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

said, “Remy is like myself and Genevieve. He wants a real life with love and marriage. But, in order to preserve the rest of us, he is at the beck and call of the elders. So, calling him their dog is an apt description.”

He chose to be at the beck and call of the elders? To protect those others who were defying them? That didn’t quite make sense.

“How is he protecting the rest of you?” Rick asked.

She nodded then sighed to herself, looking afar off. “It has to do with Claude. He was killed by a hunter two years ago.”

Rick stared more, stunned. One of his father’s kids was dead. That was the danger of being a werewolf, of course. But among the Loup Garou, it had to have been a rarity.

“You see, Claude was… how do I put it?” She sighed, looking genuinely grieved over what she was explaining. “He loved freedom. Too much. When the elders gave him their orders, he left the pack entirely and ran wild.”

And nobody had told his father.

“The pack tried everything they could to control him, to warn him of the trouble he was bringing to the pack. But Claude cared about nothing but himself.” Margarete shook her head as if it weighed more than she could bear. “And he became a man-eater.”

Man-eater.

That sick feeling returned. Rick put his hand over his mouth and arms around his stomach. All civilized werewolves strove to live circumspect lives. They worked hard to avoid humans around the full moon, always in terror that one day they might lose control, bite a human, and learn to love the taste of human flesh—and then become the monster all the hunters believed they truly were. Rick had only heard of rare cases of man-eaters in modern society. Most humans bit by a werewolf never became food. They were bitten out of annoyance, really. Most werewolves fled such vexing situations because they could lead to their own deaths. But for a wolf—his own brother—to willfully become a man-eater, it was devastating. Such news was going to kill his father. The problem was, it didn’t feel right to hide such information from him either.

“A hunter from Rome found him and cornered him. And after his bloody rampage, he was killed at twenty-three.” She wiped her eyes. Black tracks were dripping from the corners. She then looked to Rick, almost pleadingly. “This is why we say Deacon blood is wild.”

Cringing, Rick shook his head. That was not wild. That was monstrous.

He silently wondered what he ought to do, going over the best way to tell his father. All of it was bad news, from beginning to end. He lifted his eyes to his sister and said, “So, right now I have two brothers and four sisters? A brother and sister are in full cooperation with the Loup Garou’s program, and the rest of you are resisting, in your way?”

Margarete nodded. She crooked up a tired smile.

“And do you all hate Dad for…” he shook his head, “…letting the situation end up the way that it is?”

She leaned back, thinking on that. She didn’t like the way he had phrased it, but she seemed to understand how it was difficult for Rick to wrap his own mind around it all. It took a while for his sister to answer, yet when she did, she seemed to sigh with resignation. “I’ll admit that I hated him. Maybe not so much now—if you are a reflection of who he really is. But I can tell you, Genevieve and Marie hate him like I did, and they blame him for this wretched way of living as I had. But, I think, Remy never did. I never understood it until now. I mean, I just thought of him as a weak-minded lackey for the elders. However, now I realize it was because Remy is the only one who really ever had contact with Father… that I know of.”

“That you know of?” Rick asked, wondering what she meant.

With a shrug, she said, “Well… if a wolf is in favor with the elders of the Loup Garou, that wolf gets privileges. Henri and Louisa might have met him and even talked with him—though I doubt they would be allowed to tell him that he was their father, now that I realize it is being purposely kept from him.” She mused further over it in silence. Her expression softened the more she thought about it. She also looked tired. Her eyes were blinking more. And her head seemed a little heavier on her neck, almost swaying from the weight. “They didn’t want us to meet at all. I crashed the party. They only let me in because…” she giggled, thinking about it, “Remy was at the door, and you had locked yourself in that room. I don’t think he expected to have any success with you.”

Rick stared at the floor, rethinking the day’s events. “…Or he was counting on me being obstinate while keeping my promise to Dad.”

She stared at him. But then she blinked her eyes heavily. She quickly took a sip of her coffee and drew in a breath, shaking out the bleariness. Her shoulders hung though, and her head was swaying more heavily on her neck.

“You should go home.” Rick gazed at her with a chuckle. “Go to bed.”

Margarete shook her head. “I will be staying at a friend’s place tonight. I told Genevieve I would be out all night.”

A worrisome thought occurred to him. “Did you tell her about meeting me?”

She shook her head. “No. She has no idea I went out to meet you. She would try to kill you if she knew you were in the neighborhood. I need to talk to her first. Explain things.”

Rick cringed. It was as he had thought. So many people wanted him dead, including family. It was getting impossible.

“Tomorrow we’ll go to breakfast, and I can arrange for you to meet Genevieve, and maybe even Marie,” she said.

His heart rose in his chest. “I’d like that.”

