Pawn Among Wolves

PAWN AMONG WOLVES CH. 13

Gemma lay in lycan form along the tree branch, silently watching the huge white wolf running past underneath her. She was shivering in eagerness, and felt a quick surge of excitement pulse through her as she watched his intent chase. But however beautiful the powerful, rhythmic footfalls, the damn wolf wasn't sprinting nose-to-ground at anything like full pace, which told her he was thinking about her trail more carefully than he was supposed to. Considering how aroused she was with all this tearing around trying to evade him, he was supposed to be more fuddled than this by her mating scent.

Typical. Some annoying Alphas were disappointingly good at controlling themselves.

Gemma smiled to herself, liquid want seeping between her thighs as her mate disappeared again amongst the dense trees.

However controlled he is, Mr Alpha didn't notice me above him, she thought smugly to herself. Thanks to the imperfect scent-masking drug she was wearing.

He'd probably guessed that she'd use it, though, her wolf wasn't stupid, and he knew she could disguise her scent for a few seconds.

The werewolf felt a little fuzzy-headed, disorientated when she slithered down from the tree, but couldn't work out whether it was an unknown side-effect of the drug, or the very well-known effect of the delicious scent of her aroused Alpha, which almost knocked her over when she landed silently on the springy turf.

Triumph shot through her; the scent was richer than she'd smelt it in weeks, since he'd started exhausting himself chasing down the ex-Grey wolves. She bit back a whimper of anticipation.

Gemma stiffened the suddenly intensely wobbly limbs which just wanted to fold to the ground and wait for him to come back and find her- Not helping!, and made a mental note-to-self as she swayed, fighting the desire. If she wanted to keep a clear head on the run, avoid his musk. Her blood pulsed in excitement, the arousal knotting her belly tighter.

What was the point in running? He would catch her soon anyway.

Um... the longer the chase, the more heated the mating?

Her feet started to stubble along the ground, driven by the urgent nudges from the still slightly in control corner of her mind.

Just imagine him even more aroused than this!

Her legs started moving faster, slightly more enthusiastically.

Yum yum yum.

Gemma shivered in the voracious hunger, but managed to force her limbs back to full pace - she was learning which arguments the wolf within understood too. Although actually it was hard to tell right now which part of her wanted to run away from him (none), and which part wanted to run after him (all); reason was only an occasional wisp flirting through the huge swirl of lust roaring through her.

Hauling herself away from him felt like pulling a steam train uphill, and she was panting hard when her brain finally resurfaced, trembling as she ran slowly through the trees, back-trailing her scent. And his.

Wrong direction. Wrong wrong wrong.

He's a wolf. He likes hunting.

The wild shiver in her blood settled into an intense, bone-deep tremor at that thought, less uncontrollable, but richer, and she finally managed to break into a sprint on all four paws, careering toward her next planned trick-point, scrabbling internally to hold a lid on the stubborn surges of lust which were still urging her to just turn around and follow this delicious, rich musk trail. Pounce on him. Tie him up again.

No Argen rope.

As she ran, suddenly she caught the scent of him overhauling her rapidly, and the excitement flared through her, a jolt of pleasure mixed with annoyance when she realised just how little time her mate had wasted on that false trail.