Wolverton, Julie Steimle [interesting novels in english .txt] 📗

pants and shirt, his shoes were still back at the factory. And he felt a little strange asking around for someone to loan him their shoes for a while. It wasn’t like they were in a bowling alley.

“What’s an imp?” Kurt asked.

“A little invisible devil,” Rick explained.

Looking around more, Rick realized he had nothing to do.  It wasn’t even lunch yet, and he was bored. They had another three hours at least. When he saw Kurt’s dumbfounded stare, Rick realized the boy had not quite believed his words. “I’m not making this up. My old roommate back in New York where I went for school for three years was also half-imp, and half-human. He could go semi-invisible and walk through walls, among other things. I also had a friend who was bitten by a vampire, one who was cursed to be a witches’ familiar, and another guy who could read thoughts—besides Chen whom I told you about. The shapeshifter. And I dated a part-siren once. Or maybe she was part dryad. You know, a water nymph.”

Kurt’s face was blank with overwhelm.

“Too much information?” seeing his expression, Rick asked, cringing.

Kurt nodded a little. Then he leaned near to him, whispering with peeks around them. “Don’t tell the other wolves this. I believe you, but… the elders might call you a—”

“Heretic,” Rick said, nodding. “I know.”

Kurt stared more, pulling back.

“If you remember me saying,” Rick sighed with a look to rundown houses around him, “you are not the first wolf pack I have run across.”

His words seemed to daze the boy. Nodding, slowly, almost in a fog, Kurt turned then shrugged.

“Ok.” Kurt shook it off and squared his shoulders again. “How about we both find the guys and play a game of ball, or something?”

It sounded like a good idea, but Rick stuck out one of his bare feet. “I don’t have any shoes.”

Laughing, Kurt slapped Rick on the back. “No problem. We all like playing barefoot anyway.”

He took Rick through the town to a grassy place which they all called the 'Lot'. It was clearing surrounded by trees. Probably a park, or an abandoned school ground. Some young boys were already playing there on a rusty looking jungle gym. On the far part of the Lot was a baseball diamond. Several boys were playing there with a worn baseball and bat. In the distance he could see an old school building, though all the windows were broken. He had a feeling these children were more the homeschooled type. You didn’t need a superintendent or secretarial offices while homeschooling. And any old building would do for classes.

“So, what’s your sport?” Kurt asked, walking backward over the dirt road to the grass.

Chuckling to himself, amused really that he was being led around by a sixteen-year-old, Rick said, “Basketball.”

Kurt halted. “Basketball? That is not exactly a pack sport.”

“Are you kidding? It is way more of a pack sport than baseball,” Rick said pointing to the diamond on the Lot.

Kurt gasped, laughing at the same time though pretending to be affronted. “But baseball is an all-American sport!”

“So is basketball,” Rick looked around for a hoop. There were three backboards near the buildings, but all the hoops were missing. “American invented.”

“How about a game of touch football?” A young man, definitely older than Kurt and Rick called out to them, tossing up a football and catching it again.

Rick lifted his feet. “No shoes.”

Laughing, the man immediately kicked off his shoes and tore off his socks.

Sharing a look with Kurt, Rick smiled. “Are you game?”

Kurt nodded, grinning.  

 

The game started with six players then expanded to ten versus ten as they continued to play. Most of the men involved were in their late teens to mid-twenties, though one tall twelve-year-old joined the fray. But then he was the son of Mac Ulfur—Leo Ulfur. And Leo was quick.

A considerable crowd gathered on the sidelines to watch, first young boys but later a string of young ladies, clustering in gaggles while cheering and giggling. Rick didn’t notice them at all until Wilk MacTire, their twenty-something teammate, pointed them out. “It looks like the ladies all came out in search of fresh meat.”

“Too bad no one is selling,” Rick shot back, and continued to play.

Kurt laughed at that, nodding.

The game lasted a little over an hour. By that time, everyone was worn out. It had been a rough-and-tumble game. And luckily no one got anything worse than a scrape or two. Rick was comparing grass stains and a tear in his pants on one knee with his new buddies Wulf Woods, Wilk MacTire, Luko Hunter—and of course Kurt. Kurt was goofing with his friends mostly, though. He introduced his pals Farkas Wollef, Lobo Vilkas, Lukas Tracker, and Thomas Blaidd (whose name was also pronounced Blithe but was spelled the old Welsh way). Which led Rick to ask: “I’d hate to be rude, but why do all of you have such unusual names?”

Wilk MacTire explained it, winking. “All our names mean wolf, just in different languages.”

Rick stared. “What?”

“It is sort of an inside joke,” Luko Hunter said. “We are all named Wolf. Some of us Wolf Wolf.”

Shaking his head, Rick laughed deep and hard. Why didn’t he see it before? Wolverton. A town full of people called Wolf. Of course, real wolves did not have names. Naming was a human thing.

“Well, why are you named what you are named? Howard Richard Deacon the Third?” Wilk laughed.

Shrugging, Rick said, “My grandfather took on the name of the man he assassinated when he went into human society, only he twisted it around a bit. We just perpetuated it.”

Everyone hushed. Wilk and all the other man-wolves around stared at him.  

“Assassinated?” Thomas Blaidd echoed, entirely shocked.

Rick nodded. “Well, yeah. My grandfather was born a wolf.”

