the binding drug to wolves despite their fast metabolism. A friend has developed a human-scent ..."

Better than me, thought Gemma morosely.

"...combined with that fix, to allow a wolf to smell like this for hours, but -."

There was a murmur of educated appreciation among the assembled scientists. "We never could properly isolate the human scent," said Jorgen.

"Then - how many of your wolves did you bring?" interrupted Ellen eagerly.

Mac's voice had a slight edge as he continued, "The drug is only bearable to a wolf with a very high tolerance for silver; otherwise it just debilitates him or her. I am the only one we've found who can metabolise it, so far. And it weakens me - practically crushing my shiele - that was a side-benefit tonight. I have been able to mingle here without the Faulk wolves being aware of my aura."

"So you thought it would be useful to just waltz in here alone, weak, and get trapped with the rest of us?" whispered Gemma, her voice hitching on a gulp as fear drove the anger in her higher again. "Not your best idea ever."

The green eyes were swirling black as he looked back down at her and Mac growled softly, carefully, "Having seen the advert for tonight's show, I wasn't thinking very clearly."

Her head lifted and her cheeks flushed. Damn. Those adverts.

Had he liked them? an excited little voice in her head wondered, before she snapped at it to Shut up.

Confusingly, the suspicion on the air lightened as the Alpha pair glowered at each other.

"He's an Alpha!" exclaimed Ellen on a note of discovery.

Gemma rolled her eyes, making her head hurt. You could call him that. Mac slanted a sarcastic look her way, then yanked her in for a bruising kiss.

I'll tell you later what I thought of them, he conveyed privately.

"So we can create ECMD keyed to him - inject the others, all of them simultaneously so that he can make them break from Grey or the Louse, fight with us," Ellen continued, gesturing around the outside walls, the wider halls of the underground complex. "He's so much stronger, can hold a lot more than our Little Gem."

Gemma growled, "The ECMD is a good idea, but key it to me, like before. You are my pack - you just melded to me." There was a tinge of pride in her veins.

"And you're exhausted," chimed in Jorgen, eyes flickering between Alpha and Alfamme. "Besides, he must have helped you. No-one could lead a battle-meld like that instinctively, it was so - streamlined, elegant."

The eyes of half of the wolves around them were eyeing Mac speculatively, or admiringly. It looked like most of her damn pack were allied to her mate already. Gemma was surprised to feel a little spurt of jealousy. She snarled and shook her head violently at them.

Mac stepped forwards, a light frown between his eyes. "Right," he said. "What do you need me to do?"

Gemma turned her snarl on him, but was halted by a low voice at her right elbow.

"I have a better idea," said Rupert. The lanky chemist also advanced a pace, he was looking down at his left forearm, a fingertip slowly circling the invisible site of a former puncture wound, the injection from days before.

"It would appear that our Alfamme has hit upon a second option, an antidote that shakes the mind free, gives back the clean choice," he said. A small smile was playing over his lips, and there was no frown between his eyes. Can you not feel how clear I am, my packmates? His conveyance seemed to boom almost as clearly as Mac's, in contrast to the muffled murmurs around him. And I have been re-keyed over the past few days - but it just doesn't work. No side effects, no rage. Our Little Gem has broken the fix.

A gasp on intaken breath hissed through her pack.

"And now we have the main ingredient here," Rupert added aloud, pointing to the large, tawny Alpha. "A wolf with an exceptional level of silver resistance."

"Oh," murmured Gemma on a low note of discovery. That was why she had been able to make this effective antidote from Mac's shiele. It hadn't made sense.

All eyes turned to her mate, who was standing straight, eyes narrowed in thought. "This would work on all wolves who have been given coerced - give them free choice?" he asked.

"The only test has been on me. We haven't had time - Gemma only finished it just before she was recaptured, we haven't had the formula," replied Rupert.

Mac's eyes were gleaming slightly in pride as they rested briefly on his coldly furious mate.

"We would be better just keying ECMD to the Alpha, to ensure loyalty," growled Jorgen. "He can hold them, and with them all we can definitely fight our way out of here."

Mac's eyes shot sideways, and his voice was cold, "But he will not. I admit it is no fault of your own that you have a distorted view of free choice, but do not suggest to me that I enforce the same lack of choice on others."

Jorgen's cheeks flared hot and he snapped, "They are already enforced."

