Gemma's Mate

by Kate Rudolph

  From the tightening of her spine, Gemma knew that Mac had walked in. “Let me know if you need anything before we leave.” And because she could be petty, Gemma gave Jaime’s shoulder a squeeze and made sure that Mac saw her smile at him while he walked it. That smile faded the moment Mac stepped into the lieutenant’s meeting room.

  “We should talk,” he said, closing the door behind him.

  Gemma slid off the table where she was perched and into one of the chairs. She tapped her fingers on the table, “I’ve checked in with Nadine, she’s booked us on a chartered flight. It leaves at 2AM. We will need to leave for the airfield at midnight. Our lodgings will be settled by the time we arrive. Does that about settle it?”

  Mac leaned back against the door and crossed his arms. “I wasn’t talking about logistics.”

  Gemma laid her hand flat on the table and took a moment to respond. “Of course not. Do you have concerns about my ability to do the job?” She had no desire to discuss the past. There was no need to dredge up healed wounds.

  “London is not Falcon Point. We’ve never discussed it but—”

  “Cut the crap, Colin.” She hadn’t called him that since coming here, but if he was determined to bring up the past, she would use his proper name.

  And to her surprise, he smiled. “I think we should clear the air before we leave.”

  That was rich. Part of her wished that she still had that damned note he’d left if only so that she could toss it in his face. “What’s to clear?” she spat, “It was one week, eight years ago. You made your position loud and clear back then.”

  Confusion flitted over his face, but in a blink it was gone. “I thought that I perhaps owed you an explanation.”

  “I’ve had all the explanation I want.” Now she really wished she had the letter. It was just as well that they hadn’t spoken about this before. An unknown well of bitterness was making itself known. “If you don’t mind, I must reassign my tasks before we leave.” She stood and pushed in her chair.

  Colin didn’t move for a moment and they stood staring at each other. His brown eyes met her own in challenge. And if there was still a whisper of that old attraction, Gemma tamped it down before she could do anything stupid. The moment stretched until Mac stepped aside with a nod. “Of course. I’ll be ready to go at midnight.”

  Chapter Three

  Mac was missing something. They hadn’t spoken again since those few minutes in the break room, and now that they were alone on the plane, it felt deathly silent. Gemma sat in one of the large chairs and watched a movie on her tablet, the flashing lights illuminating her face. He tried not to stare, but the wolf that lived within him had been howling for her all day.

  That feeling inside of him hadn’t been this bad since she first came to the pack. Then, he’d wanted to find her, slam her against a wall, and devour her whole, only letting up once she dissolved in pleasure. He knew just the way she could quiver around him and longed to feel it again.

  Mac hadn’t had a woman since the day she came back. It wasn’t out of misplaced hope that she would accept him back into her life and into her bed. But it felt wrong to take anyone else when he knew that the one woman who was perfect for him was right there.

  But his lust wasn’t the issue. That he had learned to deal with a long time ago. No, Mac couldn’t stop thinking about what Gemma had said. About him giving her all the explanation that she wanted. Perhaps after all this time he’d lost the right to try to explain himself. But how could his sudden disappearance be something that she didn’t care about?

  He wouldn’t press the issue. Not unless it interfered. Instead, he said, “We’ll be working from the moment we land, so it’s best to sleep now.”

  Gemma pulled out one earbud and looked at him. “I’ll be fine.” She moved to put the earbud back but paused and said, “I’m not great at sleeping around other people, but I can go for a full 24 as long as I can manage a short nap or two.”

  Mac didn’t ask her why she knew that or why she couldn’t sleep with company. He didn’t mention that she’d had no trouble all those years ago while wrapped tightly in his arms. For this he considered himself a restrained gentleman. He was sure Gemma would disagree and the thought brought a small smile to his lips.

  “Is that funny?” she asked. She pulled out the other earbud and tapped her screen, angling her body towards him.

  “No,” said Mac. “I just thought of something I liked.”

