Gemma sank down onto one of the newly vacated battered leather sofas by the window of the upstairs coffee bar, listening to her mother on the phone. Her eyes drifted appreciatively over the green stretch of the campus playing fields, shimmering under the warm afternoon sun outside the huge panes of glass.
Somehow the glossy, beautifully manicured grass just wasn't the same since she'd been rolled repeatedly in meadows of its coarse, wild relative.
Wild was how she liked it.
A little smile gleamed in her eyes as she lazed her head against the seat back and stretched her legs out under the short coffee table, straightening out the kinks of a tense post-lunch session working in the fume cabinet. Usually these prime seats were nearly impossible to get hold of, but never with her current escort. Jeremy and Gus had just sauntered over and loomed, chatting nonchalantly beside the group of laughing students clustered on the chairs, and for no apparent reason the five humans had each suddenly remembered something they were planning on doing elsewhere and quickly disappeared.
Kate found it hilarious, as usual. "Muy machos," she murmured appreciatively, dropping her shoulder bag beside Gemma and disappearing off towards the bathroom.
Gemma sighed into the handset, "Yes, it's pretty frustrating." What an understatement. "I don't seem to be getting anywhere, but all I can do is keep trying."
Jasmine seated herself with effortless, unconscious elegance on the opposite sofa, and Gus shot off to join the queue of males waiting in turn to flirt with the pretty redhead working behind the counter. They called it ordering drinks.
"Why don't I get them today," his brother spun to call to his rapidly retreating back. Despite being a wolf, and therefore able to listen in to a conversation downstairs if he concentrated, Gus apparently didn't hear the generous offer, so Jeremy bounded off after him to insist on getting the afternoon coffee for once. Judging by the look of resigned amusement on Jasmine's face, the wolf girl could still hear the daily tease carrying on in the furtive scuffle that was now the end of the queue.
"Yeah, Mom, I'm pretty sure I'll be able to make it for Dad's birthday, especially if Jamie's driving down and Adam will be back from his hiking trip by then, I wouldn't miss -." Gemma broke off as her breath suddenly hitched, caught in her throat when her mind idly interpreted the title of the shiny new paperback lying facing her on the coffee table. She felt her skin flush scarlet, and her brain seethed.
Damn the wolf. Wasn't he supposed to be taking life seriously right now?
"-wouldn't miss it for the world," she choked the end of the sentence out of her suddenly tight throat.
Why did he always have to retaliate? Reciprocate. Whatever you call it when someone keeps giving you gifts in return for the ones that you send them. And they're so pig-headedly stubborn that they won't let you get away with the last one. In fact, he was now way, way over his quota. And he was rubbish at taking turns.
Moreover, some of his gifts were getting increasingly shameless.
A smile was pulling at the corners of her mouth. Maybe she shouldn't have arranged that delivery of duck a l'orange.
Gemma could feel her blood beginning to purr, and kept hauling her mind back, trying to point it toward indignation, when all it wanted was to dive into playback mode. Or into fast forward - to the next time he had her underneath him and was nibbling his way down -.
Delete. Delete.
Jasmine's gaze was piercingly steady, boring into her friend across the table, the elegantly peaked brows raised interrogatively. Gemma avoided the black eyes, glaring down at the book, struggling to hold her lips in a firm line of disapproval.
No, I don't mean disapproval that Mr Sex-on-Legs is so damn far away and busy.
"Mac would be welcome too," her mother's voice sounded tentative in the long pause, and Gemma's lips twitched in a brief grimace while her skin flushed again at the connection her clever relative had obviously made.
This wasn't the first time that Gemma had broken off mid sentence while chatting to her Mom on the phone, not after that week in the forest. Mac had appeared one morning with his BlackBerry, asking Gemma to call her Mom and reassure her that she was alright, explaining that Mrs. Smith had grown so frantic because her daughter was not answering calls that she'd rung him to ask whether he knew where his flatmate was.
It had hardly been her fault that an officious Madam had taken her phone.
Despite Gemma's protestations that there would be no signal in the middle on nowhere, Mac had urged her to try and place a call, and then smugly pounced on his mate when the line had connected and her mother had picked up on the second ring. Gemma had had to struggle, largely ineffectually, to string together coherent sentences with her inordinately pleased with himself mate flattening her to the soft turf and whispering into her skin what he was going to demand as remuneration for the use of his phone as soon as she hung up.
