The Loup Garou Society, Julie Steimle [reading tree txt] 📗

wolves all the time, enticing them to sow their wild oats among the she-wolves of the pack to increase diversity in their gene pool. But thinking about it, their mothers were sure to have told their children. How many children could claim to be offspring of a world-renown multi-billionaire? How many women could resist bragging the connection? There had to be resentment.

“If I knew who they were,” his father murmured, almost to himself, “I’d offer to take them home with us. I’d pay for anything they needed. I… I feel wretched for what I have done. Because I know what it is like to lose a father and a mother. No one deserves that.”

Rick lowered his eyes to his knees. Normally he would have retorted with some remark about his mother leaving them, but in this case it did not seem fair to kick a man when he was down—worse to pull a suffering wolf’s tail.

“Is there some way to fix it?” Rick muttered.

His father, sighed and shrugged. “I am glad you are handling this news with maturity. And, I don’t know. I wish I knew a way to fix it.”

Rick turned his eyes to look out the window. They were nearly there. He could see Notre Dame from his window.

“But if for some reason you find out who they are,” his father whispered as if it were a painful wish, “let me know. I want to help them if I can.”

Rick nodded. So did he, though the idea that he was not actually an only child felt foreign still.

“And whatever you do,” his father said in a louder voice as they pulled to the curb, “Don’t let them trick you into doing the same as I did. Year after year they have been asking me to perform them the same ‘service’ as I had that one time. And each year I have refused.”

Rick stared at him again. This was the father knew. And now he comprehended why his father had been so strict with him. He didn’t want Rick to make the same mistakes as he did. And no wonder. The repercussions affected more than just himself.

“I need you to stay strong, as I know they will approach you,” his father said.

Rick nodded. “Got it.”

And the conversation was over.

The chauffer came out and opened the door.

Rick was not familiar with this driver, who was from the Loup Garou. Though, with one look at the man’s eyes Rick knew he was also a wolf. His eyes were amber like his father’s, though this man's hair was darker, almost black but dusty like ashy charcoal. It really wasn’t the hair color or eye color that gave him away though. It was his smell and the furry texture to his hair. The French driver also watched them with the patience of a wolf as they climbed out of the vehicle.

“Dad…” Rick turned from his rude staring toward his father who walked up the front steps to the established old-French building. “Whatever happened to Henry? I thought he was supposed to come with us on this trip?”

His father flinched, shaking his head. “As much as I appreciate Henry’s loyalty to our family, I did not want him surrounded by so many wolves. Besides, his main charge is to manage our affairs at home.”

“Are you afraid the Loup Garou would hurt Henry?” Rick asked, concern creasing his brow as Henry had been his father’s chauffer at home for years, a good friend of the family, and their most recent steward after the death of Lewis who had been murdered by the SRA on a full moon.

“We will not discuss this further,” his father replied, going to the doors, which had now been opened for them. “As were are now in Loup Garou territory, and guests.”

 

Wild Oats

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Two

 

 

 

Going into the interior of the Loup Garou Society building was like stepping back in time. That’s not to say they didn’t have electric lights or the modern conveniences as wifi, but that the décor was outstandingly traditional French. From the chairs to the chandeliers and everything in between, it had that old Marie Antoinette feel to it. Rick half expected someone to say “Let them eat cake” with someone else screaming “Off with her head!”

While he looked around, his mind was full of French clichés from Pepe Le Pew to the beret-topped mustached man carrying baguettes and wearing a striped black and white shirt. Of course, the people inside were dressed in proper business attire, suits and jackets, and they were speaking way beyond what his high school French class had taught him. He understood only very little of the greeting.

His father spoke fluent French. “Good afternoon, gentlemen. I hope you did not wait long for our arrival.”

“Not at all. Not at all.” The Frenchman then directed his father into the room, “Please, if you would follow me.”

They followed the Frenchman into side hall which took them down a long corridor. The French had a collection of various art. It was all tastefully decorated, with hardly an indication that it was a wolf-run let alone wolf-loving establishment. It almost made Rick laugh, as his home back in Massachusetts was obsessively covered in wolf art. In fact, at Deacon Manor, there was hardly a picture in the place without a wolf in it.

“Are you enjoying the art?” the Frenchman directed his question at Rick.

“He doesn’t speak enough French yet,” his father said.

“Really?” the Frenchman turned his attentions to his father again, looking mildly surprised. “But you said he has had three years of it.”