  He thought she would go back to her film, but she surprised him. “I left London nearly six years ago,” she confessed. “And after a while on my own I started to have nightmares.”

  He could tell she was leaving a lot out. But Mac didn’t pry into that. “I thought you loved London. You were going to grow old there and buy Buckingham Palace from the queen.”

  The reminder of their time together caused her to smile and Mac was pleased with himself. But Gemma’s grin didn’t last long. “Things changed. The pack changed. And so did I. I found work that I was surprisingly good at. But after a few years...it gets to you, right?”

  Mac had a sinking feeling that he knew what kind of work she’d done. Not too many jobs gave a woman as tough as Gemma nightmares. And not too many jobs could harden a sweet young woman into a fierce soldier. “There was an outfit outside of Rotterdam that tried to recruit me awhile back,” Mac said with a false air of nonchalance.

  “I didn’t work for the Serpent,” the force with which she said it knocked a few more names off the list of people she might have worked for. The European mercenary outfits fell into groups. The Serpent was the meanest, deadliest, and most bloodthirsty of the lot. They weren’t evil, but very few things stopped them.

  “You don’t—”

  “It was Constantine,” she spoke quickly, interrupted him. “Out of Paris. For three years.”

  Mac’s mouth clicked shut. “How did you get out?” Constantine demanded complete loyalty from his people and the only way out was death. Or so the story went.

  “I gave him something he wanted more than me.” Gemma turned back to her tablet and stuck the earbuds in her ears, conversation over. In the course of one conversation, she’d revealed more of herself to him than she had to any member of the pack in the last year.

  It only whetted Mac’s appetite. This Gemma was not the woman he’d left behind so many years ago. She had turned herself into a weapon, honed of steel and purpose. And Mac had been halfway in love with her when he was barely more than a boy, now as a man he wanted her all the same.

  Gemma was perfect for him, and he resolved to show her that until she felt the same.

  Telling Mac about Constantine had been a calculated risk. She hadn’t spoken a word about that time in her life for nearly two years. When she applied to join the Falcon Point pack, it had been a matter of speaking carefully about the timeline of her life. She didn’t want that evil following her.

  But Mac might understand.

  She had forgotten how comfortable it could feel to be around him. They hadn’t been alone like this in eight years, and now in the third hour of their transatlantic flight, she didn’t feel uncomfortable. Not with Mac’s presence. She should have felt tense, should have been considering whether it would be possible to jump out of the plane and swim the rest of the way.

  Mac wasn’t bothering her and when she turned back to her film he didn’t try to continue their conversation. She’d given him enough information that if something happened once they touched down in England, he wouldn’t be blindsided. That was important in a partnership. Gemma had learned that early on after she struck out on her own.

  Gemma wasn’t going to spill her heart out to her one-time lover, but she was going to make this damned partnership worked so that when they got back to Falcon Point both Mac and Rafe would understand that she could do her job regardless of who she needed to work with.

  The rest of the flight passed with silence between them. Gemma didn’t sleep, but she nearly fell into a doze more than onc
e. By the time they flew far enough east to see the sun, she was teetering on the edge of sleep and wakefulness.

  A flash of a knife, a spurt of blood, the choked scream of a dying man. It jolted her awake though she kept herself still and made no sound. Mac was asleep in his chair and didn’t notice.

  Gemma stood up and walked back and forth down the narrow aisle of the small plane. She did some stretches and returned to her seat after ten minutes. She wasn’t rested, but she was awake. It would have to do.

  An hour or so later they landed at a private airfield. Rafe’s connections ensured that clearing customs took only moments and they were able to do all of their paperwork with a werewolf who lived in London but had spent years in Falcon Point.

  They’d made arrangements to stay in a rented flat in Southwark. The London pack tended to congregate further north. Hopefully, there would be enough distance between them that no drama erupted.

  A car was waiting for them and without argument Gemma drove. She’d never owned a car in London but compared to Mac she was an expert when it came to these streets.