She then gestured for him to go upstairs. “Vivienne, can show you to the spare room. Get a good night sleep.”

He shrugged. “I’ll try. I’m jet lagged, you know. I might just crash and sleep all day tomorrow.”

Margarete smirked at him then rubbed his head. She had to reach up to do it as she was shorter than him by an inch. “I’ll come by and wake you.”

Pulling back to make her stop, he ducked.

They both walked out of the back room into the darker cafe. Already they were closing up. He wondered what time it was, digging through his pockets for his cell phone to check.

Margarete spoke with her friend Vivienne in French, and the waitress obligingly confirmed (he guessed) that they had an open room for him to crash for the night.  

Rick stepped toward her. “Can you tell her that I will pay full price for the room? No favors are necessary. I don’t need to save money. And Dad would like anyone who helps me be properly compensated for the inconvenience.”

Looking back to him, Margarete chuckled with a smile. So had Vivienne, who was beautifully French and apparently understood what he had said. Vivienne said with a nod at him, “Ze room is already ready.”

He stared, then nodded. He was still tired. Most of the advice to go to bed was more for himself, really. Margarete, he finally decided, was not a threat after all. And it was safe to go to sleep.

They went up together to the next level so he could see the room.

Basic. The room looked more like it was used by someone keeping watch on the shop rather than a room to let—a place to nap in between shifts. There were storage shelves full of canned dried tomatoes, chilies, and various sauces along all the walls—except the side where the twin bed extended with a summer blanket and pillow. A refrigerator stood in one corner. And there was a rack of worker’s uniforms and vests in the other. Luckily, to the side in a recessed space was a small shower closet next to a toilet. But there were no windows.

“Will this do?” His sister eyed him as if to see if he was going to be snobby about the offering. She always seemed to be on the watch for the preconceived cliché which she had originally believed about him—‘rich spoiled boy’—which was normal. Everyone who met him and knew who he was watched him like that before the ever giving him a chance to just be a person.

He nodded. “It works.”

Both Margarete and Vivienne smiled.

Vivienne went out, but Margarete lingered, looking around the room. It would do for an emergency, but even she didn’t think much of the accommodation. As she turned to go, she said, “Good night. I will return tomorrow for you. Don’t leave until then.”

She stepped through the door.

“You know, Dad wants to help you,” he said before she could leave.

Margarete halted, stiffening. She looked back at him, frowning. Her eye looked pained. “I’d rather like to believe that is true, than really believe it.”

He approached her, cautiously watching her reaction as he said, “Believe it. He wanted me to find all of you. He told me to. He wants to help.”

Tears welled in her eyes. But so much cynicism and pain was in those electric blues.

“Just name what kind of help you want,” he whispered. “If you want to join us in the United States and be known as a Deacon, I would be more than happy to admit you are my sister.”

She stared. He eyes flinched with so much doubt.

“I’d do it for all of you.” He came closer. “And I have no doubts that Dad would do the same.”

But then he realized what he was suggesting to her—why she had flinched. She was recoiling even now, fear in her eyes.

He murmured more to himself, “But that’s dangerous…. You would have to leave the pack. And living under the name of Deacon will mean that hunters will chase after you every single full moon….” He shook his head. “And I don’t want to hurt you.”

Her eyes widened on him. She took a step closer. “Hunters chase you every full moon?”

He nodded, so tired. Just thinking about it made his muscles ache and nerves tense. Even his wounds itched.

“Every full moon,” he said. Thinking about her changing her life from this peaceful slavery to his chaotic and dangerous freedom, he shook his head more, closing his eyes. “Maybe it would be better if we just relocated you to another pack. Dad knows plenty of peaceful ones. Unfortunately, I can’t name most of them.”

“Relocate?” She cringed at the idea.

Looking to her with a shrug, Rick said, “How else do you get out of the control of the Loup Garou? If we give you money, who is to say they won’t take it away as soon as we are gone?”

Taking in that information with a reluctant nod, Margarete stared into the space in front of her.

“We could always set up a bank account…” he mused, trying to puzzle it out. “But they probably would follow you and find out about it.” Rick then looked to her and asked, “How do you pay for your livelihood if the Loup Garou have made your living contingent on obeying their demands? Do you have an outside job—one not connected with the pack?”

She shook her head. “No. Though I did get some education, and tried to further it…” sighing, she admitted, “…at a culinary school. Genevieve and I want to open our own patisserie, if we can.”

“Patisserie?” Rick frowned, as that was a French word.

Margarete chuckled. “A shop that makes and sells pastries. Genevieve is an excellent baker. And I am rather good at making confectionaries.”

He nodded. Still thinking, he said, “So, how do you pay for rent?”

She sighed. “The pack owns all our living areas in Paris and around France. They have wealthy homes and poorer