"And you would prefer them to remain so, because they do not hold with your loyalties?" retorted Mac. "That is not wolf." His eyes returned to Rupert. "How long does it take to make this antidote?" he said.

"With all of us?" responded the tall, lanky wolf, "The cream of the lab-rats here? We can synthesise it in a few hours, if we can hold them at bay while we work, and what's more," there was a smug note in his voice now. "The store here holds all of the other ingredients, and the methods of administration that the Louse and Grey have used - blowpipes, pea injectors, inhalers, dart-guns. If you can give enough of your resistance through your blood, we can make enough for the whole complex, have it ready to administer in one fell swoop."

"Blood?" cut in Gemma on a squeak. "I used -," she shut up, realising as she met Rupert's eyes. Extraction from hair would take too long - it would have to be blood. No, said her heart - that would weaken him so much.

"What about making enough for the outside Faulk pack, too?" her mate murmured quietly, eyes inward.

Gemma's heart thumped and her eyes shot sideways to him, narrowing then widening in fear. "No," she vetoed quietly. "That would be an insane amount. Even the amount needed for the complex slaves and guards will leave you too weak - this is idiocy, you wouldn't be able to fight, defend yourself."

His eyes shot back challengingly to hers. "My mate will defend me," he retorted, lips twitching.

Gemma smacked him, "Mac, NO."

He ignored her and walked over to Rupert, rolling his neck to get a crick out of it.

"This looks like our best chance. As I said, what do you need me to do?" he asked.

Rupert's eyes flickered between Alpha and Alfamme, and his lips twisted, eyes holding Gemma's as he reached out a hand, palm up, and conveyed quietly, I would cleave to you, my Alpha.

"How the hell do you think we're going to hold them out if you're comatose?" cursed Gemma, her eyes smashing into Rupert as the damn traitor clove to her stupid mate. She stomped forward to tug admonishingly at the hair on Mac's upper arm. "Jorgen's right, I'm not a warrior!"

Her fingers tingled where they brushed against his fur, and a jolt of warmth shot through her at his proximity, the shimmer off his skin beginning to resurface. For now, until they drained him - damn him. How could she have forgotten just how damn stubborn he was?

"Alan is a formidable warrior," Mac responded calmly, "I suggest that you listen to him."

"Well in that case, I propose that we drop more hacking powder out of the broken duct to clear the main doorway," Alan said on a quiet note of evaluation. "Then if Ginger and Tim will mix us an explosive we can bring the roof down there where the rock above is weak. We could do with only defending the smaller side-entrance."

He stepped forward and also held his hand out, palm up, to the Mackeld, conveying the oath privately.

"Good thinking," agreed the Alpha, briefly covering Alan's palm with his own, and they both winced while the powerful bond knit. Gemma snarled and stomped off towards the store to get more dust, ignoring the rest of her small pack as they began to crowd in to fawn over her mate.

Tsk tsk, you should learn to share, taunted Mac silently. I shared the Whites with you.

Ellen was standing too close to the Alpha, holding her palm out and smiling admiringly up at him when Gemma re-emerged from the small storeroom with a large bale of plastic-wrapped sawdust in her arms. Mac completed the last link with Ellen while Rupert, to his left, carefully rolled up the Alpha's mangled sleeve to expose his now-human forearm, tapping lightly to expose a vein.

"Gemma's right, you know," he said quietly, "We will need a lot of blood to make this feasible, to tip the balance - you would be better lying down."

Gemma froze where she was.

Please don't do this, Mac, she whispered, the dread pooling in her stomach. He would be unable to defend himself. His head lifted slightly, and calm green eyes met hers.

What would you have me do instead? This is our best chance.

Gemma winced at the 'our'. I don't want you here, her heart cried. Distractedly she noticed that the pain slashing through her head had disappeared. Disappeared when he had kissed her that second time. Wasting his shiele - dammit.

Picchu -.

We had a better chance when you were outside! she cursed him.

His eyes were warm.

Oh, Gem. You mean you felt better. I felt much, much worse.

Gemma growled and stomped off to thrust the bag of hackdust into Alan's arms, where he was assembling the defence and the pyramid.

If you die in here, then so do I, she hissed at her mate.

Copycat, he returned cheerfully. But I'm not planning on dying: your damn adverts show that you can now handle being tied up, and so I have a promise to fulfil.