The long, breathless, squirming conversation that had followed seemed to have etched little pleasure memories down her spine, and then that urgent, hard fuck as soon as she'd rung off - mmmm. Afterwards, while she'd been lying panting in a haze of boneless pleasure on her rug, Mac had sat up cross-legged beside her, his face concerned, and stroked a fingertip gently over her nose while he'd insisted virtuously that she use his phone all week to keep in touch with her Mom so that she wouldn't get worried. He'd appeared the next day with a solar charger.
Concerned - yeah, right. Well, probably that too, but primarily her wolf had loved distracting her while she was trying to speak, especially with her mother. Not that she'd minded. Her breasts were aching hard now in memory - of the way he'd manoeuvred her "into a comfortable position" for the second call, and each subsequent one, after she'd admitted that she liked the torture. Dress pulled down to her waist she would lie on her back on her bower, his arms hugging the sides of her torso and hands cupping her shoulders as he'd rested braced on his elbows over her, hips tucked on the ground between her legs. Then he'd swirled the tip of his tongue gently around each nipple in turn, each time the dialling tone had sounded. Until she'd been silently begging her mother to pick up. Not Adam. Definitely not her Dad. Pick up soon. Well. No, not yet. Actually, not at all. Please be out. Please be out. Please - aw.
Mac had busied himself elsewhere and left her alone for the majority of each call after the first, but it had been easy to tell when her wolf thought she'd had long enough and it was time to play. Suddenly her voice would break off in a squeak as a wet tongue glided lightly up her inner thigh or delved into her ear, or simply a rock-hard erection had been pressed against her buttocks. She had been able to just feel the compelling need in him, urgency in the air, pulling at her, and had combusted every time, speechless. A bit like now.
Correct identification of the culprit, both past and present, well done Mom.
I wish he was present.
Jasmine was now eyeing the book speculatively. 'Firm and Flexible - Yoga for Beginners.' Not anything that should make a girl blush. Not unless she also had damn, hot, aching memories of her mate protesting innocently that he was only stretching her legs this wide to keep her supple and look after her joints. This wide, then a bit wider. Oh, the vulnerable, stretched, open, welcoming feeling - and the weight of him leaning his hips against hers, pressing down, nudging the tip of his straining cock against her oh-so-swollen labia as he laughingly explained that he was just helping her stretch. Oh. Mmmm. Nudging again, so that her tart response was swallowed on a groan. Damn, damn smug wolf.
Her eyes were shut, Gemma realised. She had to keep them shut to hide the X-rated images recorded during that long, heated, teasing, and definitely one-sided conversation - illustrated by practical demonstration - about the joys of the flexibility of the female form. Mac had even introduced "comfort breaks" into his yoga lecture, when he had fallen silent, apart from the harshness of his breath as he pounded into her. Deliciously. Hours and hours and hours of being thoroughly stretched open, kissed, nibbled, suckled, licked and fucked. Oh so thoroughly, deliciously fucked. She had, admittedly, begged for another yoga class later in the week.
And a third.
Delicious. Delicious. God, she missed him. Her frame was trembling lightly, longing aching through her blood, and she could feel the wetness between her legs.
But oh, was she going to make sure he paid for this too. Somehow. A half-indignant smile curled the corner of her mouth. Mac would be so excessively proud of himself if he knew that he had once again made her catch her breath when talking to her Mom. And that her mother had automatically assumed that he was to blame.
The back of her neck tingled, the small hairs lifting in realisation. She often received a phone call from her mother during the afternoon coffee break. And her wolf seemed to know a hell of a lot about her movements. Hence the book awaiting her innocently on their table. They always sat here, Gus saw to that.
Damn him, damn him, damn smug wolf. He had known.
What kind of guards were these, not to be able to protect her from this kind of yoga harassment? She could feel her cheeks burning. Her skin was tingling, blood seething and pussy aching with emptiness as they ecstatically re-lived Mac vigorously demonstrating his approval of her dog-stretch pose - no, never mind, she dragged her thoughts away, feeling her frame trembling.
I said never mind.
Shut up. No, I don't remember. I don't.
Her Mom was still waiting, and Gemma could sense amusement down the line as Mrs Smith listened to her daughter's ragged breathing. Mom liked Mac.
