Pawn Among Wolves

Mac was trembling under his pelt, the fire burning through him shaking him to his core, colouring his sight with a faint grey filter: he gritted his teeth hard and refused to let it take him. It wouldn't help her if he succumbed to the wolf also.

The pines were whipping past at speed, he was steering more on scent than sight, desperately sprinting along his mate's trail through the short grass. His mind was partially occupied trying to guide the fighting Omar to survive this damn ambush. He could tell the White warrior was panicking, losing focus, not least because of the silver knife embedded in his side, but also chilled by the sudden death of his packmates. Luke, Fay, Omar: the three Whites on guard over each of the other three compass points around the hillside had been attacked simultaneously, at precisely the moment when Adam had first sprung for Gemma.

Please, picchu. Answer me.

Please

.

The tang of fury in his head snapped Mac into driving his koiru harder than he deserved, but Omar used the fire to spin on a yelp, and managed to bury his teeth in the throat of one more opponent before he was finally knocked off his feet by two more. Yet the warrior still wouldn't let go.

Wouldn't

. He would at least take this one with him too for his Alpha. And his Alfamme.

Cursing in his head, mourning and raging, teeth bared and eyes narrowed to angry slits, Mac leapt across the small stream, wincing at the pain that lashed through his head when he lost the last of the guards. His three koiru had been overwhelmed by hordes of scentless wolves, although this time the damn enemy hadn't attacked

him

, Mac.

Oh

, he wished they had; he was so furious with himself for judging this trip

secure

. His brain was keening inside his skull, echoing the dull, desperate fear in his heart, and he forced down the accompanying surge of nausea which was burning a track up his throat.

Gemma

?

he called.

Two forceful bounds took him around her brother. The shrinking werewolf was slinking into the trees on the opposite side of the narrow clearing beyond the stream, heading down the hill, the whites of his eyes rolling with an eerie mixture of feral savagery and despair. The Alpha barely noticed. Mac was speeding up, driven by the empty echo inside his skull, and he disappeared into the dense trees opposite at lightening speed, intent on the trail of his picchu.

She had already been immobilised and lifted from the trap when he reached the spot. There was no scent of the other wolves, but then, he hadn't expected to scent them; there had been no scent to the wolves who had attacked the guards.

No matter

, Mac thought grimly. His vision narrowed as he angled his sprint along the trail of broken grass-stems, displaced pine-needles and occasional claw-points in the slightly moist, needle-covered earth under the trees.

Scent was not the only sense worth having.

Look after him

.

The words of Gemma's final conveyance slammed through Mac, an echo of the plea straight from his mate's heart, the memory jolting him. Coupled with the words surged an uneasy, unwanted recognition: the fear he had caught in her brother's scent when he had sprinted past him just now. And the glimpse of the werewolf's face, his eyes. Despair. Revulsion.

Adam had been stealing off down the steep hill, toward their parents' house. And the boy had

still

been so ashamed. Terrified. Compelled.

Mac's brain burst suddenly into flame to match his heart, melting him in pained realisation. Those fighting footfalls, the anguished eyes - those had been the footfalls of a werewolf trying to fight an order. He had watched his Gemma do so so often.

What

else

had the young werewolf been ordered to do?

No

.

Mac's teeth bared in a silent snarl, his pace faltering.

Then he jolted back to utmost stretch, heart aching.

He

had

to reach his picchu.

Unbidden, a memory swam into his head: the warmth in the face of his mate, the contented, wordless happiness echoing between her father, mother, older brother and brother's mate as they had sat around the dinner table a mere hour earlier, joking and laughing, at ease. Family.

If her little brother was forced to kill the rest of her family, while her mate chased after her?

Mac shook his head angrily, and winced at the fight inside his head. He

had

to find Gemma.

Had to

.

She wouldn't thank him.

NO

. The nausea was churning higher in him. He felt his wolf side beginning to bristle and flattened his belly to the ground while he tore around a corner where the trail meandered, snorting grimly. Far ahead, he could just detect a faint scent of her, the strength of it growing. He was homing in on them.

Mac called to every nerve, and managed to increase his pace, getting closer and closer to her.

