Pawn Among Wolves Ch. 08

Gemma frowned, "Jasmine said she wasn't Alfamme yet - surely that means she is learning control?"

There was a slight pause, and she continued wistfully, "I can learn control?"

"Not weres. And not in one night."

"I'm not a were. And we could make a start."

"It's hard work."

"So? How did you learn? How did you practise?"

Mac sighed, and pulled her back down, turning her to rest on her back on top of him, snuggling her into his arms, wrapping her back in the rug.

"Well sexually, it's usually by porn. As ruggare - young male wolves - we used to spend evenings elaborating more and more on dirty stories, tormenting each other, me and a group of others in training, friends. The first to lose control fell foul of a huge amount of teasing, and was obliged to undergo forfeits for a day and wait upon the others."

"Did you ever lose?"

He was silent beneath her.

She tilted her head back onto the crown so she could see his face, reaching a hand up to cup his slightly bristly jaw, scraping her fingernail lightly, affectionately over the rough stubble. She found it bizarre that his hair never grew any longer as a wolf, but he constantly needed to shave as a human.

She softened her voice, coaxingly, "Come on, you can admit it. It's only me."

His chest reverberated under her when he chuckled, admitting grudgingly, "We all lost, Gemma. Sometimes."

"We?"

"There were five of us at the Academy together who used to hang about in a group, train together, play together, tussle together, challenge each other. We were a lot of trouble."

His voice had sunk a little in a strange blend of joy and sadness. She decided not to pursue that one tonight.

"How did you play? How did you lose?" she was almost squirming in his lap, cheeks firing. What she wanted, longed for, before he left, was to start one little step down the road to proving her control to him. Prove to herself. Provide a little jot of hope.

She could hear the smile in his voice as he replied matter-of-factly, "First to rub himself against anything lost. Or come - that happened once or twice in the early days. By the end of our five years at the Academy we all knew each others' most heated sexual fantasies, and would vie with each other, interrupting each other as soon there was a pause in the narration, to describe in the most vivid detail scenarios which would cause our friends to fail, to lose control. But over that time we had each also become very practiced at controlling our desire."

Her cheeks were burning, but her mind was wondering also who the close-knit group of friends were, what had happened to them. And if this was standard teenage wolf behaviour. Somehow it didn't sound too different to teenage male human - it reminded her of some of the fragments of conversations she'd overheard around both her older and younger brothers and their friends in their teen years. The similarity comforted her, their races were not so different. Maybe she could also glean a bit more about wolf culture, and weres, while she was at it.

"Well, Mr. Wolf," she said, settling back against his warmth with a sigh. "I believe you promised me a story, once I was no longer on heat."

Heavy silence reverberated from the male beneath her.

"Please share one with me now. A classic tale with bit of history, a bit of culture. And a lot of sex." Her voice dropped as she blushed. It was so ridiculous blushing, considering the week they had spent together in the forest. But she couldn't help it, saying the words aloud. Her voice was slightly huskier as she continued, "Let me learn?" She was stroking along his jaw wistfully, and there eyes met, caught. Mingled warmth and sadness in both of them. Shared.

Mac exhaled a long breath, then lifted to shuffle under her, pulling himself crabwise back to sit leaning against the chimney, bringing her with him, snuggled against his chest. He settled her slight frame more comfortably against his bulk, tucked on his crossed legs, and relaxed back against the structure behind him, resting a warm hand gently on her belly. Gemma rested back against his strong frame, the tension in her stomach unfurling slowly.

She'd known he'd keep his word.

"Are you sitting comfortably?" Mac murmured. The tease. She nodded, snug inside her rug and his arms, peaceful eyes reflecting the few stars visible above the faint glow of the city. A slight purr of anticipation in her stomach.

"OK. There is a legendary tale from what the humans call the dark ages, when the wolf courts in Europe were at their height; glittering, powerful, and everywhere we ruled vast ranges between the human settlements. A legend of Prince Hal."

"Wasn't he some English king?" Gemma was confused. Had he been a wolf?

Mac sighed again. "Not that one. We have a more famous Prince Hal. And ours came first"

Gemma sighed softly. Of course. "Go on."

"Well, after his natal won the Alpha succession, Prince Hal began travelling through the courts of Europe..."

"Natal?" interrupted Gemma. He'd become pretty good at supplying translations during their week together, it was unusual that she had to ask.