His father weakly chuckled, apology in his voice. “Yes. But three years of unfocused study, I’m afraid. He hasn’t quite taken it as seriously as his other courses. He’s actually been trying to get me to switch him to Mandarin Chinese.”

“Chinese?” the Frenchman looked a little affronted. “Whatever for?”

“He thinks China will soon drive the market,” his father said.

The Frenchman huffed. “But they focus on learning English in their schools. He doesn’t need to learn Chinese. You had better tell him that his relations with the Loup Garou are more important than a business venture in China.”

There was something in his father’s looks that said that Mr. Deacon was silently disagreeing with whatever had been said, yet was too polite to continue the argument.

They were taken to a set of wide double doors of a locked room where the doors were soon immediately opened for them. Directly, they were shown to two chairs in which they could sit while they awaited their alerted hosts.

The wait was only five minutes, though it might as well have been five hours, as Rick felt every second. Rick had the uncomfortable and oppressive feeling that he was being watched and analyzed from all angles. Of course the room did have security cameras, but the servants also were in the room, standing at attention with stoic expressions while they waited. He figured they were low-level wolves within the organization, as he didn’t think the Loup Garou were the type to employ humans in a place where wolf-conversations could be overheard. His father had bragged that they had impeccable security.

Rick fidgeted with the fringe on the chair, almost unraveling it. He tried to sit on his hands when his father gave him a look, but he soon was distracted by the paintings and molding on the ceiling, which was positively from another era. The fresco above was a collection of strangely posed half-naked women and men with cherubs, animals and random scenes of… well, he couldn’t quite figure it out. It was like Rembrandt just decided to doodle one day. It encircled the entire ceiling. Rick turned his head to follow it.

“Son!”

Rick’s eyes popped down again, self-conscious.

His father stared at him. “Please.”

Blushing, Rick stared at the floor.

The carpet under his shoes was patterned funny. Rick shifted his foot to uncover it, tracing the route of the threads with his eyes. He followed the pattern up to the table between his and his father’s chair. He noticed his father staring disapprovingly at him. Quickly, he averted his eyes to the door.

The door didn’t open for another two minutes. By that time, Rick was wondering what his buddy Andrew Cartwright was doing while he was abroad. Most likely Andrew, whom he called Abey but everybody else called Andy, was hanging out with his girlfriend, Jessica, and participating in Medieval Club with their other friends—probably preparing for their annual Renaissance fair and mock war. Though Rick wasn’t a fan of LARP’ing[1] like his friends were, he loved hanging around during all their sword play and crazy antics, which strangely made him feel safe—which is the opposite of what he felt when the doors did open.

The pressure in the air seemed to change. It felt heavier, surrounding the three individuals who stepped first into the room. Two others followed them, trailed by the driver who had fetched them from the airport. The driver held a nondescript expression, not really meeting Rick’s gaze as he watched all of the French stride into the room almost with royal pomp.

The center man reminded Rick of a Lord of the Rings elf, with nearly whitish hair—which in actuality was short and close to his head. Rick half expected to see pointed ears, but he had none. Shiny, rich blue eyes gazed out from that elvish face with a smile that Rick almost described as hungry. This man’s eyes greeted Mr. Deacon with pleasure and raked over Rick like he would a juicy lamb. Next to that man on his left, was a dark-skinned fellow with cinnamon-touched black hair which on first appearance seemed to be salon-tipped styling, but Rick recognized as a rare wolf hair trait. It was likely this man was foreign import who had found his refuge among the Loup Garou like his father had. And the man on the elvish-wolf's right turned out to be a butch woman with robust blonde curls pulled back from her face and pink-rubbed cheeks which reminded Rick of Norman Rockwell’s take on Rosie the Riveter. She was dressed in business slacks and carried herself like a bear. The two behind them—ignoring the driver—were lean and very French looking. Almost cliché—without the mustache, clothing style, and baguettes. Yet one had a mustache.

Immediately the leader spoke in solid French. Rick understood none of it. He tried not to look bored as the man and his father talked. Rick attempted to pick up a few words here and there, but really it was useless. To be frank, he sort of let his French study slip that last year. He had told his father it would be more useful if he studied Chinese, specifically Mandarin, as that was where the world’s business was going. But his father plainly said that it was more pertinent that he learn French. Up until now, that remark had made no sense. The French economy was tanking, and Deacon Enterprises hardly did much business with them that couldn’t be handled with the EU altogether. Of course, that was before he realized that he had brothers and sisters who probably only spoke French.

“‘E looks bored,” one of the Frenchmen said.

It broke Rick out of his thoughts. His