"I doubt that he can make it." So what if her voice was breathless? "But I'll definitely let you know whether I can by next weekend."
"OK, good. Bye then, honey, nice to talk to you."
"Bye Mom, thanks for calling."
A moment later, Gemma opened her slightly glazed eyes to see Jasmine putting the book back on the table, shrugging lightly. "I don't know how he does it, Gem. That book smells of nothing but human. And don't tell me it wasn't from Mac, you're not exactly adept at hiding your responses. What does the yoga signify?"
"Nothing," Gemma growled back swiftly, slamming down an anchor to stop herself from slithering back into memory heaven. Well, the word actually came out as more of a squeak, but it left her mind with 'to be growled' instructions.
The dusky-skinned wolf opposite rolled her eyes, a little smile playing around her mouth, and she lifted her head to admire Jeremy's smooth, swift pace back towards the pair of them.
"You're lucky I'm not an official bodyguard, the boys swore to the Wolflord that they would report any attempted contact."
Huh.
"So that Mac doesn't sully himself further with a human when he's betrothed to Vanilchov's sister?" Gemma growled for real this time.
Jasmine raised an eyebrow, a bit surprised at how much her human friend knew. "The Koschuk got really restive over his interest in you, even though you were on heat, which made it acceptable," she responded mildly. "Fealden's trying to avoid an international incident and them withdrawing the Russian fighters while we're in the middle of a war. They've been getting more tense anyway as Tasha still hasn't reappeared from changpao."
"Changpao?"
"Running loup. As well as living with humans for a while, many young adult wolves go off and spend a year or so learning their way among the packs. I think Tash went across the straits to Russia, then headed on toward Europe. Last postcard was from somewhere in the Urals, Vanil said."
Jasmine sighed, and changed tack, her eyes clear as they held Gemma's. "And a betrothal's a serious contract, Gem - the Mackeld pack is one of the top, and the Koschuk are very proud that their cousin is to ally into it, that's why there are so many of the K-warriors over supporting the Aster. He can't just walk out on it without causing a serious rift."
Especially to mate with a human or wereem.
Apparently no-one blamed him for fucking her while she'd been on heat - any wolf worth his salt would have done the same had he been able. But now.
"Well then, it's a good job we haven't had any contact, as you'd be honour bound to report it," sniped Gemma.
The Marsh wolf snorted, her voice dropping. "Gemma, I'm here as your friend - I didn't swear anything. And I'm not an idiot. Two weeks ago, overnight, you switch from Little Miss Miserable to a mixture of mischief and nervous determination - and whatever the obtuse twins may believe, it wasn't because of any damn rug, or because you've miraculously gotten over him. And then you also started getting that naughty little look on your face about twice a day -."
Gemma's phone beeped with an incoming message where it lay on the coffee table, and "Bethan: Mission accomplished!" flashed up on the screen with a smiley.
A naughty little look crossed Gemma's face.
Hah, Mr. Wolf. Enjoy your gift.
"Dammit!" growled Jasmine in frustration.
"What's up?" Jeremy pricked up his ears eagerly at the tension in the air, dropping down beside his preferred sjeste on the opposite sofa. Then he looked from Jasmine's expression to Gemma's, and scowled.
"That look again," he growled.
Just reassuring my mate that I'm in fine spirits, thought Gemma, gazing blandly back at the fuming wolves on the opposite sofa. They were dying to know what the humans were up to. Oh what a shiny halo I have.
Bethan was just finishing a week on tour upstate, and she and her troupe-mates had been delighted to dress up as workmen and divert on their drive back to deliver a large framed print to 'The Manor' up in McIntyre.
This was actually one of her more innocent gifts. The view had been spectacular, and the print of the photo from his phone had come out amazingly well. Only Mac knew how affronted he'd been by her teasing that she preferred to look at the view than at him that evening. And how he'd retaliated.
Mmmmmmm.
"Time to shop," growled Jasmine, frustrated that she still didn't know what brought that gleam to Gemma's eyes.
Gemma scowled at her. Some wolves just couldn't take a joke. When they weren't in on it. This shopping was going to be such a pointless waste of time.
"I should be trying to find a way to combat the Grey's scent-masking drug, not messing about," she growled, knowing the argument wouldn't work. She and Jasmine had had this out before. And before that. And again before that.
