The Loup Garou Society - Julie Steimle (most romantic novels TXT) 📗

just in time.” Margarete shook her head. “I knew them, you see. I went to culinary school with their eldest daughter—”

“You went to culinary school?” Rick listened with bated breath. That was interesting.

“Don’t interrupt,” Margarete snapped with a huff at him. “It is very bad manners.” She shook her head, growing more irritated. “Now, what was I saying?”

“You went to culinary school with their eldest daughter,” he said, rolling his hand to urge her on.

But her train of thought had been derailed. She shook her head irritably. “The point is, they kind of owe me.”

She had skipped what exactly she had done. His fault, of course. He’ll have to ask about that later.

“Ok.” He sat back then tasted his drink.

It was weird. He couldn’t detect any fruit flavor though. More like milk.

Setting the strange drink down, Rick asked what was most on his mind, “Can you tell me who…?” He shook his head. “I don’t know how to phrase this. But, you admitted to being my sister. Do you know the others that Dad…? That… Our other brother and sisters. How many? Who are they? Did the pack also keep you in the dark over who my other brothers and sisters are?”

She gazed at him, amused and pleased at how uncomfortable he was speaking about that topic. Her shining blue eyes said volumes. One page of it found him refreshingly naïve. The other chapters were full of critical judgement on his upbringing, probably relating to this goddess Diana she had mentioned twice now. What had his father said? These wolves were like those in Blood and Chocolate? The probably saw him as some kind of infidel. She was inspecting him, assessing him—and she thought he was cute. Little brother cute… which on the whole was a relief. He didn’t want any weirder family relationship things going on.

Margarete scratched her chin, obviously asking herself if she ought to tell him. Then she shrugged, making up her mind. “There were seven.”

He stared. That was about half of the women his father had hooked up with. He watched her draw in a breath, chuckling to herself as she described it with a tone of age-old pain and yet amusement—as if she was tired of being angry about it.

“He had four girls and three boys: Claude, Henri, Remy, myself, Genevieve, Louisa, and Marie. Claude was the oldest.”

Rick leaned forward in his chair, listening intently. This was what he wanted to know.

“Genevieve and I were born later, within the same week,” she said. “Genevieve is older—and we look nothing alike.”

He scratched his head. Yeah… different mothers. Margarete didn’t look a thing like him. Her hair was chestnut in color. Her nose was actually more angular than his father’s, pointy almost. Her features were a little elvish, which supported his theory that she had to be related to the white wolf in some way.

“My sister Marie was born the same day as Remy. And Henri and Louisa were born two days after—one in the morning and the other at night.” She then chuckled wearily. “It is funny, because out of all of us, Henri and Louisa are the only ones who fully cooperate with the elders of the pack.”

“Fully cooperate?” Rick wasn’t sure that that meant.

She nodded. “You claim our father was manipulated by the Loup Garou and is in some kind of agreement with them to pay out… some kind of ransom?”

“Membership fee,” Rick murmured. “But it’s a lot more than anything normal. I’m sure he has been paying for livelihoods of his children.”

Margarete huffed. He watched her shake her head, her hair slipping a little from her quick bun.  

“That’s not true?” he asked.

She met his gaze. Taking hold of his right hand, she said, “We don’t get any of that money unless we obey the wishes of the elders.”

Somehow he had feared it was something like that. Why else would they not tell his father who his children were? It was extortion against both sides. They were all being used. “That’s slavery.”

Margarete blinked, registering that concept then nodded. “Well, yes. Basically. Though I had seen it more as prostitution. We have no choice but to obey them.” But then she chuckled, looking away as if the very conversation was funny. “But… as I said, only two of us completely obey the elders’ wishes.”

That sick feeling had nearly sunk into Rick’s stomach. He wasn’t sure if it was the drink or the realization that he and his father had stepped into a sand trap. Or quicksand. He looked to her. “What are the elders’ terms?”

She nodded, approving of the question. “Because we are of Alpha wolf lineage, close to the source, we must—by mandate—breed as much as possible.”

He stared at her, not quite understanding. “Breed as much as possible? You mean like…”

Amusement returned to her face. She nodded. “Yes. I said it was like prostitution. I and my sisters have to get pregnant as much as possible, then pass on the children we birth each to a wolf couple to raise. While my brothers must impregnate as many willing she-wolves as possible.”

He definitely was going to throw up. This was worse than he had suspected. Shaking his head, he clenched his teeth. “Where do they get off—?” He growled. “What right do they have to—?”

“They are the elders,” Margarete said, shrugging, but visibly glad he was upset on her behalf. “What they say is the law of the pack.”

“Bull crap.” Rick rose, pacing the room. He couldn’t just sit there. He wanted to do something. He had to stop those nasty French wolves.

“Don’t you mean wolf-crap?” She chuckled.

He shook his head. “No. Real wolves don’t behave like this.”

His words struck her like an electric shock. She pulled back in silence, her shining blue eyes watching him. She blinked her curled and heavily mascaraed lashes, thinking hard on that idea. He wondered briefly if she had ever met a pure, natural born wolf.

