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

understand, and he had no desire to make their grief worse.

But at the hospital where Rhett and Emory shared a room, it was a different sort of meeting. And only Tom came with him. Andy had to get back to his hospital.

Both friends tensed up when they saw Rick enter the room.

They could see Rick was scarred. It wasn’t just the deep scratches, bite marks and bandages either. It was in his eyes. His gray wolf eyes were haunted—and they finally understood why he had looked that way at times in the past. Rick could hardly speak when he stepped through the doorway and saw them. And they, staring back at him, trembled.

“I won’t come in if you don’t want me to,” Rick said, showing them he wouldn’t.

Emory looked likely to pee himself. Rhett had jerked back, his leg, or what was left of it, aching. It was as if he could feel those wolves eating into it again. Their howls echoed in his mind and the darkness of that forest mentally enveloped them again

Tom stood behind Rick, looming tall in the doorway. And when they saw him, they relaxed. Tom had saved their life, after all—even if he had covered them in honey.

“Come in,” Emory said.

Rick took two steps inside. He lowered his eyes to the ground, his mouth going dry. He finally whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“What’s that?” Rhett asked, anger rising in his chest now. It was insane. All the fury and confusion of the past few days tore at his insides. One issue had eaten at him—that Rick was a werewolf and had not told them. “You’re sorry?”

Lifting his eyes, grieving, Rick said, “I tried to stop you.”

“Couldn’t you have just said, ‘Don’t go there. They are werewolves.’?” Rhett huffed, not quite ready to actually grab Rick to punch him, though he wanted to. The memory of Rick becoming a wolf at that castle, covered in Jordan’s blood, was still fresh in his mind.  

“Like you would have believed that!” Rick protested, gape-mouthed. “I told you they were crazy.”

“You could have shown us you were a werewolf!” Rhett snapped, unable to hold it in.

Huffing, Rick took a distressed step back. “And what good would have that done?” He shook his head. “You would have peed your pants, and then I would have hunters on my back! You have no idea how scary it is having people shooting at you every month just for being different!”

“Different?” Emory paled, appalled really. Being a werewolf wasn’t just being different. It wasn’t like he was a persecuted minority. Yet… Rick had just said he got shot at every month, and Emory had never really met another werewolf before.

“It’s better than having your leg bit off!” Rhett shouted back, his anger dominated in the room.

“I’m sorry!” Rick shouted. Then he collapsed to his knees, crying. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want any of you to get hurt.”

They both stared at him. The man was crying. The werewolf was crying.

Tom stood back, not interfering, though he had pulled the door closed for privacy.

Emory walked around the bed, peering down at Rick whom he could see was heavily bandaged and in severe pain. He remembered the fight back at the castle. He and that German werewolf had been teeth and claws on each other.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry….” Rick sobbed, crouched like he was begging.

Exhaling, Emory whispered, “What happened to Jordan?”

Rick sniffed, not looking up. “They ate his face off. I tried to stop it….”

“Have you ever eaten anyone?” Emory asked, not raising his voice.

Rick looked up quickly, agony all over him. “No. Not ever. I wouldn’t.”

“Because your mom is a human?” Rhett asked with remains of bite in his voice, though it was diminishing.

Rising, Rick straightened up with cringes of pain. “No. Because it is disgusting. You don’t eat people. Why should I?”

They stared at him. Was he asking them?

“Because, you’re a wolf man,” Rhett said, astonished it was a question.

Rick closed his eyes, cringing. They had seen that look before. Rick made those faces whenever he thought they were being ridiculously blind over something he strongly believed in—things like hard work made a man and that not all rich folk were evil. Political issues usually.

“Or did we imagine that?” Emory asked.

Rhett shot him a dirty look. Of course they had not imagined it.

Shaking his head, Rick sighed with resignation. Immediately, he shook out into wolf form, dropping on all paws. He was still in clothes, though his shoes had dropped off his feet.

Both Emory and Rhett jumped back.

But just as quickly, Rick shook it off and shed all his hair, pulling into human form again. His feet filled out and his claws made holes in his socks.

“Ow…” Rick groaned, rolling over on the floor to his back, not getting up.

Tom hopped down slapping his head. “I told you not to do that. It messes up your stitches.”

“Sorry,” Rick murmured to him, staring up, but not moving.

Emory and Rhett crept close again. They peered down at him. They knew what they just saw. Rick had become a wolf with the same rusty hair and gray eyes as the man that now lay helpless and in pain on the floor. Both were real. And the proof of it—his shed fur was all around him and in his clothes.  

Tom bent down and pulled Rick to his feet, dusting the fur off with a cranky grunt.

“How long have you known?” Rhett asked Tom accusatorily.

Snorting, Tom said while helping Rick stand, “Since day one. It’s why he went to my school.”

They stared more. What school was that again? Jordan was the one who knew, but he was no longer there to tell them. Some private school in New York City.

Rick rubbed where his bandages had slipped. The fur had loosened them. Seeing it, Tom groaned. He grabbed the back of Rick’s shirt to pull it off. “Idiot. We now have to rewrap you.”

“Sorry,” Rick apologized again. He was staring at the floor.

“Stop it,” Tom snapped.

“Sorry,” Rick muttered again, quieter.