Gemma's anger grew at the leap of excited blood in her veins, and she turned her back on her mate pointedly, trembling with what she told herself was fury as she began scrambling up the new pyramid.

Not excitement. No. This was fury.

You'd have to catch me first, she snarled at him. Then her hackles yanked alert at the response of her female wolves to the pulse of Alpha mating doft that suddenly perfumed the lab behind her while she leapt for the ventilation duct. Angrily she retrieved a tightly folded wedge of paper tucked and tossed it down at Jorgen, then caught the hackdust bale that Alan threw up and pushed it into the vent, preparing to heave herself up.

Abruptly the siren scent of Mac's lust cut off.

"No!" he called, striding forward, shaking off Rupert's grip on his arm as he gazed up at her. "Send Opal - you are too vital in this."

Gemma's brown-black eyes were wide, incredulous, as she hung from the rectangular opening, swinging lightly and turned her head to glare back down at her mate. "What did you just say?" she asked. "Talk about double standards."

"This is not an emotional decision," he growled back up, a low note of menace to his voice. "We need chemists urgently - whereas anyone can fight. And I am the only source for the resistant shiele - the standards are no-where near the same, Gemma."

"Need I point out to you, you're in a room full of bloody chemists," she snarled back, then pulled herself up into the opening with the ease of long practice.

There was a rush in the air behind her, a couple of startled grunts from the members of the pyramid, and a firm clasp snapped around her left ankle just as she was about to push off into the darkness. The weight which dropped like a stone onto the end of that unmoving grip yanked her painfully back through the opening with a scrape of her stomach and an echoing bang of her skull against the roof of the duct. Gemma yelped as they fell, struggled against the strong grip which shifted to hold her securely about her waist, then punched Mac hard in the stomach as he landed holding her. She was snarling in anger - how could he embarrass her that way in front of her pack?

Her Alpha dropped her to her feet and yanked her closer by the shoulders, power fizzing along her nerve endings as he glowered into her eyes.

"There is a fucking war on, Gemma. Think. We need you here."

"All RIGHT," she snapped, and her fist lashed out to strike him again. He caught it in mid-air, holding it stationary, and growled back, "Not now. We will fight this out when we are out of here, if you wish."

Gemma glared back up into the pulsing green-black swirl, seething in rage that he was so damn autocratic, and repeated her earlier defiance aloud, spitting staccato words through her anger, "You will have to fucking catch me first."

Lust surged from him.

The other wolves were frozen in the explosion of pulsing tension, halted in shocked poses around the room, staring.

Then the oldest of them, Mo, abruptly shook himself, letting out a snort, and said dryly, "Yup, definitely Alphas, and definitely mates." Andrea hiccupped on a laugh, and a wave of releasing tension washed through the wolves in the room, easing the fear and causing a happy little hum of a hopeful sigh, into which Jorgen said tentatively, "Uh - Alfamme? None of us ever have made this solution before, so if you don't mind stepping us through it -."

Fucking Mr Always-Right Alpha.

Gemma shook herself free of the clasp on her shoulders and stalked regally over to the lab bench where Ellen and Warner were setting out the vessels needed.

Her heart was shrinking, swirling in jumpy fear, as she heard Mac settling back on the wooden bench behind her, joking to Rupert to relax the chemist while he advanced nervously with a makeshift bloodbag: needle, tube and flask swiftly sterilised in the furnace.

No, her heart keened.

Abruptly she spun and raced back to her mate, grabbing his face and mashing her lips to his to halt the sob rising to her lips. Mac's hands lifted to cradle her head. His thumbs stroked softly over her cheekbones and he gentled the kiss, nuzzling over her lips, soothing her, his mind whispering silently, Shh. Shh, my picchu. I know. Shh. I love you too.

"Huh," she growled under her breath as she pulled away and spun back to the workbench where her packmates awaited her.

A little waft of amusement from the watching wolves followed her on the air.

*

Over an hour later, Gemma was standing beside Rupert's shoulder where he was seated at the main workbench, verifying the readout of the concentrations in the antidote they had synthesized with the first quarter pint of Mac's blood. They both checked once again against the results for the original mixture that Gemma had created, then Rupert slowly filled an injection dart while the other lab rats looked on with bated breath, watching out of the corners of their eyes while they continued to make more.