Further and further from her brother

, a voice in his head whispered.

How close to the house would the boy have got by now?

Look after him

, she had begged him.

The rational, pack-Alpha side of his brain sifted out the logical argument even while he sprinted intently along his mate's trail. She had been captured: they did not intend to kill her.

God damn the fucking Alpha part of him

.

No

. This was his

mate

.

Mac's heart twisted, bursting into flame: he knew what Grey did to captives - if it was Grey.

NO

. He couldn't scent the wolves ahead, but Grey did not have the shiele to turn a human. Who the hell? Tzo? The Chinese Warlord also used scentless ambush.

Almost on the thought, with no warning, the scent of his mate ahead snuffed out abruptly, leaving only the tingle of her memory, mixed with the distant, rapidly nearing smell of a road surface, the tang of petroleum residues staining his nostrils. Mac's fur ruffled in unease, and the jolt of fear propelled him into an impossible pace.

He had to find her.

Look after him

, she had begged him. All her heart in the simple phrase.

Adam's feral, fighting eyes seemed burned inside Mac's brain. Gemma was already losing one brother. If he didn't save the others, would she want to live?

He knew his picchu.

Mac's heart cracked, the pain splitting him as he wrenched himself around and sprinted hell-for-leather back along the track towards her home with the almost inaudibly soft purr of a car engine seeming to shatter in his ears, bursting from silence to melt away to the south.

The fire of the nauseating shame burning through him was scorching at his insides, his chest aching with the burn, the fury, and he felt the cold rising to smother it. The old, bitter, familiar cold inching slowly higher, higher. Settling in to pollute him.

Gemma?

he couldn't help calling, knowing there would be no answer, calling desperately as the cold rose within him, calling for forgiveness. Hoping.

Picchu?

A wolf protects his mate.

But

he

didn't.

Mac was

repulsed

by himself. She was so

betrayed

by him. How could he have let this happen to her? His stomach was aching tight, a hard, solid lump.

His eyes lit on a small white object lying on the coarse grass ahead, beside the path. No scent to it. A light stab of realisation sparked into Mac's chill, ice-burning mind as he ran toward the small patch of lighter grey in the dusky evening shadows.

He had had no time up until now to reason out how this enemy had managed to get Adam past his sentinels without them recognising the unshielded mind or scent of a new werewolf. And his Whites had had orders not to let

anyone

else past.

Damn,

damn

whoever had planned this. Viciously, fiendishly brilliant. They had outsmarted him.

Mac snatched the white baseball cap up into his mouth as he charged back down the steep slope, his teeth aching painfully as they closed on the cold taint of the silver alloy woven in the brim. Argen. His mind hardened further, recognising that he was facing a new opponent: this twisted, delicate revenge did not have the stamp of the Tzo, and he doubted even Grey was this

indirect

in his attacks. Who?

The chill pain of the cap between his teeth couldn't entirely smother the icy teeth in his heart.

Mac was burning in the cold, the vileness drowning up his throat with each step further away. He was betraying her. Why hadn't he

seen this coming

?

Protected her better

?

Her family?

Why hadn't he just fucking left her alone, human,

happy

in the first place?

Damn

himself.

***

At the foot of the hill, Adam was still struggling desperately. He had heard the request from his sister to the powerful wolf, her heartfelt entreaty echoing on the edge of his own trembling mind. He was fighting his hardest, internally, fighting the sickening new order in his head yet he still couldn't prevent himself from staggering towards his home. He couldn't even kill himself. His mind was reeling. What was

happening

to him? Was he insane? The memories that had blasted into his head when he had first seen Gem were

unreal

. Unbelievable. Impossible. All of this was impossible.

And -

why couldn't he stop himself?

He could only hope,

pray

that the other wolf would come. The blast of the energy which had exuded from the white one as he'd sprinted past after Gemma had knocked him staggering on his feet.

If the white wolf would just come and stop him,

begged Adam silently. Kill him. Anything,

please

.