“Not you. Your imps,” Tom bit back. He then waved the air over Rick’s head as if batting away mosquitoes. Both Rhett and Emory would have considered him crazy if they had not already seen Tom defy gravity and make honey appear out of nowhere while battling a pack of werewolves in a German forest.

Tom then looked to them. “Come on. Admit that he saved your skin. That you were idiots and didn’t listen to him. Wolf boy has been beating himself up over you guys getting hurt—when it was mostly your fault for not listening to him in the first place when he told you to leave Cochem when he wanted you to.”

Emory and Rhett stepped back, both paling. Of course they were equally guilty. They knew it. But it was becoming easy to blame the werewolf. They were angry. They were scared. And they recently had a visit from some guys out of that freak group called the Supernatural Regulator’s Association who had demanded the facts about the man-eating werewolves in Germany and Rick’s part in it. Those people had been furious when they had left, especially under the clear comprehension that Rick Deacon had not led them to Cochem, but was trying desperately to get them far from it. Emory and Rhett’s heads had been muddled since.

“Don’t trust the SRA,” Tom said, reading their dark thoughts.

“The SRA was here?” Rick lifted up his head, his muscles tensing. He looked to Emory then Rhett. “Hey. Whatever you do, don’t cooperate with them.”

“Why?” Rhett asked with renewed distrust. “Because they are hunters?”

Rick shook his head. “No. Because they use people. As bait.”

They stared, not quite believing. They knew those SRA men were freaky, but… they hunted monsters. They were the good guys. Or so they said.

“Tell them about Stewart McGivens,” Tom interjected.

Rick closed his eyes and groaned. “You tell them. My head hurts.”

Cringing, Tom gently rubbed Rick’s scalp. He had been the one slapping it after all. Then he tugged at Rick’s loose bandages. “You take these off and shake out the fur. I’ll get fresh ones and explain.”

Nodding, Rick obeyed, peeling up the edges.

Emory and Rhett watched as both men, whom they realized they hardly knew, went about treating shed wolf hair in bandages. All the while Tom casually narrated why the SRA were such a dangerous deal.

“It’s simple,” Tom said, shaking out Rick’s cast off shirt and begging next for his pants. “Stewart McGivens, whom you can google and contact and everything, was just like you. Normal guy. Full of himself. One of those New York socialites from what’s-it, Junior League. And he found out Rick was a werewolf. And after all his stupid research, he decided to aid the SRA in getting rid of a monster.”

He then helped Rick peel off his lower bandages. More hair shed onto the floor, and more scars and wounds were revealed. Rick had bites everywhere. Much of his skin was recently stitched together where severe claw marks had dug in. He wasn’t quite Frankenstein’s monster, but he was near to it. The worst of the damage was near his neck and along his back. They could see how those wolves had pounced on him and what parts they had targeted. Even they could see those wolves were trying to kill Rick. It was amazing Rick was still standing.

“…And the SRA pretty much stabbed Stewart in the back—figuratively, I mean. They dumped some kind of chicken sauce on him and made him smell like a chicken dinner—then they put him out as bait for Rick. And he didn’t even realize it until too late.”

Emory drew in a breath. “What?”

“I’ll even give you Stewart’s email,” Rick said, nodding, He dusted off his shed fur from his tender skin. “You can commiserate. The guy flinches whenever he sees me now, but he knows I’m not going to hurt him.”

“But they made him smell like chicken dinner?” Rhett said, confused.

“Rick’s favorite food,” Tom replied matter-of-factly.

Both Emory and Rhett heaved an understanding sigh. It was like an old joke, really. Of course Rick was not a man-eater. He was a chicken-eater. Rick knew where every chicken restaurant was in their town. Jordan used to tease him about it all the time.

Jordan.

They stared at Rick. His stooped posture seemed like he was carrying the weight of the world on his back. The pain in his shoulders wasn’t just from his wounds. His utter grief overwhelmed him. All those bites and scars. He had tried everything to save them when he could not stop them.

“I just want to say, it is extremely smart that you haven’t told werewolf stories to the media,” Rick murmured, not looking at them. “Not just for me, but for you. Those that would know about the werewolf connection would figure it out without a problem. Those that wouldn’t believe it would have had you all locked up. It happened to my mother.”

They exchanged looks. Then Emory said, “Did you attack your mother as a kid?”

“No.” Rick stared at the floor.  

“That’s an SRA lie,” Tom added, his expression hard. He already started wrapping Rick’s wounds again. It was amazing how gentle he was being too. Tom did not seem at all his usual light-mannered self. But then why would he be?

Emory and Rhett drew in another calming breath.

“But she did see me change, and she freaked out,” Rick said, subdued.

They stared. Yet thinking on it, they knew that of course she freaked out. They had freaked out. Everything all made sense now—all the rumors. How Rick acted and why he avoided crowds and certain things like silver and Italian food. He was meticulously carful. He had to be.

“Did you each eat an entire garlic bulb?—as I’m sure Dan and James probably told you,” Rick asked, lifting his eyes to Emory and Rhett now, worry in his grays.

They nodded, grimacing. Daniel and James both forced them to eat not just garlic cloves but the papery skins of the garlic and the tough core—the entire