  They loaded their bags into the boot and got in.

  So early in the morning, the roads were nearly free of traffic. Gemma drove into the city with no issue and they found their flat easily. It was on the third floor of a brown brick building. And when they climbed all the stairs, Gemma discovered that the flat wasn’t just on the third floor, it was the third floor.

  A large living space took up the majority of the area, and there were two doors that led to bedrooms and another for the toilet. If Gemma had been the cooking type, she would have salivated at the kitchen. It was stainless steel everything with brand new appliances and pans hanging from a fixture on top of the island.

  Exhaustion hit her all at once, and Gemma turned to Mac. “Knock on my door if we need to take off. Otherwise, leave me to sleep.”

  She chose the bigger of the two rooms and closed and locked the door behind her. She was asleep before she could even pull up the covers.

  Chapter Four

  Gemma slept for a long time. By the time she opened her eyes, the sun was already setting and she could hear Mac banging around in the kitchen. From the smell, he was preparing dinner.

  Badly.

  But burnt meat was better than no meat at all and Gemma could already feel her stomach protesting after so long without a meal. She’s eaten a protein bar on the plane, but she couldn’t remember her last proper meal. She sat up and stretched before running her fingers through her hair. The long, brown locks weren’t horribly tangled though she would have put it all back if she had a tie.

  Those were somewhere at the bottom of her bag and she had no desire to go digging for them. She did, however, grab her toiletry bag and wash up before joining Mac in the kitchen.

  He acknowledged her with a nod when she sat on one of the short stools but didn’t try to make conversation. His brows were knit together as he concentrated on the sad looking white sauce in the large saucepan. Despite his clear incompetence in this endeavor, Gemma wasn’t going to wound his pride and suggest they get take away. He’d clearly tried hard.

  “Did you go shopping while I was out?” He must have, but Gemma wanted to say something instead of letting the silence stretch.

  Mac nodded and turned away from the pan, letting it simmer. Or smoke. How had the man survived into his thirties without learning how to cook properly? Gemma was by no means an excellent chef, but she could at least cook simple meals.

  “I went to Tesco and took a look around the neighborhood. I hope you like chicken.” He turned to poke at the dish once more.

  “That doesn’t smell like chicken.” Gemma couldn’t keep the laughter out of her voice. “Are you sure it’s even terrestrial?”

  He glanced over his shoulder, exaggerated hurt in his eyes. He gave her his most pathetic frown. “I’m only trying to tend to your needs, woman. Shall I make you hunt for rats and forage for weeds?” But he was laughing by the end.

  “If that is tending to my needs, I would hate to see how you neglect them.” Gemma stood and pushed him away, grabbing the spatula from his hand. “Let me try to salvage this.”

  She didn’t realize how close she was standing until he froze next to her, barely breathing. She wanted to ignore the wave of heat that she felt rush over her. She wanted to pretend that she didn’t have a reaction to him, but her rapid heart wasn’t letting her lie.

  After an infinite moment, Mac took a step back. “The food is in the refrigerator. I just shoved all the sacks in there. I need to go check on something.” He walked away to the other bedroom and shut the door behind him.

  If it weren’t for the sizzling in the pan, Gemma might have stood there for the rest of the day.

  Mac returned only after she’d salvaged their meal. They ate, both standing against different cabinets, the only sound their chewing. They made it quick and rinsed off their dishes before getting to work.

  “We need eyes,” said Gemma, her arms crossed. “Lord knows that Nigel won’t help us, but I think I still have a few friends in the city who can keep a look out. They won’t do anything to cross the alpha, but as long as he doesn’t know that we’re here, they won’t need to. I’m not sure that the safe passage we have is worth much of anything.”

  “We need to be careful.”

  Gemma almost rolled her eyes at the admonition. “This isn’t my first mission.”

