Grimm Wolf, Julie Steimle [always you kirsty moseley .txt] 📗

the peculiar number of feral wolves killed on the lot. He was more distressed when they informed him of his dead son who had been shot right between the eyes, lying naked in front of his home. And he grew alarmed when he saw the police taking pictures of the destroyed car which had been rented by none other than Howard Richard Deacon III, as well as the large amounts of honey in one tree, along with the garlic reek on the lot.

He could hardly breathe.

There were a number of burn victims in the home. Some of them were wolves. The police had questions about that as well. Why were wolves inside his home? Was the report that they owned pet wolves true? Had they, according to the report by eye witnesses from the night before, sic’d those wolves on some tourists?

Kaspar Schwitzer listened to the police report which recounted that the heir to Deacon Enterprises had been a visitor at the castle and had been taken away to an undisclosed hospital with multiple bite and claw wounds. They even had photographs. He shuddered when he gazed on the face of the distressed ‘victim’ who had clearly been mauled by wolves and had gotten away.

The list of eye-witness accounts from tourists and locals alike who had seen H. Richard Deacon and his friends being harassed by local thugs from Wolfsburg had also disturbed him. There were several. And the account of their flight from Cochem had a number of witnesses—including the mention of a helicopter. H. Richard Deacon’s current location was currently unknown as they had never arrived at the hospital, though the ambulance did. But the police had contacted the number that he had been handed, and they had been given an update on H. Richard Deacon’s condition as stable… and that he did not intend to sue Cochem.

As for the burning castle, the police could not for the life of them find the source. It was as if the castle had spontaneously combusted from the inside. They guessed it had been a gas leak. They were just glad it had not spread much farther than the lot itself, leaving the other trees of the forest alone.

But the most puzzling thing of all, the one thing that bothered them the most besides all the dead wolves, was why in the world was there a tent roped up in a tree, absolutely coated in honey. They had fetched out the camping lantern along with two silver knives and a rope of garlic.

“Can you explain this?” one of the policemen said, gazing sharply on Herr Schweitzer as they were bagged as evidence after being photographed.

Staggering, breathless over the carnage, Kaspar Schwitzer could not answer. His home was gone. There was just so much death. So many dead—the sheer number of wolves slashed, burned, and beheaded was oppressive. And his son. Shot. This kind of thing should not have been allowed.

 “Who did this?” he asked the police, each of whom shook their heads at the carnage though for a different reason. “Who did this?” he turned to one of the local men knew well. “One foul American wolf could not…”

“Jäger,” the man said, which meant hunter. He nodded to Herr Schwitzer. “That heretic brought in hunters.”

 “That bloody traitor. He did this.” Kaspar was grim with fury. The sanctimonious Deacon family had dared to tread in his territory, and havoc ensued because the Deacons were traitors to wolf kind. He had heard those heretics associated with hunters, but he had not believed it. A wolf was a wolf. The Deacons had not gone that low, had they? And though he had heard the rumors about Howard the Third, that he was intimately connected with the Holy Seven, the most dangerous demon hunters ever to walk the earth, he had doubted it. He had thought they were lies. But he was wrong. And that heretic had to pay.

“Where can I find him?” Kaspar asked his associate.

His fellow pack member, one of the few survivors of the attack, whispered as the police marked the caked blood spill inside the charred building in the parts that had not burned down, “We lost track of them. But Deacon was badly wounded. They had to carry him out. I would suspect they took him to a private hospital.”

“Find him. He must be punished.”

His fellow nodded, heading off at once to do so.

Justice

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Ten

 

 

Semour took Rick to a private hospital in Paris with Tom, while Daniel and James got a taxi to the airport where they then took one of the Deacon family’s private jets to London. They got Rick a private room in the hospital so a doctor could examine and treat his wounds. And he had many wounds. The doctor confided that it was amazing Rick was still alive. One bite just barely grazed his jugular. Any closer and he would have been a corpse.

Though Tom and Semour insisted the hospital staff keep Rick’s location secret, they were encouraged to openly speak to news agencies about the nature of his wounds. It was important, as the four of them had decided they needed to continue the narrative of the wolf attack in Germany for the sake of Rick’s friends. It was also a signal to the SRA that the Holy Seven approved the hunting of that particular werewolf pack, for the sake of the locals in Germany and the future of Cochem. Man-eaters were not to be tolerated.

Tom remained with Rick at the hospital while Semour went back to his apartment to clean out Rick’s honey-coated camping things and clothes. It was mostly because Rick had nothing clean to change into, and honey was on nearly all of his belongings—including his passport and cell phone.

In the middle of sorting things out for the laundry, Rick’s cell phone rang. Semour stared at it, inching near it, but not touching it. It was still sticky and needed another wipe down. He turned it over and looked at the screen.

