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

to your destination. But for this to work, you have to completely trust me. That means, when I say stop, we stop. When I say duck, you duck. When I say hold your breath, hold your breath.”

Genevieve made a face. “That’s a little controlling.”

But he smiled kindly at her. “I know. But I have a gift. It is called precognition.”

They stared, unbelieving.

Chuckling, though, he continued, “I know you don’t believe me. I saw this already. But, I can give you proof easily enough. I see glimpses into the future, but only for a few minutes.”

Genevieve was about to groan, but Margarete, put her hand on her arm and said, “You don’t happen to come from New York?”

The man chuckled, shaking his head. “No. I am from France. But Mr. Deacon, when I was younger, had offered for me to go to a special school there if I wanted.”

“Special school?” Genevieve blinked, looking to Margarete.

She nodded. “Rick told me about it briefly. A place he went to. He said he had a roommate who was half imp. That he knew half-elves.” She stared at Pierre. “Are you half-elf?”

He shook his head, though he looked impressed. “Not at all. I am entirely human. But I know what you are talking about.” He then winked at her. “The world is full of mysteries.”

But then he paused, stiffening as if he saw something in his mind’s eye. Nodding to himself he said, “We need to go now.”

Margarete grabbed Genevieve’s arm. They went out the door together, leaving the key on the kitchen counter. They closed the front door without locking it.

Hurrying to his vehicle, which was nothing special, just your typical car, they climbed in. Shutting the doors, they pushed their day bags between them on the seat and searched for their seatbelts.

“Duck,” he said as he started the car.

They ducked.

Just as he pulled away from their apartment, a car owned by the Loup Garou drove up. It would have parked in front of the house, but instead it followed them.

“They probably figured out you left in this car though I don’t know how,” he grumbled, twisting the cover to the steering wheel under his hands. “Stay down and I will have no trouble losing them.”

They obeyed, hearts thundering in their chests and ears. If the pack caught up with them, it was all over.

When he had said he had precognition, he was not joking. The way he drove was like he knew where every car and driver would go on the road. Without even needing to speed, he weaved in and out of the traffic in Paris to a place where he could entirely lose the Loup Garou car following him. And once he had lost that car, he steered them back on his path to leave Paris.

“So, is it prying to ask what you are running from?” He then chuckled as he steered them once more on their path. “You can sit up, now, by the way.”

They both sat up, sweaty and ruffled. Genevieve’s hair poufed around like a mad frizz ball, and she batted it away from her face and down. Margarete shook back her wavy mane, panting. They shared a look. Genevieve shook her head at Margarete. They did not know how much Rick had told him, which meant they did not know how much they could say. It all had to be secret.

“How did you lose them?” Margarete changed the subject. “Was it your precognition?”

He nodded. “I can see possible outcomes with every choice I make. Which means I can cheat at almost every game of chance… which is what I used to do when I was a kid—until Mr. Deacon found me and straightened me out.”

“How did you meet him?” Genevieve asked, peeking back at the traffic behind them, just in case.  

“Well… I saved his life,” he said.

They stared at him, surprised.

 Chuckling, he explained, “I was… doing something I shouldn’t at the time. But I had a flash of the future where a man tried to shoot him—a scary kind of assassin. You see, Mr. Deacon is beloved and hated all around the world. He does a great deal of good, but—and note this—he upsets a lot of powerful people.”

The sisters shared looks. That was what was happening now.

“Is he not worried about… assassins?” Genevieve asked, being careful with her word choice. He had not said hunter. It was likely he did not know about the wolves.

“Worried?” He shook his head. “Mr. Deacon does not worry. He is uneasy about a number of things, but he does not allow anxiety to take over. I have never seen a man with better self-mastery than him.”

They wondered if that was true.

“Maybe it comes from association with Gulinger Private Academy in New York,” he said. “Rumor has it, his father, Mr. Deacon the first had founded it with a Catholic priest to—get this—protect children cursed by witches and supernatural beings stuck in the human world. The school we talked about.”

They stared. Genevieve as appalled, entirely disbelieving. But it matched what Rick had told Margarete in the Eiffel tower.

“Like demons?” Margarete drew in a breath.

He laughed. “That would be funny, but I doubt it. More like those half-elves you mentioned. Or people like me who are deeply influenced by the metaphysical.”

Genevieve shivered. Margarete stared. The world was indeed wider. And they were riding into it.

“I have heard of all sorts of crazy things…” He murmured as he drove out of Paris. “Mr. Deacon helps a lot of people, you know. The fact that you know about that private school in New York must mean you have something unique about you. Can you tell me?”