"I hardly think upholding my pack honour is messing about," retorted Jasmine.
Gemma snorted angrily and turned her head to glower out of the window as Jeremy chuckled.
But a sharp intake of breath drew her attention back to the Marsh sjeste. There was very little outward sign of change in Jasmine, just the vivid sparkle in her eye, the suddenly ramrod-straight back, and the barely discernable quiver of her frame. But she was exuding excited tension.
Jeremy dropped his hand over her small, brown one and lifted it to place on his thigh, squeezing it reassuringly.
"What is it?" he murmured almost soundlessly.
Since Jasmine's natál had returned from India the week before last with a pack of their kin to join the war, they had had front-line news from the fighting, as she was linked with Karim even when he was in full battle focus. And despite the slightly worried disapproval of their male companions, Jasmine made no attempt to hide any news from her human flatmate.
"He's crashed him." Jasmine's breathless phrase was meaningless to Gemma, but the desperate, incredulous look in the wide black eyes, the way Jeremy suddenly went dangerously still and the hulking figure in the queue by the coffee counter lifted his head sharply and swung in their direction made fear roil suddenly in her stomach.
She bit her lip ferociously. She always got more information if she kept quiet.
"Who crashed?" Jeremy hissed urgently, "Crashed who?"
Out of the corner of her eye, Gemma could see the huge, dark figure of his brother loping back toward them. Must be really important, a corner of her mind noted incongruously, Gus had had only one person ahead of him in the line.
"The Mackeld," Jasmine whispered the words, jerking Gemma's full attention back to her. Her voice was reverberating in quiet shock, "He's crashed Jian-Xi."
"He's insane," breathed Jeremy harshly, then stopped, his mouth open in shock as he just stared into the distance. Then he breathed in abruptly again ,as his brother dropped down into the armchair between Gemma and the tense pair of wolves on the opposite sofa.
"Jian-Xi Tzo?" Jeremy clarified softly, voice sharp with disbelief.
His brother whistled soundlessly in awe at Jasmine's distracted nod.
"And Mackeld? Insane?" Jeremy pressed.
"No, he's succeeded," murmured the girl beside him, her dazed eyes focussed far, far away. Both males drew in a sharp breath.
Gemma felt a sickening shock bound in an instant from her heart to her mouth and back to lodge heavily in her belly as she realised that Jeremy had meant really insane. As in, insane. Mac.
What the hell had he been up to? Her wolf? She felt nauseous with the sudden cramp in her stomach; violently, physically sick, but was pulled back by the black eyes which half re-focussed onto her, sinking into her skin.
Glowing, fierce black eyes, pride radiating from them. "They're routed," Jasmine whispered, a flush growing in her cheeks.
"How many?" asked Gus, but the sjeste shook her head in silent frustration at a question she had no way of knowing the answer to.
"Scattering, running, focusless. We're driving them back." The flush, the glow in her eyes were deepening, and the Marsh girl was quivering in her seat, her body straining to be up and fighting with the wolf in her mind.
"Regaining the first valley," she added, breathless. "They're still running, we're hounding, keeping them from turning, scattering them wider, back up, out, over Mount Cahanee. They're still lost."
"How many?" repeated Jeremy, his voice hoarse with awe. Jasmine shook her head again, impatiently, and her eyes suddenly snapped back into full focus at the scent of Kate approaching.
"Hundreds," she murmured the reply, turning her eyes toward the approaching human, unable to keep the beaming grin from her face.
Kate grinned back.
"He. Is. Insane," Jeremy breathed for a third time, but this time a quiet, resonant tribute, before he too turned and flashed a radiant smile at Gemma's friend. All three wolves were shuddering with the urge to bound victoriously around the room, to tussle, leap, howl their pride at the tops of their voices and bounce off the walls in glee.
Kate looked bemusedly around the three of them. "I know you said they loved shopping, Gem, but this is ridiculous."
Gemma smiled weakly. He is alright, she assured herself. He was alright. He had succeeded in whatever insane venture he had just attempted. Something that had the wolves around her shimmering in incredulous awe.
He was victorious. She shut her eyes and the smile softened. No surprise.
But she wished he wouldn't scare her half to death.
The cold, cold knowledge was a permanent ache in her stomach.
He was at war.
