Pawn Among Wolves Ch 17 Extended Scene

This is an extension of the scene in Ch 17, page 3 – between when they defeat Louise and Tzo arrives. I rewrote it a while back to answer various questions and was going to post it once I'd finished all revisions but that's not going to for be a long while yet so I decided to post this now as reply and thanks for all the comments.

Nearly an hour later, Gemma was massaging her scalp while she plodded wearily around the last corner of the stairway down to the foyer in front of the main auditorium doors. The change in the atmosphere sweeping through the wolves packed underground was electric.

She was weaving through a tide of Faulk and ex-Greys. Their former enemies had nearly all circled to Mac and herself; those who hadn't had either been killed, or exiled, depending on their complicity. Now the warriors were regrouping, slightly dazed, eating the cold remains of the festive foods prepared for the show guests hours earlier. Refueled, the first were wearily making their way out of the underground complex to take up positions along the perimeter wall and try to sleep while they awaited the arrival of Warlord Tzo with his army. Alan nodded politely to her when he passed at the back of a group of Faulk wolves, all grimacing slightly at their

piquant

headaches, their scents a pungent mixture of shame, elation and determination.

Gemma stared after him, startled and a little disturbed. Alan being polite was unsettling.

Standing in the doorway at the back of the stalls, her eyes were distracted by the chaos of wolves teeming in all directions, and the piles of ungainly, unmoving shapes scattered around the vast room. One dark puddle of limbs slumped between the corner of wall and floor not far to her right was Nicholas Grey, the handsome face seeming to stare straight at her, incredulous at his own death.

He looked so small.

Her eyes lifted. She stiffened. A stream of fighters were evacuating through the far door by the stage. Standing just a little out of their way a tall, tawny-haired figure was fiercely hugging a smaller figure to his chest. An untidy tangle of platinum blonde hair was just visible around the bulk of Mac's shoulders. Natasha was pressed as close as she could get in his arms, her face buried against his neck. They were both completely motionless, although the fierceness of the embrace made clear how strongly they felt.

A flash of the old rage shot through the wereem.

She stomped on it.

Natasha had been through hell. Gemma was planning on hugging her own brother later.

Grow up

, she admonished herself.

He is just offering her comfort.

After a long, silent moment, Natasha's head lifted from Mac's neck, her eyes met his, and gently they began to share little, loving kisses.

Gemma's eyes shot wide in shock.

Too much comfort!

Her mind was incredulous, the disbelief battering in waves against the truth of what her eyes were telling her. But it

wasn't

true. Mac loved her,

Gemma

. This was

wrong.

Through the dinning of blood in her ears, Gemma could vaguely hear a wolf behind her murmuring something. Then the scent caught her -

what?

Who?

- and she managed to tune in to the words he was rumbling.

"... watch you do that to someone else without ripping his head off."

Mac's voice was behind her right shoulder.

Gemma spun from where she was leaning weakly against the door jam, her legs almost giving way, and was supported by a pair of hands. Furious, she swiped them away.

It

was

Mac.

Dazed, she twisted her head to look back across the room. An automatic snarl escaped at the sight of her mate kissing the dishevelled-yet-devastating platinum blonde so passionately that he lifted her off her feet.

Her mate's

double

.

"I'm sorry, love, I couldn't tell you until Tasha was safe," Mac said, voice subdued. "The key to her resistance was that Nick

did not know

that all these years, despite the many times she was moved, Ulf has always been able to quarter Grey range and close the distance enough to meld with her. To donate his shiele - and mine, bolster her strength before Nick could break her and force her to bear his cubs. Twin has been hiding in Grey range, hunting for her ceaselessly, helping her."

Mac sighed, half a growl, and continued: "Had he known, Grey would have moved Tasha far, far away, where we would not have been able to support her. It would have killed them both had Nick succeeded." His voice was a thread of apologetic sound.

Stunned, Gemma glared up at the tawny-haired wolf looming over her, his features sombre while he looked over her head at the entwined couple. She twitched wide eyes again to the tawny-haired wolf still wrapped around the Vanilchov sjeste.

Tor and Ulf Mackeld.

Identical

twins.

"You're dead," she breathed, voice hoarse and eyes wide. Tor Mackeld.

Mac closed his eyes and sighed, "I was afraid you'd take it like this."