The sisters exchanged looks. Rick had said this man didn’t know about the werewolves in Paris. Most likely he didn’t know Mr. Deacon was a werewolf with how he talked about assassins rather than saying he was hunted. They had no idea how he would react to the news that his boss was a werewolf and so were they. But they had seen enough mainstream movies to know that werewolves were restricted to horror stories and therefore would most likely be received with horror.

So, with another shared glance, Genevieve said, “There’s nothing special about us. Organized crime is after us is all. They were using extortion against us.”

“Ah…” The courier nodded. “I see. And I completely understand. I too was rescued from milieu. He does that. Saves people… Though in my case, I had saved him once, and he paid me back by helping me have a future and chance to help others. And now I do this.”

The sisters shared another look.

“Mr. Deacon is trying to help us start a business,” Margarete said, shooting her sister a cautionary look. “We’re are actually very good cooks.”

He grinned. “Really?”

Seizing the opportunity, Genevieve opened up the plastic container holding the cookies they had kept for themselves. “Yes. We are going to open a patisserie as soon as we have location.”

“And are away from the milieu,” Margarete added.

“Try one.” Genevieve offered a cookie over the front seat.

Reaching for it with one hand, ‘Pierre’ took a cookie.

“Take more,” Genevieve said, grinning. “We can always make more later.”

And he did, taking three.

Munching for a bit, he smiled then said, “That’s really good.”

 

[1] Deacon in French

 

Repercussions

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Eleven

 

 

“So, you have brought back the wayward son,” Monsieur Blanc said, watching Remy and Henri steer Rick into the Victor Hugo room.

His father saw him, rising immediately from his seat. But the Loup Garou around him ‘gently’ put their hands on his shoulders urging him to sit back down. He almost did.

Jerking from the duo, Rick shook off Henri. With a large step away from Henri and Remy with a wide grin at his father, he strode across the carpet with open arms. “Hi, Dad.”

Mr. Deacon stepped away from the hands that were attempting to make him sit again, reaching out to his son. “How are you?”

Jogging to his father now, letting him envelope him in a hug which he never realized how much he needed, Rick said, “Fine now.”

He was shaking. His instincts told him he was surrounded by angry wolves. And they would be even angrier once they knew what he had done. With the hug, he could feel the tension in his father’s strong arms, and the relief of having him back.

“I was worried about you.” Then Mr. Deacon leaned away, not quite letting Rick go as he said, “Climbing down roofs. Really?”

Laughing nervously, Rick shook his head, blushing.

“Did you even have an understanding of how to get down off a Paris roof? You could have fallen and broken your neck,” his father said. An uncommon tremble was in his voice. He knew they were in danger… though Rick had a feeling his father also had a plan for a timely exit. After all, plenty back home at Deacon Enterprises knew they were in Paris visiting the Loup Garou Society, which—those who were not in the know about the French werewolves—believed to be a wolf preservation society group. But Rick had also told his friends of Holy Seven that he was visiting a French pack. They had been deeply interested.

With a shrug, Rick said, “All roofs are the same. The good ones at least. You’ve got to have drainage, and fire escapes. The Loup Garou live in the best.”

The Loup Garou in the room softened a little from that compliment. But not much. They were eying him hungrily… like prey that had gotten away.

Shaking his head, Mr. Deacon hugged Rick close. He had done well. And he had come back alive.

As the wolves around them watched, distaste in their mouths as they took in the reunion, the brothers suddenly looked like they wanted to disappear, too uncomfortable watching the father and son. They were envious, really. Rick could feel it. In fact, he looked back at them, pushing out from his father. He realized he had one last opportunity to grab before all his chances were gone, so he took it and said, “Dad, I have met everyone except Louisa.”

The elder wolves drew in breaths. They exchanged almost panicked looks, bristling and nearly backing away from the father and son as if they were infected. Monsieur Blanc stared at Remy who flinched and shrank like he wanted to melt into the carpet, and Henri who glanced around with the unspoken words of ‘Don’t blame me!’ on his face, wordlessly declaring that he had not spilled the beans.

“Louisa?” Mr. Deacon gazed at his son, tilting his head inquiringly.

Nodding, Rick declared unrepentantly, “You had seven children, besides myself.”

“Enough!” Monsieur Blanc protested, hands balling into fists. He indignantly bristled.  

“Claude, Genevieve, Margarete—”

“I said enough!” the white wolf shouted, marching forward.

“—Remy,” Rick pointed to him in the room. “And Marie, who were born the same day—”

Remy lifted his head, surprised Rick knew that detail. His eyes blinked as shiver ran through him.

“No more!” the white wolf objected. The elder wolves stood with Monsieur Blanc, bristling with the desire to attack the insolent lone wolf pup.

But Rick continued defiantly. “—Then Henri,” pointing him out in the room. The man-wolf runway model looked like he wanted to run and hide as his father’s eyes rested on him. “…and lastly Louisa,