The noise around them was appalling; there was a heavy continuous battering and threatening howling at the side door, where Alan's small force was determinedly battling to hold back the horde of Faulk wolves trying to break in. However, Gemma barely heard the sounds of the fight, the concentration she had pulled around the lab rats absolute: they had to do this. It was the only way out, for all of them.

But a sudden piercing, sharp spike at her heart broke her focus, her face blanching as she almost doubled over at the drag of the pain. All of the wolves working around the bench with her winced in unison, catching an echo of her agony, and a collective half-gasp, half whine arose when Gemma automatically lifted her aegis, stumbling around to look over at her unconscious mate lying on the far bench.

She knew that drain.

Natasha.

But Mac was too weak, too fragile to take it just now. Why didn't he just give it up?

She knew why.

Even from here, she could see the palsy-like tremor in the comatose figure. Her mind hurtled over to help, but she couldn't get past his shields, he had blocked her out from his physical pain, and was automatically blocking her out from this too - damn the damn stubborn wolf!

A shot of panic jolted through Gemma as the shaking grew even as she watched. She felt the agony in him increasing, leaking past his shields.

This was deliberate; a second front by the enemy. The timing couldn't be chance; although equally they couldn't know just how weak Mac's defences were just now.

Fear ignited the killing rage within Gemma, but she reeled it in easily, containing the power, using it to block the pain. She spun back to face the bench, grab up the filled dart and turned swiftly away, barking, "That is correct. Finish it, load all the darts and deploy them, as agreed."

A corner of her mind noted her pack members straighten and stiffen in reaction to something in her tone, a gleam of light firing in their eyes as most turned instantly to get on with the final steps of making and administering the antidote to the fix.

Five however sheared off towards the pile of rock which had been brought down to block the main doorway, behind which they could hear noises of more enemies steadily burrowing their way through. Following her silent orders they assembled in an unstable, makeshift pyramid atop the rough stones, and Gemma scrambled up and leapt from the top to grab the edge of the old vent, flipping herself inside with an uncannily fiery agility which she didn't even stop to question.

Hurry! Hurry! urged her heart.

Alarms were already sounding all over the complex, although Gemma noted a new one bursting into a cacophony above her as minutes later she slithered dangerously fast down the shaft to the lower level, into unknown territory. The high security cells.

She could only hope that the guards were a little preoccupied - although her cover was blown sky-high by now anyway.

Reaching the bottom, with no more time for subterfuge, she slashed oven the ventilation shaft at the right-angled bend, and dropped straight onto two startled guards waiting in the gloomily lit rock corridor beside the lift entrance, below.

They were slow fighters. More skilled than she, but strangely slow.

That was two more she had killed.

Later.

Loping down the corridor unscathed, past banks of sealed cell doors, Gemma's nose wrinkled in disgust at the vile scents of blood and burnt flesh guiding her towards the large set of double doors at the end. A muffled, wet choking noise accompanying a rhythmic metallic-screeching sound suddenly halted, and Gemma steeled herself as she burst into a run towards the closed doors, palming the injection of the antidote and taking two short, steadying breaths.

The doors burst open as she reached them and a torrent of wolves smashed out.

Amidst a confusing tumble of sights and devastating scents, Gemma focussed past the handful of wolves charging towards her, past the vicious, white face of Nicholas Grey sighting a gun in her direction, to the slender, naked figure with the shock of platinum blonde hair bent over a padded bench behind him, her wrists and ankles held by two burly wolves.

Swerving gracefully past the ones who tried to intercept her, hearing the bullet whipping through to bury itself in one of them to a sharp, strangled cry of pain and panic, Gemma rolled in an acrobatic tumble past Grey and slammed herself into the wolf holding Natasha's wrists, her left hand slapping the needle into his bare calf and pressing the plunger as her claws swiped for his groin.

The broad-shouldered wolf released the Vanilchov Alfamme to defend himself, deflecting Gemma's blow with ease. Behind her, as she twisted in a desperate attempt to block a lazy strike from the burly wolf, the wereem felt a swift surge of movement. She heard a strangled yelp from the male who had been holding their victim's feet, and the smell of burnt flesh receded as the pain-driven Vanilchov sjeste launched herself at her advancing enemies, howling a hoarse keen of total fury.

