Unconventionally Wolf, Julie Steimle [red scrolls of magic .TXT] 📗

him off stage. They sat him on a fold-out chair at the side while the moderator attempted to salvage the disastrous exit of their youngest panelist. Those near the side of the stage watched Carl administer Rick's shot. To many eyes, the young heir to Deacon Enterprises looked as if he was about to die. But Rick merely sat back in the chair, eyes closed as his head rested against the wall, and just breathed.

James rushed over to him.

"Are you ok?" James peered at Rick's bluish lips.

Rick nodded faintly, entirely lightheaded. That rant had physically done him no good. And emotionally, he was still angry at that presumptuous Mr. Lowell. He wanted to kick him in the groin and stomp all over him.

However, the panel continued without him, jumping ahead to another set of questions as though the representative of Deacon Enterprises merely had to take a bathroom break. As Rick regained his ability to breathe on his own, his ears (which had been ringing) started to regain sound. He picked up the whispers of those nearby, despite how they tried to mask them. James was asking Tommy a few details about the events before he had bumped into Rick on the conference floor.

"…really bad? In that case, I recommend we make sure the next panel he has to be in is free of anything suspicious. Admittedly, I had no clue what wolfsbane looks like—well, until now."

"Yes. I should have checked for that when we came in. This was my fault," Tommy said. "But the garlic oil in the air was the main culprit. We have to get security to get something to clear the air."

"What else do you think we can expect from the hunters?" James asked.

Tommy's voice was soothing as he replied, "Oh, the usual. Whistles. Sprays. Attempts to corner him. Mockery. The thing is, he seems more agitated than normal. More sensitive than when we last encountered one another. Do you know anything about that?"

"I might," James replied hesitantly. "But I am not at liberty to say anything. What I can tell you is that he had a really rough full moon at the start of this last summer. And his confidence is shot. I've never seen him so easily rattled before."

Easily rattled. Yeah…. Rick closed his eyes more, and slipped into a nap, thinking about it. He was definitely not himself. Most days he barely held it together. It was all he could do to keep from running back to Daisy and the quiet pack life. And in moments like this, Rick wanted that quiet life back. 

Necessary Intervention

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Eight

 

 

Rick woke with a nudge. Tommy was staring into his face, examining his eyes.

"Your lips are less blue," Tommy said. "How are you breathing?"

Wheezing in a breath, Rick tried to sit up. He immediately felt light-headed and dropped back.

"I think we need to take him to a bathroom wash his skin and get him in a change of clothes," Carl said.

"You have a change of clothes?" James asked.

All three of them seemed to be hovering over him—the droning of the panel still going on for some reason. Rick then realized that he probably wasn't out that long.

Carl nodded. "We have at least three suits available, just in case."

"Really?" Rick tried to sit up again.

Meeting his gaze, then lifting his finger for Rick to track it, Carl said, "Of course. You were there when we made them. Remember? In the hotel? Your father always insisted the same for himself, just in case his clothes got contaminated. I think yours presently may be coated in garlic oil. That's why you are not recovering well."

Rick nodded his heavy head. It made sense. He could still smell the garlic. And his breathing had barely improved despite the shot of epinephrine.

Tommy and James helped Rick to his feet, then carried him toward the exit. Most of the crowd watched as they took him out, murmurs springing up with whispers hissing. 'Was he really that sick?' they murmured. 'Was he going to the hospital?' they speculated. The hisses followed them into the corridor, where the conference attendants peered over heads to get a good look. A number of them took pictures and recorded him on their cellphones. And the rumors spread.

Rumor had he was seen coming out of rehab. Maybe he had relapsed. Rumor had he was seen in the conference running from a guy smoking a cigar. …That he had allergies and he had passed out. Word was he had fallen off the stage. Others said he was drunk, or stoned, or just had a heart attack. Tommy and James carrying Rick had to pass through all of this on their ways to the men's restroom while Carl contacted the other two bodyguards via cell phone, calling them to return and keep watch.

Tommy and James set Rick on the edge of the sink to rest. James immediately went about to make sure no one else was in the restroom with them. He found two stalls occupied. Tommy went out into the corridor and stood in front of the door to tell people that restroom was out of service. Carl went about opening up his suitcase, taking out a gray 'work of art' and hanging it on the edge of an empty stall.

When one of the occupied stall doors opened, a short, mousy kind of man stepped out. He took one paranoid look at the three in the restroom as he walked edgily to the sink to wash his hands.

He looked to Carl, who was now taking out a hand steamer to smooth out the suit wrinkles, and then at James who was helping Rick take off his suitcoat. James was sniffing the jacket and nodding.

"It reeks," James murmured gravely.

The man in with them quickly left the room, peeking back at them.

