Pawn Among Wolves Ch. 16

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.