Gemma snorted an angry huff and punched her mate's arm:

That comment wasn't a prediction!

Yet.

I'm just as dead as you,

Mac challenged.

Although, unlike you, I had been slowly poisoned with chronic doses over months, so it was a tiny dose which cut me off, killed all connections.

Gemma's skin lit with pain, her heart curdling: Mac had been experimented on by Nicholas Grey and his father. He had obliquely referred to this before, but she had never thought -

months? Little by little, day by day. What she had seen in here -.

Her mind jumped away from the thoughts that were pulling the berserk fury into her mind, and grabbed at a safe point of anger: "So were you ever damn well betrothed to her?"

The green eyes reopened, a swirling mixture of contrition and amusement, and Gemma's heart jolted again, almost bursting on a sudden surge of joy:

he was hers.

No rivals. He always had been. Bastard!

"Gem, I never said

I

was betrothed to her..."

"You implied it!"

"... just explained why the Mackeld Alpha couldn't be seen panting after another woman," he clarified. "Ulf is the true Mackeld Alpha, I was just filling in."

This time she

really

punched him. It made him smile.

"You're not the Mackeld Alpha?" she snapped. "You're the Aster Warlord!

You let me think

you were Mackeld Alpha.

Everyone

thinks you're Mackeld Alpha - including your own damn pack!"

"I was just pretending." He wrinkled his nose at her. Damn, she wished her thumps would wipe that grin off his face. Every time she thought of extending her claws to cause some real damage, his happy scent would catch her, together with twitches of conveyance, and she found herself, infuriatingly, melting. Mac had

hated

keeping this from her, knowing that it was causing her pain. The insouciant relief he felt now was burning off his skin. Together with a deep, melting pride that

she had trusted him.

She was an idiot.

"No-one could know who I really was, in case it got back to Nick," Mac explained further. "Luckily, me having been dead for years, the possibility never even crossed most of their minds."

Irritating reason marched across Gemma's seething mind: as a human, she had been eager to turn into an easily-controlled werewolf. Since she'd become one, one of her

mordeurs

had been Nick's son. Who knew what the kid would've been able to read in her head

without her even knowing?

But oh, she was still mad at him.

"How much were you pretending?" Gemma hissed. "

Tor

Mackeld - how much of what you've been feeding me can I actually believe?"

He stilled, and shared. It was like when she had slipped behind his battle shields earlier, and seen the angry vengeance riding him. Except this was deeper. No words, he just showed her the place in his heart where his picchu lived. Complete empathy.

She could feel how raw he was, how the worried edges were torn and cracking, rips leaking pain into so deep love. Gemma tightened the arms that had somehow crept around him and snuggled closer, sighing when his scent tickled her nose

Her wolf. He was here. He was hers. She would have plenty of time to be mad at him another day.

A twinge of worry hit.

Hopefully.

There was one stab of hurt within him that she could assuage

now

. Gemma growled into his fur, the words soft: "No-one. I

was

rising to mate at Halloween, yes, but you stopped the show and the silver smothered the mating-heat. Then I was hidden until this week."

No-one has touched me.

The tremor inside him deepened, and he lifted her up so their faces were level, swirling eyes searching hers for confirmation, hoping, more fearful of her scarring than mere contaminating male rivals, he could wipe their taint out.

Gemma rolled her eyes. "

I'm

not a liar," she taunted. Relief flashed in Mac's eyes and his lips dove in to shut her up.

Aren't you supposed to be busy?

Gemma conveyed hazily some moments later when his head lifted slightly and kisses began to drift, exploring her soft skin.

I've given my orders. Everyone knows what to do, to prepare,

Mac replied. He began to nibble tender little bites down the side of Gemma's neck.

And it's important for a warrior to get what relaxation he or she can, when he can.

The tremble inside her was increasing to match his.

Long minutes later, another thought struck. Gemma jerked upright on her perch astride one of Mac's knees, to find he was sitting on one of the guard's seats just outside the auditorium doorway.

"Weren't you married before?" she demanded. Then a wave of colour washed over her skin at the insensitivity of her question.

"Yes," was all Mac said. His sparkling eyes softened a little toward sadness, and they dropped to fasten on the golden bracelet gleaming on her left wrist.