Jasmine and Gus explained to her as they walked downtown together from the campus. Kate had had to reluctantly go back to work, Gemma had had to reluctantly go shopping, and Jeremy had disappeared off to scout for trouble on their route through the backstreets and along the riverbank to the centre.
Apparently, crashing was a very dangerous tactic, when an Alpha tried to break another's battle-focus. There was no point doing it to any but the senior wolf leading an attack, if you attacked one of the wolves in his aegis, the senior Alpha would just bring the entire meld in to support the one under attack, knocking the attacker unconscious. But attacking the lead Alpha was suicidal. The weight of the entire pack was behind him, their minds joined in the meld, whereas the attacking Alpha had to strike with such speed that he couldn't pull his own meld with him, he had to strike solo. And in order to stand any chance of succeeding, he also had to bend his entire mind on breaking into his opponent's focus, with no thought for his own defence. If the Alpha under attack held his focus together, then the attacker's mind was invariably splintered, torn apart by the myriad thoughts of the enemy meld. Wolf history was littered with Alphas who had gone insane when attempting to crash another. Moreover, crashing didn't destroy the Alpha attacked, just broke that one attack, splintering his forces with the painful backlash of the broken focus. It was only ever used where suicide was the only option. Which may have been why Mac had succeeded, no one would have expected a crash merely to regain three valleys.
But boy, had it boosted morale. The Aster were shimmering with delight, Jasmine kept humming along to the crooning song that was echoing among the far-away Aster wolves now working together to rebuild the outer defences, having regained three weeks' lost ground in one single, magnificent push. Tzo had been beaten off their lands.
"Well, not Tzo himself," Gus clarified. "His second son. And Jian-Xi Tzo is a solo, which would've made him easier to crash."
Jasmine snorted, "He's Tzo's best general, and his aegis melded hundreds. Besides, Mac's a solo now, too."
"A solo?" asked Gemma.
The wolves kept their voices low, to make sure that their audience was exclusive.
"Not part of a litter. Wolves are nearly all born in twos, Gem. Some triplets are born, which is counted as great good fortune, and some singles, who we try not to think too poorly of," explained Gus.
All born in twos. Solo now.
"So Mac had a natál?" she wondered aloud.
The wolves glanced at each other, and Gus responded reluctantly, "He had. Tor Mackeld - he was the elder, the Mackeld Alpha, until killed by Walter Grey in a death-duel about fifteen years ago now."
Gemma felt a shock run through her. Fifteen years ago? How old was Mac? He looked to be in his late twenties, making him four or five years older than her. But surely he couldn't be if his twin had died fifteen years ago, already pack Alpha?
"Actually," Gus continued, correcting himself. "The Mackeld won the mortefio, he killed the Grey, but the Grey had ripped Tor's jugular so badly that he bled to death in shiatz before anyone found them."
"The Grey?" repeated Gemma, slyly. She had been told off often enough for referring to Nick as such. It was pleasing that wolves got it wrong too.
The large, hard-muscled wolf walking beside her raised a lazy eyebrow at Gemma, amusement gleaming at the challenge, "Walter Grey was an Alpha - so you should use "the" when referring to him."
Wolf pedant. Gemma stuck her tongue out at him and he grinned.
"So - twin Alphas, does that mean that Mac had to leave the Range when his natál became pack Alpha?" The exile sounded so heartless.
Jasmine sighed, "The reft only lasts five years, Gemma - not long to a wolf. Mac had a great time messing about in Europe, by all accounts.
"Until he was recalled early because he'd suddenly become the main contending Alpha for the succession," added Jeremy darkly.
"I thought Tor died because his mate had been killed? Dad said he just hadn't had the heart to heal?" Jasmine queried her wolf companion.
"Grace - yes, was she killed, or did she just die? It was the usual case of the Greys saying one thing, pack Mackeld another. Did she fall or was she pushed? The Mackeld must have believed that she'd been poisoned, however impossible it sounded - he issued the mortefio - death challenge," added Gus, glancing down at the frown of concentration on the face of the listening human.
He continued, "And judging by what's happening now, I'd go with Tor's version. Maybe even Rufus Mackeld was right all those years back, and his Sofia didn't leave him voluntarily either."
Jasmine snorted, "You can't coerce an Alfamme. And Sofia had Sebastian's cubs - not exactly reluctant, I'd say, since it's easy enough to switch human if you don't want the litter."