A flicker crossed the face of the wolf in front of Gemma, a spasm of agony, and the large male stilled, his pupils dilating as though he had been hit over the head.

Alan had whispered of this duty, his shame debilitating; the worst offenders were forced to this. He had flickering memories of watching his own limbs holding down other wolves, while they were being 'treated'. He loathed himself, had fought that command the hardest. But he hadn't succeeded in breaking free.

Gemma had gambled on such being the case tonight. It looked like she was right.

The wolf facing Gemma stumbled backwards, swaying, an anguished look appearing in the black depths of his eyes. Gemma spun to face a swift approach she sensed behind her, ducking under a slash at her throat and scraping her claws across the leg of her attacker. The next instant he was flung across the room into the remaining enemies as the wolf behind her erupted with his own howl of anguish.

Grey's second bullet buried itself in his hapless pack-mate while he was flying through the air, and Gemma caught a glimpse of Nicholas' white face across the heads of the remaining five as he focused on Natasha tearing into the already severely depleted front line, Gemma leaping to join her, and the massive wolf behind Gemma shaking himself free of the last of the drug, to a rising cacophony of fury.

Grey turned and fled.

Natasha tore down the left two defenders and shot off in his wake, despite the ungainly limp whenever her left foot hit the floor, the wrath blazing off her scenting the air. Gemma was caught on the thigh by a rake of claws as she pursued the Vanichov sjeste. She cried out as she spun to fend off the attacker, but he was already dead, and she paused for a second, meeting the eyes of the wolf she had hit with the antidote, seeing the melt-down in the anguished orbs where he stood with heaving chest above the bodies of the last two, tears rolling down his cheeks.

It was not your fault, she conveyed fiercely. And please, we need your help to clean this place up. To free the others.

His reply was very faint, whether due to the residual drug or to his state of mind, she couldn't tell.

I will clean up, the wolf vowed, eyes swirling black and shining with tears.

She lost him in the main corridor on the upper level. They had fought their way out of the stairwell together, not enough Faulk wolves had assembled by then to successfully halt the amazing prowess of the huge warrior at Gemma's side. But then she had been driven away from him as the new attackers had arrived, forced to dodge away into a side passage as she was unable to fight such a swathe of enemies, losing sight of him in the melee and then desperately just running to stay alive ahead of the vicious pack of koiru trying to down her.

Her heart burst in relief as she caught Mac's scent just before she ran slap bang around a corner into an unyielding chest, felt her wrist grabbed and was yanked behind her mate so painfully that her shoulder almost dislocated.

Gemma turned to help, her mind panicking with the memory of when she had last seen him: ten minutes ago he had been comatose and fading after all the blood they had taken from him.

By the time she had turned the seven who had been chasing her were dead.

The hairs all over her body sprang to full, electrified alert as Mac completed his spin from where the last enemy was toppling, raging at her, glaring black anger as he hissed, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

His eyes were lit like an inferno, and the feeling smashing from him was brutal, the bombardment of sheer danger shrinking Gemma inside her skin as her brain suddenly wobbled in shock. The tumultuous power pouring off him was stifling, and looking into his eyes was like looking into a volcano. This wolf was seriously dangerous.

Mac stalked two steps toward her, trembling in fury, the fluid movements eloquent of barely controlled rage.

Looking up into his livid eyes, feeling the flame of his anger cascading over her skin, lifting her hair, Gemma felt a flush rise to her cheeks: Mac was alright. He was healed. So damn quickly?! And this was her Mac.

As her mind steadied, the wereem became aware of their wider surroundings. Aware of her wolves - their wolves, now, creeping in groups of three or four through the familiar corridors, closing in on the auditorium, administering the antidote to every wolf they passed. There were some short, vicious fights ensuing, but Mac was guiding them and the numbers of rebels were actually increasing, not decreasing, as more wolves turned to fight with them than against. The new recruits were not melded, she couldn't sense them, but she could see and scent them through their koirus' senses.

Mac was guiding them.

Tears sprang to her eyes and a wave of overwhelming relief suddenly crashed through her as her eyes blurred on the beloved, furious features. Something in her heart gave way, a small damn bursting, and the next second her nose was buried in his fur, her face jammed into his shoulder as she flung herself across the space between them and cramped her arms uncomfortably around his too-broad torso.