His wolf eyes could see the dark outlines of his father and older brother standing together at the top of the long, gently sloping lawn, just outside the block of light filtering through the living room curtains. They were peering up at the darkening hillside opposite, obviously trying to work out what was going on. His heart began to pound painfully, the terror heavy on his skin. His hind foot scraped the wooden fence at the bottom of the garden as he squirmed in mid-air, trying to slow his staccato, uncoordinated rush toward the dark silhouettes. The revolting urge to obey surged at the sight of them.

The densely packed fruit bushes to the left of the path tore at him; he tried in flashes of terrified misery to run headlong into each, get immobilised by the gooseberry briars in his fur, but each time, despite the ungainly stumbling of his movements, he tore through, despairing, saliva panting from his wretched jaws, mind echoing in the thunder of the repeated order to

kill kill kill

.

His family were peering toward him, uncertain, trying to make out what was approaching through the darkness, making the noise, and he saw his father swing toward the garage and his rifle, his brother laying a hand on his arm to halt the older man a moment longer.

No. No. Please. Go get it.

Adam begged silently.

Then he burst from the bushes, jaw agape, eyes aflame and awash with the pain in his heart.

A heavy blow hit him squarely between the shoulders just as he did so, knocking him sprawling onto the smooth, clipped turf, and the thankful water streamed from his eyes when he felt a painful wrench in his skull and saw his naked, human hands clawing at the earth under him as he landed.

With the heavy weight atop his back holding him down, the anger in his head spiked, the screaming voice cursing him to

kill his family

, and he obediently wrenched at the grip holding him, fighting against it with all his might, snapping at the air.

Uselessly.

The wild scent smothering him was accompanied by a heavy, charged feeling beating against his skin: the white wolf. A warm little light deep in Adam's chest glowed with bittersweet relief even while he struggled against the increasingly tight, painful grasp that was twisting his arms behind him. He yowled, and heard a deep voice snapping out a muddle of words over his head as his father and brother surged into movement toward them.

There was a bitter edge to the harsh order barked, "Stay back! I suspect he is rabid - he attacked Gemma, tried for me and -," there was a brief pause in Adam's understanding as the voice in his head screamed a furious repeat of the order to kill, the fire of it seeming to ignite every particle of him, but Mac again forced the fighting young werewolf back to the ground, holding him in his human form. "- coming for you."

The order screamed repeatedly through Adam, burning through him, jolting him fiercely again and again, tearing at his mind.

Something flickered in the corner of his rapidly melting brain as he saw a pair of women's feet clothed in a light pair of sandals burst out into the block of light streaming from the patio doors. The twinkling sequins on the leather bands held his eyes as they darted forward toward where he was held raging to the turf, but then they jerked to a halt, slipping slightly on the grass. The werewolf's eyes travelled up to where the woman's slender wrist was trapped in that of the older man, held back from approaching closer.

Kill them.

Mr and Mrs Smith stood frozen in shock at the edge of the light, staring at the snarling, writhing figure on the ground , fighting madly to free himself from the unshakeable grip, snapping at the air, spittle flying from his jaws as he raged.

Adam's heart was aching, but his brain felt fuzzy, melting between fury and pain. The pain was burning through his stomach, curdling at the look in their eyes.

Dimly through the relentlessly drumming order he heard his father whisper, "Rabies?" his face white.

The heavy figure holding him down slapped a white baseball cap down onto the werewolf's head, tugging the brim forward so that the rim of cold metal woven through the inside of the brim was pressed against his skin.

"Light aversion," Mac growled the terse explanation, his own eyes bleak, lost.

The human couple watched in painful silence as the boy relaxed slightly now that the voice in his head was abruptly cut off. He was still struggling to obey the order, but less violently now it wasn't being ruthlessly drilled into him.

"Where's Gemma?" whispered her mother, swaying and white.

***

"I'll go and find her," Jamie snapped, some minutes later, turning sharply toward the path down the garden. "She may be in shock, hurt."

"She's my fiancée," Mac growled back, getting to his feet astride the prone werewolf.

"Yes, both of you go and look for her. Now that Mac has tied-," Maureen Smith gulped on the word, and continued shakily, "Tied Adam up, you had both better go and help Gemma. And you, Dan." She turned worried, tear-streaked brown eyes on her husband, whilst advancing with the rug she had brought to wrap around their naked son.