"Sebastian?" asked Gemma, faint, but pursuing.
"Sebastian Grey," explained Jasmine. "Nick's grandfa - no, great-grandfather. Sofia Mackeld was his mate, she left the Mackeld for him, but she'd already had a litter by the Mackeld, Eva and Marcos. Marcos was Tor and Ulf's grandfather."
Mac and Nicolas were cousins? Second, third - whatever.
Her head whirling in conjecture in the following silence, Gemma barely noticed as Jeremy rejoined the three of them now that they'd reached the densely crowded centre of town, appearing at Jasmine's elbow and sliding an arm around her shoulders as he slowed his steps to theirs.
"What're you lot conspiring about?" he whispered theatrically, eyes round. The older Fealden twin hated not knowing what was going on, and he must have been able to feel the atmosphere behind the silence when he joined them.
His twin grinned crookedly at him, "Tor and Ulf."
Jeremy pursed his lips in a whistle of awe and murmured softly, "The Macs. Their years at the Academy are still legendary. They're the ones who tunnelled the western passage out from level three, aren't they Jasmine? And kept it secret so that they could sneak off hunting on balial nights?"
Why did this not surprise her? thought Gemma.
"And everyone knows that they left Petch hanging by his ankle outside combat class for half an hour before the trainer below noticed his nose against the glass of the window," added his natál, grinning, enthused by the change of subject.
"Besides, Tor was the only wolf to ever beat Marsh in the defasio. In his final year. No-one else has done it, before or since, although some believe that Mac could," said Jeremy.
Jasmine snorted in loyal disbelief at such a ridiculous idea.
The lingerie department of the large department store where Gemma ended up reluctantly browsing with her persistent, bossy wolf friend was huge, clusters of frothy bits of lace, nylon and cotton vying for attention on racks stretching off into the distance. At least she and Jasmine had united in ordering the twins to wait outside, after the embarrassing scene at the last shop.
Gemma scowled at the bright red wisp of lace that Jasmine was musing over. Her new flatmate was insisting on buying her underwear to replace those which had been ripped by the Marsh wolf Mike, claiming that her pack would be shamed if Gemma didn't accept them as apology. There was only so much needling that even Gemma could stand before it was just simpler to give in and go along with the very, very pig-headed half-Indian wolf.
A shiver of foreboding edged down Gemma's spine suddenly, and she lifted her head, stomach clenching in fear. What? Then she realised - the scent. Metallic, slightly rank, uncanny, and although it didn't unhinge her joints as Nick's did, she tilted her chin uneasily, unnerved by the similarity. Heart pounding, she glanced first at the unconcerned wolf-friend humming as she browsed through bras beside her, then across the racks of skimpy clothing, searching for the source of that smell - the strong, rank smell that the wolf beside her couldn't detect.
The girl standing on the raised area of floor two aisles across had a smooth, shoulder-length crop of dark-blonde hair, and the sharply-defined angles of her distressed, down-turned face reminded Gemma uneasily of the dead wolf-girl, Anne. Maybe it was just the expression in her eyes.
This girl was dressed in a similar style to Anne also, with long boots and a smart jacket atop a short, flared blue skirt. Gemma could see a faint movement of the fabric as the much older man standing too close to the teenager squeezed her ass cheek under the rucked up clothing while he held a set of lacy underwear against her slight form. The man's cheeks were flushed lightly, eyelids drooping in pleasurable anticipation while he drawled something condescending over the bowed head, his hand sliding further under the young woman's skirt.
The waif hung her head further, cheeks flushed unhappily, and Gemma read the plaintive words, "Please, no," that formed on her small cheery-painted lips.." The well-dressed old male smiled with a cold look of pleasure in his predatory gaze, and he pinched one of her nipples delicately with his free hand as he murmured some reply. Then he turned her reluctantly obedient form towards the changing rooms.
Gemma felt the angry bile rising in her throat at the familiar hopeless look deepening in the girl's eyes while she walked slowly towards the fitting room entrance. The man was guiding her, hand on her arse, and his toy stumbled a little when, to a little flash of her white knickers, he slid his hand up and inside her panties from behind, forcing her legs to widen while his fingers slid between them under the loose skirt.
Gemma started after the pair angrily, then halted with a shock of realisation - this could easily be a trap. Damn it. She grabbed the nearest garment off the rail beside her and growled quickly at her bodyguard, "Come on, I want to try this on."