Gemma clenched her jaw against the tears she wanted to bawl, heaving deep breaths of his acrid, angry, achingly familiar scent, and her limbs were melting. But she couldn't lose it, she reminded herself fiercely. Not here, not yet. They were not out yet.

She had to stay strong. But - Mac was here.

She was no longer carrying this alone.

A little sob escaped, and she bit her lip, tasting the blood as she buried herself fiercely closer to her mate. Mac closed his arms around her. A strong hand began soothing up and down her trembling spine but the acrid burn still lit his scent as he conveyed, privately, You IDIOT. I told you to stay IN THE LAB.

A call for help echoed in both their heads. Before Gemma could react, Mac had grabbed her hand, and they began to race back up the corridor toward the central hallway, side by side.

You told me to defend you, Gemma returned virtuously, although she hiccupped on a half-sob and couldn't help smiling as they ran. He was so gorgeous. She had missed this feeling of - protection.

Her mate growled, low, halting briefly to slam open a door, rip off the metal handle and fling it hard into the back of the head of one of a quartet of huge wolves tearing into Mo, Andrea and a third wolf she didn't know, all in one blindingly fast move. The enemy dropped, unconscious and Andrea leaped onto the second one, growling in satisfaction while Mo knocked the legs out from under the third, the new recruit tackling the last.

Mac hauled on Gemma's hand, pulling her on before she'd truly taken in what he's just done. I meant you to defend me IN THE LAB, as you damn well knew - how dare you run off from me again? her mate continued thunderously.

Her heart jolted at the pain buried in him, but she decided attack was the best form of defence and retorted caustically, I ran off to rescue your betrothed - I expect a little gratitude, here.

Gemma watched inside her head as her Alpha rapidly shuffled information and orders between their wolves, sifting out knowledge of the layout from her own head as he worked out to how to reach them. A little jolt of awe shot through her - she really did need to work on her battle awareness - she couldn't properly take in what was happening to all the separate members of her pack. Never mind fight and plan and keep up an argument in the here and now.

"Gratitude?" snarled Mac, so angry he had to vocalise. "How the hell can I defend you if you keep running off?"

As he spoke, another four hapless enemies ran around the corner to the left of Gemma, leaping to attack them. The front pair faltered at the blast of rage blazing off the Alpha, and Gemma copied the move she'd seen in Mo, dropping under the foremost's wild, unfocussed sweep of claws and kicking hard into the back of his knee, watching in satisfaction as his legs buckled.

"Who says I need defending?" she shot smugly over her shoulder toward the grunts of Mac taking on the other three. She didn't even bother to look, not in the least worried considering who had her back. The one she'd knocked over barely had time to land before a tawny fist snatched him out of her vision and she completed her turn to see her one opponent landing on the little heap of unmoving limbs Mac had already created.

"Don't get cocky," he snapped as they spun simultaneously to run on. "You need more lessons." Gemma grabbed her mate's hand, and melted in the frisson of awareness which tingled up her arm.

"I know," she sighed happily, delighting in the pure joy melting through her. He really was here. She skipped a happy little hop as she ran, and jumped sideways, wrapped her legs around his side and clasped his head to kiss his cheek. She had to tilt her head further to reach the corner of his mouth. "Please teach me, my Alpha," she whispered.

His anger spiked, the disintegrating scent this close in her nostrils sending a shock of warning through her, and Mac's hand was rough as he pulled her off and dropped her on her own feet beside him, keeping his grasp on her elbow to tow her on impatiently.

"Damn right, I'll teach you: not to run off into danger," he snarled, adding: And stop being so damn happy about it!

That wasn't fair! "Can't a girl be happy to run into her mate?" Gemma retorted, the smile she couldn't help still twitching on her lips.

Then she slammed to a halt as they crossed a scent leading to the guardroom door, tried the handle ineffectually, and began to swiftly carve out the lock.

Mac pushed her unceremoniously out of the way, punctured his claws in and ripped the door off, growling, "This isn't a joke, Gem."

The stench of fear as the heavy metal barrier was wrenched free washed over both of them, wrinkling their noses in unison. They blinked for a moment in the reflected light of scores of pairs of eyes. A mass of terrified human slaves were sardined claustrophobically in the dark room, locked in, most still adorned in the skimpy finery of refreshments for the guests who had been watching the show.