But what about the rest? This was a bad scene. What could he tell his father? That the Loup Garou were pimping out his brothers and sisters to perpetuate some kind of cultish bloodline? That his grandkids were being passed out on some kind of werewolf trafficking ring? His father, Rick realized while examining the age of Margarete and guessing how old they must have started her on this freaky breeding path, could easily be a grandfather already.

“What do you mean?” she asked, going back to his previous statement about how real wolves behaved.

Moaning, he said, “Look, I’ve been among real wolf packs. I’m not meaning werewolves, either. Wolf-wolves. Pure blood wolf. And wolves don’t behave so tyrannically. This—breeding program—is all human nonsense.”

She stared more, mildly affronted. He must have offended some kind of pack sensibility, or something about her goddess. But he didn’t care. He could only imagine what his nieces and nephews might be feeling, passed around like chattel, possibly to be used for breeding in the future.

“This has nothing to do with humans,” she said. “It is the will of the pack.”

He groaned, feeling his chest tighten and his stomach churn. He wished these people were not so indoctrinated. They were more like sheep than wolves. But he decided to change the subject. There had to be something he could do to fix this mess. Looking toward her, he said, “How many grandchildren do you think Dad has now?”

She stared, still annoyed at how he was addressing this. Yet she said, “I don’t know. I’m not sure how many children Louisa has had. And Henri doesn’t exactly keep track of the she-wolves he gets pregnant.”

Rick waited for more. There had to be more. But she just stared back at him.

“Wait a minute.” He took a step towards her. “That’s just two people. Didn’t you say Dad had seven kids?”

Nodding while looking weary, Margarete replied, “That’s right.”

Then it clicked. She had said only two fully cooperated. Fully cooperated. That implied partial cooperation. The question was, which part? He scratched his chin, and eyed her as he said, “You’re not telling me the whole story. You are saying only this On-ree and Louisa have fully cooperated. What about the rest of you?”

She chuckled, nodding with pleasure that he picked up on that at last. Peeking to the door, Margarete said, “The rest of us… have what the pack call the Deacon nature of 'unpredictable wildness'.”

He choked on a laugh, stopping himself before it burst out entirely. “Nature of what?”

Light confusion passed over her as she attempted to clarify her meaning, “The elders say Deacon blood is violently rebellious. It is why your father has not returned to the pack as he ought—”

Rick smothered another laugh. Were the Loup Garou assuming his father was their property now? Didn’t they comprehend he was a free wolf?

“—or how it has taken him this long to bring you here.” She gazed at him disapprovingly, yet at the same time amused at how he found it all ludicrous.

“And, uh,” Rick tried not to laugh at her, “how does this wildness manifest in you?”

Blinking her painted lashes at him, she said, “I don’t agree to their terms at all. I intend to fall in love with one wolf and marry. And I intend to keep my cubs.”

Shaking his head, he could not stop from chuckling. “Sounds like an ordinary wolf to me….”

She smiled. In fact, she beamed at him. It was like he had given her the best compliment ever.

Then she whispered, “I knew it. I knew it. The goddess would not have approved of their scheme. It just didn’t feel right. It was tearing Marie apart. She couldn’t do it. She could not give away either one of her cubs, even though they had different fathers and were promised a future.”

Rick sobered immediately. “Wait a second. One of my—our sisters tried to obey, but then kept her children?”

Margarete nodded.

He sighed, breathing hard. Poor woman. That Marie. To be put through that. But at least she kept her children. At least his father would be able to see them—if he can managed it. He lifted his eyes to Margarete, thinking about his other brother and sisters. “What are the names of the others again?”

Sighing, annoyed he didn’t remember, she said, “Claude, Henri, Remy, myself, Genevieve, Louisa, and Marie.”

“What are Marie’s kids’ names?”

She smiled at him. “Carole and Victor.”

He nodded to himself. At least he knew two of them. Carol and Victor. He was an uncle. Then another thing hit him. He leaned back from Margarete as he said, “I have a brother named Remy? As in… say… an errand boy, personal assistant, driver, lap dog for those elders of the pack?”

Margarete nodded, snickering. “Ah, you finally figured it out. It took you long enough.”

Rick cringed. “But, that guy. He… Ugh! He was there in the car listening to Dad’s and my conversation. And he didn’t say anything!”

“He isn’t allowed,” Margarete replied as though it were obvious.

But Rick was fuming, shaking his head. “No… no… no. This is wrong. He had an opportunity to tell me. And worse. He took me to that party so that I could—! Ugh!”

As he felt like tearing down the walls to get at Remy for being a lying snake, his sister’s quiet amusement for some reason calmed him. She had accepted this abysmal part of life as a member of the Loup Garou. Duplicity apparently was a trait of this pack—an entirely human trait. Nothing wolf about it. And though entirely amused and thrilled at Rick’s disgust, allowing him to moan and vent, she finally said, “Don’t be so hard on him. Remy is not that bad.”

“Not that bad?” Rick huffed, pacing again. “How many illegitimate children does he have?”

Margarete smiled. “None.”

Halting, Rick stared. The weight in his gut lifted a little. “Say that again?”

“None.” And she smiled more, raising her chin.

He sat back down. There was a story with this. He knew it. “Spill.”

She pulled back, not appreciating the tone.

“Please,” he added. He kept forgetting he was an outsider—family or not.

Sighing, she