"Litter-brother. Twin. Like Gus and Jeremy. And you can't have two Alphas in the same pack, Gem. If both are Alpha warriors then when the succession opens, they fight the defasio and the defeated brother will leave."

"So your brother Karl isn't an Alpha?"

"He is a very good warrior - and could become pack Alpha if the occasion demanded, and he put his mind to it. He covered for me during my exile. But he prefers electronics, and wants to develop his own security products, set up a company. That is how he prefers to channel his drive."

Weird. A wolf geek.

"My brother-in-law Will is an Alpha to match Rebecca, but they're both Physes," he added.

Fizzes?

"Physicians. Doctors," he answered without her asking. "So there is no conflict with the pack Alpha. In the old days, when there weren't so many alternative professions, and there was a lot more fighting between packs, more warriors were required," explained Mac. "Most Alphas then were warriors."

"Anyway, to get back to this story you demanded: Prince Hal was travelling through the courts of Europe with his friend Egbert -"

"Egbert?" Wolves shouldn't be called Egbert.

"Do you want to hear this?"

"OK, sorry, Hal and Egbert, go on."

"They travelled up to the frozen north, where the humans were scarce and a wolf could travel for many weeks without hearing the cut of an axe. The snow drove icicles into their fur, and their noses ached with the sting of the wind, but the caribou were rich and fierce, and the pair delighted in the thrill of the chase; the echoing, empty horizons." Mac's voice was growing softer, lyrical, and Gemma glanced up to see him watching pictures in the stars, eyes distant. Her heart softened, and she seemed to melt in a strange sadness. She could sense that Mac had been there - to the frozen North where the wolf still ran free. She could feel the pull of quiet longing in her mate. Longing for that freedom.

"One night, a mighty ice storm blew up. The fierce wind scoured away their snow den and forced the prince and his companion from shelter. The cold ate into their fur, into their bones, and they fought to run through the blinding snow to sustain the heat of life. For days the travellers battled through the whirling whiteness, circling, staggering, lost in the fury. Then, on the fourth day, Egbert stumbled and fell into a deep, dark crevasse."

Well, what do you expect with a name like Egbert? But the humph in Gemma's mind was faint, and she could feel herself melting into this story, melting into him, her blood singing softly, soothed by Mac's deep voice and the quiet peace of his calm strength cradled around her while she concentrated on the tale he was weaving.

"Prince Hal stood on the edge of the gaping, shadowy tear in the ice, howling for his friend while the snow beat against him, but he heard only a mocking chorus of voices snarling the Chituk in reply. White hot, he leapt into the hole to rescue his comrade, and bounded down from frozen ledge to frozen ledge, into the bowels of the ice. At the bottom lay Egbert, unconscious in a vast cave, the walls of which shimmered with a pale, green light. To one end of the cavern loomed a glittering, crystal gateway, guarded by a pack of warriors forty strong. They set upon Hal like a hurricane."

"Chituk?" murmured Gemma. She didn't want to interrupt the spell of his words, captivated by the rich mosaic of images that his soft voice evoked, the feel of age, of wolf legend and culture steeped through the ancient story he was unfolding for her.

"Territory challenge," Mac rumbled back, pressing a lingering, gentle kiss to her hair. She was so relaxed in his arms, so soft - she had never lain as peacefully as this during the heat, not awake. Well, that would change as the tale progressed. He smiled gently to himself. She'd asked.

"The strange pack was ferocious, their pelts the colour of ice, their eyes pale ice chips in the eerie light, and they tore into the prince in a storm of teeth and claws. But Hal ... Hal was a Poignor. Born to war, he had trained with the sjo-jān in the court of the Emperor, and had fought the fiercest of wolves in every land in Europe. The ice warriors battered against him as the waves tear at the cliffs, but he stood stalwart and defeated them, one by one."

Images danced in Gemma's mind, images of a wolf - Mac - whirling and leaping in a green cave deep in the glacier, meeting and matching the ferocious attacks of a furore of ice wolves, holding firm and strong: fastest, fiercest, unconquerable.

"When the last guard was stilled, the glittering gates swung open, and a warmth of soft light and welcoming music danced over the prince. A huge, grizzled, black-haired wolf, dressed in rich clothing of fabulous colours, stood in the gateway, laughter rocking his muscular frame. "A warrior indeed," the black wolf cried gladly, and the echo of his fria - his howl of welcome - shook the great ice cavern. Prince Hal stood amazed, struck with wonder, then bowed the full courtesy of guest to his host. The travellers had happened upon the hidden court of King Magnus Blodtand, and the prince had defeated the fabled warriors of glass.