"Sorry," Gemma whispered, her throat closing while the shadow deepened in his eyes, remembering what she had been told about Grace's suspect death, and Tor Mackeld challenging Nicholas Grey's father. Mac twisted the gold band, running a finger along the smooth surface. His eyes were sombre but peaceful when they lifted back to hers.

"It was a long time ago, Gem."

How long?

"Alphas bond young - it stabilises the pack. Grace and I met when we were training with Nigel: lovemates, then bondmates. We were happy together."

The shadow in his eyes was permanent, but softened by time, and the life he had built since. But still his expression darkened when he whispered, "I couldn't protect her."

"Share with me?" Gemma asked, her soft voice pleading.

Mac shook his head, the gesture fierce with repulsion. "

No!

No wolf would share such memories."

But Gemma was his songmate. She was straining, trying to help, ease this for him, understand. Mac was thrusting away the vile images which she plunged into, inadvertently reaching past his shields.

Excruciating. Thoughts and

sensations

churned, a turbulent, raking current of memories scouring through her. Grace had been captured on her first rut-run, but had not yielded to the pain the Greys had inflicted on her, not with Mac bolstering her resistance. So the Greys had caught and tortured Mac, directly, to make his bondmate submit. Submit to carrying Nicholas Grey's child - Walter Grey, Nicholas' father, had been obsessed with passing on the Alphaship, if not directly to his son, to his son's child. Gemma shivered even under the blunted

memory

of that curdling pain.

Over time the Greys' obsession had shifted to just forcing the Mackeld to grovel, to bring down this most hated of the true Alphas. Humble him. The raw cycle of pain, drugs, shiatz and suffering had blurred. It was only long afterward that Mac had realised that part of their obsession had been to replicate the wolf control drug which the Greys had had to purchase from the Faulk, even then.

More and more silver, memory becoming patchy, Mac didn't know when Grace had died, or how. He only knew that he had come around, weak, mutilated, to know her death. The berserk rage had taken him, and he had killed his way out of the Grey range, uncaring and unconscious of all the damage inflicted on himself.

And sickened - why had he not reached that rage earlier, for Grace?

Once free, guilt had turned him right back around with the death challenge, the mortefio, demanding vengeance. Walter Grey had used more silver in the fight, pushing Mac over the limit into the freefall of no pack, no bonds, nothing but the sickening, dragging guilt that killing the Grey Alpha had not assuaged.

Gemma's arms were closed tight around as much of her shivering wolf as she could reach. His face was buried in her neck, breaths deep and harsh against her skin while slowly the tremors shaking him subsided. He bit her gently, breaking skin, then his kiss burned the nick closed. Running his nose up her neck, he crossed her jaw to her lips, biting again, retreating, the tremble disappearing entirely. Mac took a deep breath, relaxing, blinking to clear his eyes while he looked down into Gemma's.

You OK?

he asked.

Gemma made a noise of frustration, placed her palms behind his head, and pulled his lips down to hers, hard.

I'm

OK. But I'm sorry - I didn't mean to plunge you back into that.

She blinked carefully while she explored his lips. They curved into a smile against hers.

I've never shared that with anyone, picchu. It is actually - a release,

he said softly. Then added on a more caustic note,

I didn't intend to inflict that hurt on you.

Gemma bit his lip this time. Her teeth were useless, didn't break the skin, but they emphasised her growl:

It hurts more when you don't share how you're feeling.

Mac stilled, then smiled slowly, plastering her closer, painful memories evaporating in heat.

Let me show you how I'm feeling, my picchu,

he conveyed.

Who knew how many dazed minutes had passed, when a new scent caught her and Gemma resurfaced enough to yank her hand back from where it was sneaking down toward that bulge pressing against her thigh.

The violent movement broke their kiss. Cheeks burning, she swam back into awareness of the wolves constantly coming and going from the siege preparations in the auditorium. Gemma tried to latch onto anything except the feel of him pressed against her, the scent of his arousal, the tingling awareness of the

power

of him dragging at her shimmering skin. Power. "What do you mean, you're not Mackeld Alpha?" she revived enough to totter back to the old subject, voice breathless. "Aren't they cloven to you?"

Mac tilted his head and nuzzled her nose lovingly, licking over her lips.

Yes. But we don't really know how - we were a bit surprised, ourselves.