The Marsh sjeste raised a sarcastic eyebrow, "A padded push-up bra in puke orange? You don't need additional cleavage, Gem, and I've seen you dry-retch over that colour. What makes you think that the Marsh will reimburse you with a tacky piece of junk you'll never wear? Are you trying to dishonour us?"
"All right," half snarled Gemma, hurriedly snagging the hanger back on the rack and snatching something in black. "I'll..."
She stopped, incredulous, when she saw the set her companion was holding out toward her. Purple and dark red, lacy, ridiculous - beautiful, delicate flowers all stitched together into a coy mass which would only just about hide what was underneath. There was even a suspender belt with the bra and knickers - Jasmine had to be kidding, no way would she ever wear that.
Except maybe for Mac, the thought whispered, flaring heat across her mind. In a log cabin in the woods, lit by a glowing fire. She'd be lying on a white sheepskin rug with no ...
Gemma's stomach lurched in guilt, and she glanced back, stricken, towards where the poor young wolf-girl had already disappeared inside the fitting room entrance with her male escort while Gemma was distracted.
"Whatever", she sighed, grabbing the idiotic offerings, and strode quickly down the aisle towards the shop assistant waiting to check customers in and out of the line of cubicles. "C'mon."
The attendant was looking a little flushed, the corner of the bank note bribe that she had hastily stuffed inside her bra just visible at the edge of her too-tight blouse. Stupid cow. Although to be fair, she would have no idea that the Grey wolf girl had no say in this, didn't want her male escort to be permitted into the female side with her.
Who cared about being fair? Gemma burned to snap the woman's nose off, but she didn't want to alert the couple who had just been admitted. The pair had already disappeared behind one of the curtains.
Gemma caught an intent, suspicious look from her wolf friend as Jasmine caught up with her. The wolf's eyes narrowed speculatively at the shop assistant her human friend was glaring at. "What are you up to, manu?" she murmured under her breath.
Don't tell her.
The inner warning was stark in Gemma's head, and she felt a second, different lurch in her stomach. She may be leading Jasmine unawares into a trap, now, but she couldn't just leave the wolf victim to her fate and unconcernedly go on looking at underwear. Or just leave. But neither could she tell her bodyguard what she suspected.
Following the confrontation in the forest, the Grey pack had broken from the Aster alliance and were now openly at war with their former allies, joining with Tzo. Her Marsh flatmate, and two Fealden bodyguards, were all Aster. And she had seen, graphically, how swiftly they disposed of enemies. More than once, now, as there had been two more unsuccessful attacks since the first. Both ambushes by Grey wolves.
How would Jasmine react if she recognised a Grey here? How would she deal with the enemy wolf-girl being prostituted out somewhere in this line of cubicles?
How the hell are you planning on dealing with it yourself, idiot?
Memories seared white-hot through Gemma, memories of the campus security guard forcing his cock into Anne while she pleaded for mercy, bent under her pack-leader's order to submit to the human. A flash of revulsion at what was probably being forced on this other Grey girl behind one of these curtains scorched so fiercely through Gemma that she had one of those surges of longing to actually be a wolf, able to tear into the old lecher who had paid for the use of the poor young wolf waif.
More, much more, she wanted to tear into Nicolas Grey, the non-Alpha pimp who somehow enforced this type of prostitution, because it was - what had he said? - oh yeah, "a most lucrative way of serving one's pack." Damn him. Mac had shown her what an Alpha was - how damn protective - over-protective - they were of their pack, their people. Mac, Vanil, Marsh, all of them. Nick was a grotesque parody, a mockery, a vile, twisted mummery of a fake Alpha, using his power to abuse for his own gain. God, she wanted to tear his head off. This girl couldn't even be twenty yet, like Anne. Who Nick had had killed rather than allow to leave his sick prostitution.
Calm down and think, she ordered herself, biting on her lip as she smelt a faint hint of the metallic, meaty scent that was undetectable to wolf noses while she passed one of the colourful curtains on her way down the aisle. The only sound from behind it was - eugh - heavy male breathing.
Angrily she swept into the next cubicle down, the blood drumming in her ears while she tried to force her rage to cool and allow her to think. She barely heard Jasmine murmur, "Call me when you're ready to show me," while she yanked the curtain closed behind her.