"Tonight begins the celebration of Bock Hufvud," declared the king. "Never before have I permitted an outsider to attend our feast, but I would gladly welcome such a warrior as you, Hal Poignor." The Prince bowed again, deeply, the curve of gracious acceptance.

The weary travellers paced softly, awed, through the glittering, splendid halls. The rich scent that curled into their senses, tingling through their blood, smelt alien to their frost-burnt noses. Egbert laughed with delight in the light and warmth, and stepped forward eagerly as they were led to the pools to bathe, and then to the sumptuous guest chambers to bait lightly and sleep. In the evening when they were awoken, they found that soft, rich clothing had been provided. Wolf-cut clothing, and so courteously the pair shifted to wolf to dress.

But the Prince felt faintly uneasy as he eased a soft leather waist over his broad, furred shoulders. An unrecognised tension was building in his spine.

His alert eyes had noted the myriad of small bite marks, some fresh, in the wooden rung of one of the ladders at the poolside. Cubs did live here. But where were they? Why were there no fresh scents? Why could he not hear their high-pitched squeals of play, even as a whisper, echoing down the long stone hallways?

He teased out a small, scarlet thread of silk from where it was caught on the frame of the mirror in front of which he was dressing, and lifted it to his ice-burned nose to scent the faint milk-rich echo of the asage who had once worn it in her hair. Where had the suckling mother-wolf gone? She couldn't have left such a scent long ago. The melting fragrance of female wolves of all ages was steeped in the soft furnishings throughout the halls, mingled with the milky scent of cubs. A soft, homely purr of a scent, curling through these halls, diluting the harsher tang of males burning with rut lust. Where were they now?

And what was that other scent? The strange scent that teased his damaged nose and heightened the fire in his blood?

Fria-welcome and guest, Hal knew that they were under peace. But something was odd.

The great feasting hall was cavernous, the warmth, glittering lights and mouth-watering scents of rich meats swirling under the murmur of a hundred hoarse wolf voices, melding in a hum of palpable excitement. Egbert was quivering with anticipation and hunger beside his friend as the king called to them in welcome, and the beta lightly, eagerly followed a young sjeste who bowed him to a place at a table of warriors. Hal's sharpened gaze lingered on the vivid, enticingly curved silk-clad forms of the multitude of sjeste splashed among the duller colours of the wolf pelts seated around the room, even while he courteously answered his host's call to be seated in pride of guest place beside him at the central, raised table.

Crossing the packed room, Hal's blood leaped in his veins when the scents around him coalesced and his brain slammed to a halt in shattering, breathless realisation. Mating doft. The females were on the brink of their heat. All of them. His incredulous brain was fighting the knowledge his damaged nose was passing him, and the prince lifted semi-angry, questioning eyes to Blodtand even as his loins sprang to eager life and cock hardened at the luscious, taunting scent.

Impossible. Two sjeste on heat, if not kept apart, would fight more viciously than any wolf except a cub-mother, often to the death of one or both. Wolf evolution had somehow therefore ensured that rarely did the heats of even two sjeste living in proximity coincide. Yet here was a whole room, full, teeming with thickening female lust and the answering rut-tang of the quivering males. A bloodbath was brewing.

Moreover, they all smelt Alfamme. Impossible. There were not that many Alpha females on the planet. And they would not live together. Impossible.

Alfamme mating doft.

The prince quivered as he felt the blood pulse longingly in his veins. His erection tempered to full, straining readiness even as his hackles wrenched to full alert, and his mind swam as he forced down the searing, simple urge to seize the nearest female, fold her under him, mount and rut.

Hal was lifted from his seething preoccupation by the feel of a gentle hand sliding into his, and swayed under the opposing forces pulling at him. A beautiful little sjeste faced him, her hand in his, dark brown eyes melting under the fire of his gaze. Her long, dusky tresses danced like cool silk along her back."

The spellbinding voice deepened, becoming slightly more husky, and Gemma was distantly aware of Mac's fingers smoothing lightly through her hair as he continued to describe her.