  Mac sucked in a breath and let it out, his chest rising and falling. “That isn’t what I meant.” He leaned forward, almost standing up completely and moving towards her before thinking better of it and falling back against the counter. “Nigel banished me from London.” Gemma didn’t know if he said it quietly or if she couldn’t hear over the blood rushing in her ears. “I’m quite certain he won’t want me back here.”

  “B—banished?” It came out a harsh whisper.

  “He left me floating in the Thames that night.” Mac didn’t specify when. “I almost came to find you anyway.”

  Gemma didn’t need the rest of that explanation. Would she have run with him if he’d asked her then? Maybe. She’d been twenty years old and full of dreams. “Why didn’t you tell me this after?”

  Mac licked his lips and Gemma had to look away before she was distracted. “At first I didn’t think that you’d care.”

  It hurt to hear that, but it also made sense. “And later? After things became...awkward?”

  Mac shrugged, but he wouldn’t look at her. “It was never the right time. And then, before you know it, a year passed. And at that point I couldn’t figure out how to say it properly.”

  It didn’t change anything. No, Gemma knew she was lying to herself even as she thought it. Mac hadn’t left London, hadn’t left her because he didn’t want her. Her back relaxed and she straightened. She felt like a ten stone weight had just been lifted from her shoulders.

  “Alright. I’m glad that you told me.” She couldn’t get sidelined with thoughts of what might have been if he’d stayed, or if she’d gone with him. They had a job to do.

  “That’s it?”

  Did he sound incredulous? Gemma rolled her eyes. “Wear black, the most skintight clothes you have. Nice shoes. We leave here at 10, and you need to let me do your makeup.”

  Mac wasn’t thrown by the change of topic, but he did stop short at her mention of makeup. “Scottish men don’t wear makeup.”

  Gemma laughed, “We both know that isn’t true, Braveheart. You’re going as my boytoy. Boytoys wear eyeliner.”

  And to her surprise, he didn’t argue though the look in his eyes was almost frightening.

  Mac followed Gemma’s clothing request, trying not to think too hard about what she wanted him to do. Makeup? He was a man, and not one of those tight-trousered, bouffanted idiots he saw in some of the trendier cafes in Falcon Point.

  But this was the job and he was fairly certain the Gemma wasn’t fucking with him. He hadn’t planned to tell her about Nigel yet. But he was glad
that he had. That was information that needed to be out in the open. And while Mac wanted Gemma as his with everything inside of him, he knew they would never get past his past if he wasn’t honest.

  So he was going to tell her the truth, no matter what.

  And bow to her clothing whims.

  In the end, she took one look at him and shook her head. “No one would ever believe you’re wearing makeup because you wanted it. But otherwise, good.”

  She was looking good as well. Gemma wore tight jeans and a fitted top that cupped her breasts and amplified her already ample curves. The harsh black of the clothing and her carefully crafted hair and makeup sent off a signal that she was not to be fucked with, no matter how edible she looked.

  And Mac wanted to eat her up.

  Without much conversation, they took the car to a seedy part of the city. Mac didn’t have the geography memorized, but Gemma didn’t need directions. Despite the neighborhood, a number of young men and women in nice clothing walked both toward and away from one end of a brick building.

  When Gemma turned off the car, Mac felt the thumping of the bass.

  “The club is a cover?” He asked.

  Gemma shook her head. “Legit, but several parties do business here. None are active in North America.”

  Mac put his hand on the door handle, but Gemma touched his thigh before he could step out. “What?” He asked.

  Gemma looked straight ahead while she spoke, “I was a different person when anyone in there knew me. Not the me from eight years ago, not the me from today. Don’t be surprised at how I act. In fact, you just stand there and look threatening.”

  Mac could do that. Though with every little tidbit that she gave him, he was desperate to learn more.

  They walked in, bypassing the small line when Gemma gave a complicated handshake to the bouncer at the door.

  The music was unbearable. Not exactly loud, just overpowering. Mac could feel it reverberating through his ribs, pulsating in his veins. He wanted a moment to adjust, but Gemma lead him through the dark room without pause.