"Get out of here!" Gemma shouted at them, even as Mac's hand grabbed hers and she was whisked away. "Through the garages - run!" she urged over her shoulder, seeing the first few cautiously stick their heads out of the doorway as she was pulled around the next corner.

The reek of their fear: pain and sex mingling in misery, churned through Gemma. It was a scent she was all too familiar with now.

"No, it's not a joke," she agreed on a sad murmur.

Silence now, her mate thundered in her head, his speed increasing as he lifted her bodily off the floor and crouched lower into a lethal, prowling run, holding her tucked to his side.

I should have kept you free of this, her mate added, his true feeling of deep - inadequacy - reverberating inside her, his reaction to her sadness. Whatever has happened to you, picchu - whatever they have done to you -

Gemma was no longer able to pay full attention. Her focus had been dragged ahead, to the confusion of noises and desperate thoughts cascading from the beleaguered group of her wolves trapped and fighting back-to-back at the base of the back staircase to the auditorium. They were out of antidote.

You are my picchu, Mac was snarling in her mind, his thoughts growing wilder, black. Please. I will give whatever I can, to help you heal - space, protection, training -.

Gemma cut him off, impatiently. You already have given me what I need, Mac! she snarled, almost swearing at him as she palmed the antidote dart he had brought her in her left hand.

Then Mac dropped her just before the last corner, ordering Stay here! as he leapt around the bend into the pack of waiting Faulk wolves .

What?

No way. Through his eyes, she could glimpse the powerful Faulk leader howling orders down at his troops from his vantage position up on the staircase, blocking the retreat at the other side of the swirling melee. Her wolves were being backed up towards that powerhouse of skilful, flashing claws.

Gemma ran back a few paces, placed the dart between her teeth, then ran and sprang for the beam crossing the passage overhead, clawing herself a hold. In seconds she had levered her way inside the suspended ceiling, and began to rapidly finger-and-toe sloth-move her way through the small void, hanging upside-down from the flange of the I-beam against the roof.

The fight and the ceiling muffled her scent enough that it was only as she dropped through the brittle layer of tiles that she heard the loud curse Gemma! in her head while she slapped the antidote in her left hand against the burly enemy's neck, simultaneously grabbing the fistful of claws aiming for her face. She didn't manage to completely twist out of the way of his other hand, and winced as the sharp claws scored through her hip into her hipbone.

The tang of anger exuding from the melee at the base of the stairs exploded with the force of a supernova, and suddenly Mac was barrelling up the steps, at the spearfront of the small gang of Little Gems. He was slinging aside the enemy warriors, a murderous glint in his eyes, which were narrowed on the huge wolf Gemma was struggling to disengage from.

The wolf flinched away, a look of anguish crossing his face, eyes flickering in bewilderment as the antidote kicked in. Gemma reached to convey to her mate and found his mind black with fury, drowning in it.

Mac wasn't stopping.

She pounced on her wolf, grabbing at that lethal, sweeping arm while her legs locked around his waist.

Mac! Mac! He was compelled, she conveyed urgently.

In one swift move her mate grabbed her by the ankle and hauled her around to his side, so that he could see, lunging for the wolf who had injured her, who was scrabbling backwards up the steps. Mac ignored her words, furiously intent on his prey.

Gemma squirmed in the implacable grip, flinging herself up to try to yank Mac's head around, distract him, break that lethal intent. Her arm was across his eyes.

"Will you listen to me, Mr Stubborn? I'm fine! I'm already healed!" she bawled at him.

Mac swiped her hands out of the way and leapt again for the panicked wolf who twisted frantically and yelped as the claws raked across his side: deep, but deflected enough to not kill. Yet.

"MAC!" Gemma grabbed her mate's head again and jammed her lips against his, hard and angry.

Mac's responding growl was vicious, and something exploded inside him. Gemma felt herself crushed back against a hard wall as hard fingers clamped around her face to tilt her head up so his lips could ravage hers, teeth biting possessively at the tender skin. The bitter anger pouring off him was hair-raising, months of pent-up, barely held-in-check anguish boiling over, erupting violently. Gemma was submerged under the deluge of it, fingers clutching at his shoulders to hold tight as the black, furious fire tore into her, searing her with his pain.

Silent tears were rolling down her cheeks.