Andrew Cartwright’s number popped up.

It did not ring long. And Semour did not answer it. Instead, he picked up his own phone and called Andy.

“Hey Red.” Semour peered out the window of his apartment, listening for his friend’s response. “You just tried to call Howie, right?”

<< Yeah. I’ve just arrived in Paris. I’m at the airport. >>

Semour stood a little more upright. “What? You’re here? I thought you could not come because Jessica was pregnant.”

<< I’m not pregnant. And Jessica told me to come. >>

“But what about her?” Semour drew in a breath.

<< I don’t need to be with her twenty-four seven. That’s what she said anyway. Besides, her friend Audry is there with her, back from her Africa trip—and they’re having a girl’s-only weekend with Silvia. It’s weird. >>

“Ok, I’ll go pick you up.” Semour grabbed his keys and looked around at the rest of the honey-sticky stuff. He still had a lot to clean.

<< How bad is he? >>

Halting on the way to the door, Semour cringed. “Bad. They were trying to kill him. They almost did.”

<< Serious? >>

Semour closed his eyes, cringing more. “Yeah. One more bite near the jugular and he would have been toast. The crazy thing is, I know Howie probably could have killed that wolf at any time. Your buddy might not have been as large as him, but he is way faster. The guy fought off a pack of wolves, for pity’s sake. But he wasn’t trying to kill any of them. It’s impressive. And sad. I mean, you gotta teach him it is ok to kill to save lives. Those wolves were working to destroy him… and his friends.”

<< Did anybody get hurt? >>

Clenching his teeth, Semour closed his eyes. “All of them. Those wolves killed the guy called Jordan.”

Andy drew in a breath. << Jordan? Jordan Hague? >>

“I don’t know his last name.”

<< Ah man… Hey. Hurry and pick me up. Rick’s gotta be dying inside if Jordan Hague got killed. Jordan’s been watching out for him since the whole Daisy incident. Jordan knew about it and protected him for years. >>

Semour paled. He hurried to the door and rushed out. “I’m coming.”

*

Rick stared at the hospital walls and ceiling. It was the worst.

He didn’t want pain killer. He wanted to feel the pain. He felt he deserved to feel the pain. Jordan was dead because of him. Rhett and Emory were badly hurt, bitten and traumatized by the attack. It was his fault. He had let it happen.

“Stop it,” Tom muttered.

Rick looked over to him. Tom was sitting on the bed next to him, arms folded, but he was not staring at him but at the air over him. When Tom saw him look, Tom squeezed out a smile and said, “I’m not talking to you. I’m talking to your imps. They’re telling you stupid stuff. Don’t listen to them.”

Sighing, Rick closed his eyes. Those negative thoughts seemed to go away. It was strange how Tom put things in perspective. Those destructive thoughts weren’t all him. Those imps were feasting on his misery. But he still felt he deserved some punishment for what had happened.

“Thanks,” Rick whispered.

“You’re doing better,” Tom murmured. “The death angels are gone.”

Rick closed one eye then peered at him. “Death angel?”

Tom paled a little, flustering. He hadn’t meant to say that.

“Don’t worry about it,” Rick waved into the air in front of him. “Roddy Mayhem told me all about them. It’s not a big secret. Roddy said they followed me.”

Cringing, Tom closed his eyes. He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I should have told you. They just give me the creeps.”

Sitting in the silence of the hospital room, listening to the beep-beep of his heart monitor, Rick sighed again. He then glanced to Tom once more. Attempting to sit up a little despite the itching pain of his wounds and new stiches, he said, “How long do we need to be here? I don’t really think we should stay in Paris long.”

Tom nodded with a solid frown. “I know. But you lost a lot of blood. And those bites were infectious.”

Rick snorted. “Please. They can’t pass onto me what I don’t already have.”

Smothering a chuckle, Tom nodded. He lifted his head a little. The mood in the room seemed to lighten.

But one thing came back into Rick’s head. He voiced it. “What do we tell Jordan’s family? We have to call them…. And the nurses won’t let me use a cell phone in the hospital.”

“I’ll call them,” Tom said. “You don’t have your phone anyway. Semour’s got it.”

Rick shook his head. “It should come from me.”

Tom laughed dryly. “No. You are in recovery. I’ll call your father and talk with him. He can call them. He should know especially.”

That, Rick realized, was the best solution. He nodded and lay back into his pillow.

Tom left the room to make the call. He went to find a place where it was quiet and the cell phone use would not mess with the machines. As he was gone, Rick fell asleep, and he did not wake until someone nudged him—someone who smelled like wolf.

He jumped, eyes open. His gray gaze whipped onto a woman in a nurse’s uniform who had crystal blue eyes and