"No, we have to get Adam to hospital. Now," responded the older man, his face still pale, but stern. "And uh -Mac - you need to come too, since you've been wrestling with him. You had better hold him, keep the contamination confined to you. We have to go

now

." Dan Smith strode into the living room, calling over his shoulder, "Jamie can go get Gemma and bring her after us in their car - if Jess'll stay in the house in case she turns up at home before he finds her. Keep us posted."

Mac grimaced, his inner wolf snarling as he realised

yes

, he

would

have to accompany her damn family to the hospital. He would have to be touching the werewolf to keep him from shifting if the writhing teenager dislodged the cap, and there was no way of knowing what new orders he would receive if that happened, either.

Look after him

. The anger, shame and nausea were writhing on his skin. But he promised her, silently,

yes

.

The scent of the vehicle that had taken her would already be tangled, meeting others on the road surface. What would they do to her? What was happening to his mate?

Mac's eyes were bleak, and his fingers tingled on the band inside the rim of the baseball cap as he carefully fitted it more snugly over Adam's hair. The boy had quietened, although he was still fighting the bonds at his wrists and ankles, sweat running off him as he strained. The Alpha just managed to keep his lip from lifting.

The human scent to the boy remained constant, but was slowly being fused with a strong wolf-scent, the disquieting mixture growing sharper by the minute. Mac's eyes narrowed. Adam had obviously been scent-masked, but the scent-mask drug worked only on wolves, not humans. Ten minutes ago, he guessed the boy would have smelt wholly human, when he had walked past the guards, and attacked Gemma. It was just damn fortunate that the still-human part of Gemma could scent a wolf through the masking drug even now, or the ambush might have succeeded.

Maybe they had meant to kill her.

But if so, why the trap? No, he guessed they had known that a new werewolf would not defeat a seasoned month-old one.

Damn them. Damn them.

Mac clenched his fists slowly, shaking as he held in the fury, the pain, and turned brusquely away from the white, tear-streaked face of his mate's mother. The still-beautiful oval face was strained, staring at her son, and she was biting her lip in an achingly familiar way. His mouth twisting grimly, the Alpha hoisted the tall, slight werewolf up in his arms and strode to the garden gate at the side of the house as he heard the car approaching.

Who? Who? Who?

Mac's raging mind slammed into sharp focus as he caught a muddled image from the hound.

While he had been sprinting back down the hill following Adam's erratic trail to the house, Mac had sensed the dog sniffing around peacefully in the neighbour's garden, and had conveyed for help. The old beagle, delighted to assist the visiting Alpha, had squirmed under the fence surrounding his home before bounding up the hill, passing Mac, and backtracking his trail through the forest. Now the hound was trying his eager best to communicate in patchy images, which was difficult enough dog-to-wolf, even over this distance.

Wolf smell gone!

Smelly smell now!

Mac slid onto the rear seat of the car with the werewolf writhing in his arms, and heard another suppressed sob from the woman holding the door open.

Not now

. He tuned back to the dog standing at the roadside on top of the hill, while holding the werewolf down across his knees with one hand. Carefully, he also clicked one of the small glass phials out of the intricate wristlet circling his left wrist, twisting off the cap and coughing slightly as he swallowed the faintly bitter white powder inside the tiny tube. A travel case for the travel drug - a present from his mate.

Smelly smell

? he conveyed curtly, while he glanced down at the struggling boy: no way he'd get the werewolf to swallow a dose -Adam would just have to cope with the nausea.

It was very hard to get scents through conveyance; the beagle had no idea what he was smelling and so there were no accompanying images as he fumbled to reply. Mac scowled as the vehicle he was in began to move.

Car?

He offered, trying to convey the smell of petrochemicals for the messenger, but the old scenthound snorted in reply. He knew what cars smelt like.

The bloodtests

will

show rabies

,

the disease is a mutation of the change,

a different voice broke into Mac's concentration.

The humans will not suspect any more if you can just keep him from shifting. I'll meet you there. You say you have some Argen on you?