Several of them pulled back, nodding. “Oh…”

But he knew that ‘Oh’ really meant they understood that he was a heretic in their understanding of werewolf lore. It was wise to leave the argument alone, as his father had warned that pack wolves could become extremely violent in defending their moon cult beliefs.

Smiling at him, Wilk jumped the subject, almost like an evangelical preacher. “So… you are not versed in moon lore?”

He really was liking these people. And though he understood why Kurt’s mother was tense, for a wolf like him this was downright friendly.

Chuckling, Rick shook his head. “I’ve read Blood and Chocolate.”

The wolves around him laughed.

“That’s a piece of fiction,” Luko Hunter said, amused.

“I’m glad you agree,” Rick murmured, more relieved.

They smiled at him. They got a little nearer, more friendly like.

“No.” Wilk came closer to Rick with a genuine smile. “What we are talking about is celebrating our lunar rites. Embracing the wolf that is in you.”

“Are you interested at all in learning about the supernal gifts of the monthly moon rites?” Wulf Woods asked. His eyes shone with honest hope.

With the three older werewolves watching him, Rick felt a little small. These pack wolves were physically strong, robust, and very different from the French pack he had tangled with. The French were remarkably human in their feel. Their wolfishness had been more like a fashion statement. These werewolves were animal, alive, and passionate. Their unity was fluid and natural. Being among them was like hearing his own heartbeat.

But Rick shook his head while he said, “I’m not really interested. I grew up in a witch town, and I don’t think the paradigm of my existence is going to change that much.”

Wilk and the others around him looked dismayed, but not upset. It was more like they pitied him. He could almost feel the loss. It was like they were mourning that he was missing out on something great, and it kind of made him want to know what that was.

“Well, that’s a shame,” Wilk said. “You’re still welcome to join us for the bonfire though. And the hunt.”

“Tell me about the hunt,” Rick said. He sat with them on the grass, wondering about what he had seen and smelled the night before at a distance.

They smiled at him, all enthusiasm returning.

“Well,” Wilk’s eyes were shining, “At the bonfire, the ceremony is mostly for the young unmarried folk. We get together, ladies on one side and men on the other, and we prepare for the change.”

Rick peered at him, wondering what that meant.

“As the elders release a few deer into the wild for the hunt, we wait upon the moon for the first change.”

“The first change?” Rick stared at him, confused. “What do you mean by that?”

Nodding, Wilk said, “The first wolf who changes by the force of the moon leads the hunt.”

He had made it sound so exciting, but Rick was disappointed. Huffing, Rick rolls his eyes. “You’re kidding me. I could change right now. Would that effect the ritual?”

They stared at him, not believing.

“He’s a mingled-soul,” Kurt cut in. He and his friends had been chatting nearby, also listening in. “Transformation should be entirely easy for him. He could probably do partial.”

“Partial?”

Eyes whipped on Rick more intensely.

Huffing, Rick decided to demonstrate. Shaking his head, as it made it easier to transform without it hurting so much, Rick became wolf in three seconds, rippling from the top all the way down to his sprouting an elongating tail, shortening legs, with thick hair growth. The crowd drew in breaths. He then shook it off again, shedding hair. Rick struggled with his feet, as his claws had caught in the inside of his pants and it took a second to kick them loose.

Shuddering, he then shook out his shirt with his hands, as loose hair was now in it. “I hate that.”

“Wow.” Kurt, and all his friends looked impressed.

So did the older wolves.

The girls from the sidelines clapped. Some of them had drifted in, smiling at him like he was a fresh, whipped cream topped, chocolate pie. He had seen that look before, and he groaned inside. The last time was in Paris. Eager young she-wolves. He wondered if the elders had said something to them. He wouldn’t put it past wolves eager for new blood to pull something sneaky.

“That is amazing,” Luko said. “I only know a few who can change that easily. And they are all older wolves.”

Rick shrugged. “I’m third generation.”

Wilk and his pals nodded.

“So in your case, you would have to resist as long as you can,” Wilk murmured. He stared at Rick as if he were seeing gold. “…When we’re at the bonfire.”

“Resist…” Rick nodded to himself. That made sense. “Resisting the moon is a lot harder.”

All the wolves looked impressed.

“One with the moon,” some muttered.

Chuckling, Wilk shook his head. “It really is a shame you aren’t interested in lunar rites. It would completely help you. Transform your life.”

“In what way?” Rick was amused that they were so persistent. At least they weren’t mean about it. “Would it keep hunters off my back? Or the witches in my hometown at bay?”

“Witches?” some of the wolves murmured.

Kurt averted his eyes, pretending he hadn’t heard such things, or believed them. He was shooting Rick looks also which were telling him to quit talking so openly about that.

Sadly shaking his head at him, Wilk replied, “It would bring you inner peace.”

Rick smirked. He was sounding like a Zen master.

“Because you seem like a wolf who doesn’t like being a wolf,” Wilk added.

Rick stiffened.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” Wilk raised his eyebrows. Sympathy was in his eyes.

Shaking his head, Rick sighed. “I had a pretty good life before I found out I was a werewolf.”

They could not argue with that. They already knew he had transformed when he was older. Rumor had spread.

“How sad,” one of the watching girls murmured.

“He’s a pretty good looking wolf,” another she-wolf said.

“I know.”

He felt like a piece of meat all of a sudden. He could feel the hunger in those she-wolves’ gazing at him. Up above the men sitting together, the she-wolves had converged. Each one was dressed not just prettily, but loosely. And the aromas of their pheromones were drifting to his