Yeah, like that was going to happen.
Jasmine would have scented any other wolves by now, if there were any, she reassured herself. Then the remembrance landed cold on Gemma's skin. No. Jasmine couldn't scent the Greys. Fear shivered anew through her, fear of what she may have landed her friend in, unawares, and then lifted suddenly, burned away by fury at a faint whimper from the next-door cubicle, a very faint squelch, and a male undertone of, "Hush. Try to relax."
Gemma's mind cleared suddenly with the bitter edge to her thoughts. I - humans - can scent the tainted Greys. And there aren't any others here. There was only the one Grey, next door, forced by her pack leader to submit to being the sex toy of a debauched older human. A sick human who enjoyed knowing that his prey had no say, and no pleasure, in what he was doing to her. Gemma could see the red mist floating in front of her eyes.
Biting her lip, she pulled her curtain back open again, and caught the slightly disgusted look on Jasmine's face where the wolf girl was looking at the fabric shielding the neighbouring cubicle. Evidently, from the slight wrinkling of her friend's nose, there were more scents than just that of undetectable-to-wolf Grey wolf rankness emanating from the small space now. Her flatmate turned her black eyes to Gemma's and pulled a disgusted face, indicating the closed drape of heavy cloth. Gemma nodded sharply, wrinkling her own nose in distaste, and jerked a thumb silently up the aisle back toward the exit. She had decided what to do. She was human. She would deal with this as a human. But she had to get Jasmine out of here in case her Marsh companion recognised the Grey wolf girl if they came face to face.
She didn't want another dead waif on her conscience.
When they left the shop two minutes later, Gemma felt a little sorry for the manageress. She had vented her anger on the older woman for allowing couples to play together in the changing rooms. But the smooth, "Nothing like that could possibly happen here," denials had infuriated her. Gemma had at least had the satisfaction of seeing the woman's face blench at the sight which had confronted them when she'd abruptly left off arguing and simply stalked back down the aisle to yank open the curtain, despite the woman's squawks of protest.
Mind you, Gemma had had the hardest time not giving way to the rage that had consumed her when she'd seen the slender, naked globes of the behind of the young girl bent over the man's knees. The wispy lace thong of the sheer knickers, the Grey sjeste's only covering, had been held aside with one crooked finger so that the man had a clear view in the many mirrors of the large, glistening glass dildo with which he was preparing her tiny, puckered asshole. No wonder the old lecher had had to stuff the matching bra into the girl's mouth to muffle her as he forced the object inside her, the pain in the tear-marked face had been clearly etched in the mirror when her blank, blue eyes had met Gemma's.
But then a hint of panic had flickered across the strained face as the girl scented Jasmine approaching again down the aisle. The sight of the Grey waif's fear had jolted Gemma back under control, and she had just had to sweep back around and leave it to the dumbfounded manageress, grabbing her wolf friend and dragging her away with a disgusted, "Let's get out of here."
However, the knowledge of what she'd seen was pounding, grinding incessantly in her head as she stalked away. Twice now. Anne. And that girl. How many were there? How often did Nick make them do it? How the hell could she just let it carry on?
She had to isolate the ingredients in the fucking scent-masking drug that Mac had captured off the Grey, or they'd never find the Grey's hideout, never put a stop to this.
Since declaring war openly, the Grey tribe had disappeared from their traditional Range Hall, apparently. The Mackeld had not been surprised, Gus had reported. Mac had been telling the council for years that the Grey had a second lair hidden somewhere for his additional activities. It had been Mac's repeated, illegal, and increasingly vicious trespass-raids on the Grey's lands to find the mythical hidden lair which had gotten him exiled in the first place. The council had paid scant attention to his raging accusations, their best seekers unable to find a hidden lair, and suspecting that the allegation was largely due to the long-standing inter-pack feud. Moreover, the Aster alliance had begun teetering due to the in-fighting between the two packs, just when the Tzo had been beginning to test his boundaries, just when unity had been needed. So the council had banished Mac to cool down, and banned the two packs from further fighting.
And now no-one had any idea where the Greys were based.
Still seething internally, Gemma stared out of the bus window as they neared the turn-off into her suburb. Idly, her eyes lighted on the smiling flower emblem adorning the front of a bus heading the other way. 'HydroPow!' the logo beamed.