"Her perfect, deliciously enticing curves were sheathed in a dark yellow silken sheath, and the rich, beautiful scent of her lust rose around him while she drew him gently toward his place to the left of the king. His blood leaped as he watched the taut, delicious mounds of her buttocks gliding in front of him, enhanced by the soft whisper of fabric. His mind was demanding that he remain in control. However, his body was refusing to listen to the order to re-locate his eyes, and he felt his own lust raging higher as her intoxicating scent thickened, melting into him. He could also see her light trembling, sense her blood reacting to the tang of his thickening rut doft.

Then as Hal slid into the chair beside Blodtand, obedient to the light pressure of the small hand pressing on his shoulder, male rut doft invaded his nose, and his eyes shot challengingly to the powerful figure of his host, his closest, most substantial rival for the mating right for the bewitching little sjeste.

Blodtand's fierce eyes met his, a glittering awareness and answering lust burning in the blue depths, but his only response to the challenge was a gleam of amusement.

"You are bound under guest-courtesy, Prince. I will have no fighting here," Magnus' deep voice was slightly hoarse with lust. "That is the first rule at Bock Hufvud. Otherwise, you are my guest here. Help yourself to whatever you wish."

The king then turned his attention back to the tall, blonde, royal-blue clad beauty sitting sideways on his thigh, legs dangling between his, and he leaned leisurely toward her to bite into the joint the sjeste was holding for him, delicately tearing off a small mouthful. The blonde girl's mating scent intensified, and Hal noticed with a rush of heat that the king's hands were both on her, one around her waist, steadying her on her perch on his leg, the other between her parted thighs, beneath the soft folds of blue silk, fingers stimulating her into full heat. The king turned his head and offered the morsel of meat between his lips to his chosen mate, smiling as she leaned forward and her teeth closed gently around the small portion.

"There are enough wereem to go around," he added softly as he lifted his head, while his mate abruptly swallowed the juicy mouthful and began to pant, arching back over his arm, her legs widening to the stimulation of his fingers."

Damn you, fumed Gemma inwardly, how dare you watch another woman, even in fantasy? However hot it is. Wereem sex slaves, huh? My turn.

Her voice was soft, breathing slightly too fast, but relatively calm, "The dark beauty, melting in lust, felt a shiver of sad disappointment when she failed to keep the attention of her chosen mate. She sighed softly as she leaned against his leg, rubbing her moist crotch lightly against his thigh to relieve some of the deep, aching burn while she lifted her eyes to scan the room for a more satisfying partner."

Mac dove back in, the millisecond after she paused for breath, a slight growl to his voice.

"Hal was jolted from his lustful witness of the king arousing his blonde wereem by the soft curves of the little dark beauty pouting jealously as she leaned against his leg. Heart pounding in anticipation, cock throbbing, he turned. The rich scent of salmon teased at his nose as she silently lifted the plate of fish to offer to him, but her trembling figure was more enticing. Her scent was ready, liquefying - no rut-run, no wrestling, just a melting, begging Alfamme-doft rising from every pore of her delectable, soft curves. His erection was fierce, beating demandingly against his belly as his eyes fastened on the swelling curve of her bounteous breasts. Licking his lips, he watched in rising excitement as her trembling grew while she carefully replaced the dish on the table behind her."

Mac had to pause for breath too. Gemma grabbed her opportunity, slightly breathless,

"His cock surged with powerful, incredulous excitement when the little wereem slowly traced her fingers back up her own curves, between her breasts, and gently parted the rich, soft silk over her chest, revealing the perfect, lush mounds to his fierce gaze. Her large, dusky nipples tightened under his fierce stare, begging for touch, and his breathing grew harsh as his eyes devoured them."

Damn. She'd had to swallow after the last sentence, and Mac slipped into the gap, continuing seamlessly.

""Touch them," the hoarse sound of his own voice was a twitching discord in the wolf's ears, but he soon forgot the interruption as the sjeste obeyed, swirling her fingers teasingly, enticingly, around the hard, puckered peaks while he watched, his breath growing more harsh as hers quickened. His own fingers soon joined hers, and in moments he was unaware of his surroundings, concentrated only on enriching the mouth-watering lust rising from the girl, the liquid welcome between her thighs. His calves were folded around the back of her bare legs, ankles hooked in from behind to hold hers apart. She was leaning back, legs parted, buttocks braced against the table, and the soft, beautiful creature was sighing repeatedly while he played with the deliciously curved mounds and pulled at the shivering, hard tips, her dress parted down to her waist."