They clove to Ulf after I died - well, you know what I mean, he explained. Years later, he enlisted me to take his place during his exile so he could guard Tasha. He held the links for me at first and they just kind of - morphed. All the Mackelds had, after all, been cloven to me before the bonds ripped, apart from a few of the youngsters, and the direct links just re-established. Healed. A bit like our bond has. They are cloven to Ulf and I both - like to Alpha and Alfamme, but they didn't

know

that, there was never any secondary pull to confuse them until Will came and forced me to shunter to Twin.

Gemma sighed and leaned her face into his shoulder fur, smiling ruefully while she breathed in his rich, delicious scent.

Another wolf word to learn.

Her mate kissed her under her ear, chest rumbling on a half laugh.

Shunter: one of an Alpha pair passes the battle meld to the other, he explained. Only one can lead it or it will shatter if they think anything different, but with a tight-bonded pair, if the Alpha's about to collapse, he shunters to the Alfamme, and vice versa. Because of the distance I was from Mackeld pack, Will came to help by forming a bridge to Ulf. Once you are trained, Gem, you will be able to take that burden yourself, at need. That's what an Alpha pair does. So you can stop being so grouchy at Will.

Gemma lifted her head and stared balefully at her mate. "Will was being grouchy at me," she corrected.

Mac sighed, reached down a claw and pronged a cube of meat from the fragrant bowl of stew by their feet, which Gemma now vaguely remembered Andrea's scent approaching with a minute ago. He offered it to his mate. "They were upset that I had another pack, especially seeing how overstretched I was."

Gemma almost crossed her eyes, focussing on the savoury morsel in front of her lips, and wrinkled her nose. "Did you wash your claws?"

Her mate glared at her, popped the piece of meat into his own mouth, then made a show of licking clean his extended claw, sucking noisily at it. He pronged a second piece and presented it to her. Gemma grimaced in disgust and refused to open her lips.

You never really got my hygiene standards, did you?

she said.

"Gemma, wolves don't have fragile stomachs - that includes you, now," Mac said, exasperated. "I've told you before, few edible poisons affect us. We eat our meat raw off the forest floor. And a warrior

has to eat

."

Stupidly, she shut her eyes while she pulled an even broader grimace of semi-real revulsion, tongue protruding between her lips, savouring the pleasing familiarity of

arguing.

A second later she clamped them closed, biting down on her mate's fingertip when the piece of stew was forced through onto her tongue. Her damn blunt teeth had never regrown, all she was doing was chewing on the end of his finger. Her eyes opened on a glare.

In trying to wrench herself free of his arms, Gemma somehow only ended up on her back on the floor by their chair with her mate plastered down on top of her, his head bent and tongue thrusting the food further into her mouth. She struggled under his weight, trying not to burst into giggles while they played their old, familiar game of futile wrestling. Futile from her viewpoint.

It ended as it always did, with Gemma stilled, heaving short pants under his weight. But she had an additional disadvantage right now. "Why haven't my teeth grown back?" she garbled snappily around the piece of food in her cheek.

Mac wrinkled his nose, ignoring his arousal and lifting partially onto one elbow to wash his fingers in the bowl of warm, soapy water that Ellen had just placed at his elbow. "To fix a broken tooth you have to pull it out by the root and wait for it to grow back - and you need the rest for eating, so will have to do it one by one, over time. Later, picchu. Teeth are slow."

Oh hooray. Wolf dentistry torture to look forward to.

Gemma grimaced, chewed and swallowed, before intoning with suitably sarcastic solemnity, a little short of breath under his weight, "Thank-you for sharing, oh my most beloved Alpha."

"Oh-oh. Don't you dare mock

that phrase,

little mate," Mac grinned.

Later still, he pulled himself away, declaring gruffly that they

had

to eat. After a quick scrub, sitting cross-legged opposite each other they used the chair seat as an impromptu table, savouring feeding each other the large bowl of stew.

Gemma's mind started whirring again. "So when Will came to our place in the city, he made you hand over the Mackeld battle meld to Ulf?" she asked, smiling as she posted another piece between her mate's lips.

Mac nodded while he chewed, his eyes darkening.

He and Twin between them pulled them from me.

"And since that shunter, the Mackelds have known who you are?"

The pack would never betray either of us, Gem. Yes, they've been in shock, and a little angry, but also - jubilant.

A smile curved her lips. She could bet.

But Ulf always knew you weren't dead?