Mac lifted his head, his lips an inch from hers. His eyes were raging fully black, lost, and he was shuddering as he tried to winch his fury back in, barely clinging to the last thread of control. Gently, he licked the mix of blood and tears from his lips, tears glinting in the corners in his own eyes. He was submerging under this, the rage taking him. Her Mac.

A hard knot inside Gemma broke at the feeling raging off him, and she leaned in, tucking her head into the corner of his neck. Please. Her lips were tingling with healing against his skin, and she quietly breathed in his vicious musk. But it was him. This was her home. Please, Mac.

She was so tired of fighting.

The anger was rising: scorching, acrid, his beloved scent. It knitted through her.

A different, aching tingle deep within her chest, and she felt it. Felt him. Her wolf. Her songmate. The aching desolation in her chest eased, and there he was. Their bond. A warm, beautiful feeling melting her heart.

Mac's breath hitched. He hissed. Shuddered. Then Gemma watched her mate begin the vicious internal struggle, the strain to suppress his anger, his fear. Inch by inch, damping flame after raging, torturous flame, he reeled his volatile emotions back in, smothering them within that iron control.

Eventually, Mac rested with his head on her shoulder too, breathing deeply, nose pressed to her neck, snuffling her soothing scent. Gemma found that she was crooning under her breath, massaging gently at his scalp, enjoying the silken run of his hair through her fingers.

He was still boiling with anger.

And when Mac moved, he kept her cradled on one arm, tucked into his side.

The wolf Mac would have killed, the former leader of the enemy guards, was standing two steps down, beyond a guard ring of Little Gems standing around their Alphas. His eyes swirled dark, hollow with emotion. Mac's still smouldering gaze fell to the hand held out towards them, palm up, the sign of a wolf entreating an Alpha to take him into his pack.

Slowly the Warlord's burning gaze lifted back to the eyes of the wolf who, five minutes earlier, had injured his mate.

The guard shuddered uncontrollably, but held his ground.

Gemma snuggled her nose in closer to her mate's throat, her nostrils burning in the scent seething off him, raging higher again. A little shiver trembled down her spine. Mac was so damn volatile. And dangerous - she could barely comprehend the weight of the packs he now encompassed - so many wolves, tearing at his mind - he was only just in control.

A shot of fear laced down her spine as she realised what made him tremble so.

What had contained him, banked the raging fire since she had 'died', had been his misery. Loneliness; despair; loss. And the faint breath of uncertainty: Mac had still, impossibly, hoped.

But now he was holding her; he was holding his picchu. He had got her back.

The burn to protect her was beyond her compass, but she felt it against every pore of her skin. The fire exploded when he feared he could not protect her. Feared losing her again. He couldn't hold it. Didn't want to. The pain was too great - the urge to kill too wild.

And -- he was too powerful. No-one else could hold him back now, either.

Except you, Mac nudged her softly with his reply.

Fealden has a theory, he continued idly. That an Alpha is condemned to love a human only when his people desperately need a Wolflord. The pain of her loss means that he does not care that his mind is being ripped apart by the demands placed on it; he is already partially insane.

Keeping her eyes closed, Gemma kissed his neck softly. The simmer within him was already subsiding, calmed by the humour rising in his thoughts.

I wonder what happens to said Wolflord when it turns out that his inordinately stubborn wereem-songmate actually isn't dead?

She was stubborn?

Well, for a start, she asks him to give some of those packs back to other Alphas, so that his mind can rest and begin to heal, Gemma returned. Sensing something in the air, she opened her eyes, and saw with incredulity that Mac was actually extending his hand toward the supplicating damn ex-Faulk. She nipped his neck sharply, fear jolting through her. She could now feel just how over-extended he was. Don't accept more wolves!

We're at war, my picchu. I will rest when-.

Both of their heads shot up as a noise of heavy furniture screeching across a floor suddenly burst the quiet, echoing down from the open doorway at the back of the auditorium balcony just above them. None of their Gems were in there: so what had caused that noise?

Mac's eyes suddenly crossed, Gemma heard an echo of a cry in his mind, and she was dropped back to her feet. Mac muttered, "Tasha," and set off bounding four at a time up the stairs, yelling, Guard her, back at her own damn pack.

For a second she just stared after him, incredulous, then Gemma sprinted in her mate's wake.