Mack 'n' Me: The Wolves of Alpha 9

his reply for a host accepting the desires of his guest, but there was a hint of servitude in his body, as though he spoke to a master, and not a guest, and I wondered what the arach had planned for him and his world.
The arach king smiled, as though catching my thought, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he gave another short, sharp whistle, and the remainder of his team melted into human form, before turning to go and meet him on the stairs.
“Until later,” the king said, his voice carrying to where Mack and I stood, both of us struggling in the mental grasp of our keepers.
“We need the deal,” Tens reminded Mack, and I wondered just how close we’d come to Mack calling it off.
“As close as he can’t move his mouth and say something we’ll all regret,” Case replied, and didn’t sound in the least bit sorry.
“As close as I can’t decide if I should kick all your asses or thank you,” came Mack’s reply. “Now, turn me loose so we can get this done.”
“And Cutter?”
“How close is she to killing something?”
I rolled my eyes, figuring I could hold off on killing anything unless something attacked us, or I saw another arach—and the urge to hunt those fuckers down and slaughter them was as strong as it had been when I’d been trying to work out if I could reach the king and gut him. Mack covered his eyes with the palm of his hand, and shook his head.
“Don’t make me regret this,” he tight-beamed to me. Out in the public comms, he said, “Okay, Rohan, turn her loose.”
An instant later, and all feelings of relief and gratitude, I might have had, vanished.
“Just stand by to grab her, again, if she goes rogue.”
Thanks, Mack.
“It’s been known.”
The king had taken his leave, and his entourage, and departed, by the time we’d finished, and Lord Barangail was descending the last of the steps.
“I understand you’ve met the arach before,” he said, and his tone showed he was as curious as Hell.
“You could say that,” Mack said, and refused to be drawn by the short silence that followed.
“I take it, the meeting was not a friendly one,” Barangail pursued, and I felt my jaw clamp shut, before I could respond to his obvious ignorance.
“No.” Mack, also, was not being drawn. He changed to subject. “I hope that will not pose a problem for you.”
Barangail shrugged, and looked at me. His eyes rolled over my corseted body, and down my empty-holstered leggings, and held more than curiosity. I stifled the urge to sit the arrogant bastard on his ass, just as Rohan locked down my arms and legs.
Dammit! That time I’d had everything under control.
“Sorry,” Rohan said, not sounding sorry, at all.
At least he gave me back control of my limbs, if not my mouth.
“That’s the most lethal part of you, right now,” Mack explained in private, while smiling at our host, and saying out loud. “What would your lordship like to discuss?”

8—The Suggestibility of Stims
If Barangail was frustrated by our refusal to speak of our last encounter with the arach, he didn’t show it—and neither Mack nor I wanted to tell him exactly what had happened until we knew whether he was a willing accomplice or unwitting victim. As it was, he’d shown no hint of wanting to either leave his trading partners, or of being wary of them—and we couldn’t risk him carrying tales.
Fortunately, he accepted our reluctance on the matter, and led us up the stairs and into the mansion proper.
To my surprise, the entry hall was more an internal training hall for his soldiers, and I wondered what purpose it served. Most of the ruling types I’d ever encountered used their massive foyers to intimidate with wealth. This was the first time I’d ever seen one used to show military power.
A broad walk way led between barriers through which we could see his men practicing their close-combat and shooting skills. Another, glass-walled partition separated us from a weapons workshop, and the one opposite it looked like a lab working something experimental. Even I couldn’t help being impressed.
Mack took it all in, walking beside me, but not touching. I was both disappointed and relieved. Relieved because I still wanted to hit something, and it could just as well have been him as anything else, and disappointed, because I’d been secretly enjoying the excuse to touch.
“You are a sad, sad individual,” Tens told me, and I felt my face color.
Not. His. Business.
He snickered, but he didn’t say anything else. Mack reached over and took my hand, and I felt my color deepen. His hand tightened around mine, a reminder to get a grip, so I focused on what was happening around us.
The weapons shop and developmental lab signaled the end of the walkway, and Barangail stopped before a large set of double doors.
“Elevator,” he said. “The surface is not ideal from a security perspective.”
A minute later, I saw what he meant.
The elevator doors slid open, and I couldn’t suppress a gasp. Mack let go of my hand, and draped his arm around my shoulders. To anyone looking on, it might have looked like he was offering comfort, but I knew better. The damn man was making sure he had a good hold of me, in case I decided to run.
I might have been mad about that, but it was a good thing he did—the damned elevator was another confined space that reminded me of an airlock. Granted, it would have been a really big airlock, but the similarity was there, nonetheless. I don’t’ know if it was the stim pack, or what, but stepping through those doors was hitting all the flight or fight buttons I had.
“Easy, girl. I’m here.”
Like that would do any good.
“And I’m here, too.”
Yeah, thanks, Rohan—and the little shit laughed.
I got enough of a grip to step through under my own steam, and Mack and I moved to stand on the opposite side of the