The other occupied stall opened a few seconds after. A gangly college boy from that NYU booth stepped out. Rick barely recognized him while still struggling for breath. But that college boy blinked at Rick with surprise, then at the others. James smiled at him, hoping to urge the college boy along. But the guy just stared back and said, "What?"

He stepped toward the door.

"Hey!" Rick called after him, wheezing. "Wash your hands for pity's sake."

Shooting him a perturbed look, the guy quickly ran some water at the sink and dunked in his hands so they were damp, then slapped it off. He stepped to the drier, pressing the button with his wrist. Eying Rick up and down, he said, "What's the matter with you?"

"Allergies," Rick murmured, annoyed that the guy didn't use soap.

The NYU student snorted. "What are you allergic to?"

"Garlic," Rick wheezed.

Laughing with amusement, the college boy stepped toward the restroom door. "What are you? A vampire?"

Rick smirked, shaking his head. "Nah. Werewolf."

Chuckling, the man pushed his way out and was gone.

"That wasn't necessary," Carl chastened.

"He probably took it as a joke," James said. "Hey, Howie, help me get your clothes off."

Nodding, Rick unbuttoned his shirt and took it off, swaying on his feet. He was in the middle of removing his pants when someone large pushed past Tommy to get into the restroom. "…will come in if I like! It is a public—" His eyes fixed on Rick's back, which to an untrained eye, looked like a bear had once clawed him in the shoulder and tore down part of his front. The scars stood out among other smaller scratches. With wide eyes, the intruder backed out. "Oh. Sorry."

He was gone and probably running, not just to the other restroom, but to share what he had seen.

Rick was rid of his pants and was even give a clean pair of underwear before he was handed a bar of his father's special lye soap and a towel to wrap around his waist. He scrubbed all the garlic oil off his skin and hair. After just a few minutes of scrubbing and rinsing, he found he was able to breathe more easily.

The door burst open once more.

Tommy was wrestling off one of the hunters while Mr. Lowell shoved his way through.

"Look! I just wanted to—" Mr. Lowell froze, staring at Rick mid-washing. "You can't be serious! You're taking a bath?"

Wiping the soap out of his eyes, Rick peered at him.

"Get out." James marched up to the man-bunned, recycling CEO. "This bathroom is occupied."

Mr. Lowell refused to move. "This is a public restroom, kid."

James bristled, as he hated being talked down to especially since he was in fact in his sixties and Mr. Lowell was the 'whipper-snapper'.

Carl blocked Mr. Lowell's view. "Unless you need to use the facilities, I suggest you vacate these premises."

But Mr. Lowell ignored Carl. Gazing over him at Rick as the young man rinsed the soap out of his hair with a cup of water over the sink, Mr. Lowell called out, "That was a load of sh** that you pulled on the panel. You and your kind are nothing but a—"

James shoved him back. "No. You will not harass him. Not here. Not ever. Get out."

"It's a free country, kid," Mr. Lowell replied with a simpering grin. "I can be here if I like." He then turned his eyes on Rick who had taken another towel and started to dry off, Carl attending to him. Then his eyes also fell on Rick's scars. He paled.

"Don't make me get my sword," James growled.

Rick looked up. "Did you bring your sword?"

James nodded, not taking his eyes off of Mr. Lowell. "I never leave home without it."

Pulling his pants on, Rick walked barefoot to his friend and stared at him. "How did you get it past security?"

Mr. Lowell's eyes widened, and he stepped back. Carl cringed, trying to mask his discomfort.

Rolling his eyes, James said, "Oh, come on. You were there when I was given the permit to carry."

"A permit to carry a sword?" Mr. Lowell squeaked out in disbelief, looking to Carl who did not pay him any attention. "Wait a minute. Who are you?"

"None of your business," Rick snapped at him. He then pulled James aside, "Go help Tommy. Carl and I will deal with this guy."

Nodding, James stepped past Mr. Lowell with a glower. "Kid…."

"Deal with me?" Mr. Lowell gazed to Rick's face. "Is that a threat?"

With a heavy dry gaze, Rick took his clean shirt from Carl and slipped his arms into the sleeves. "What is it you want? You came all this way after you had your say on the stage. Have at it."

"You made me look like a prick up there," Mr. Lowell said.

Rick chuckled darkly. "You made yourself look like a prick."

"I am not a racist," Mr. Lowell growled.

Leaning back, Rick peered briefly at him as he said, "Then why aren't you apologizing to Tommy instead of me? He's the one you insulted."

Mr. Lowell flushed to his roots, glancing back at the restroom door. The wrestling had ceased. Clearly James's help had come just in time, or their other body guards had found them, or maybe Tommy had finally gotten rid of the hunter—though Rick doubted it. It seemed illogical that a hunter would just let things go or even aid some eco-green fan. In fact, as Rick thought about it, he knew a hunter wouldn't have cared