Why a Wolf Cries - Julie Steimle (read a book .TXT) 📗

pain. But for Rick, though the transformation still hurt, he was like a gymnast at it. But being a mingle-soul wolf also came with drawbacks. He had all the severe allergies werewolves had to honey, garlic, and silver, however, his senses were enhanced in comparison. He smelled things better than other wolves, heard things better too. So of course that meant the allergies affected him more—to the point that he always had epinephrine pens in his emergency kits, suitcases, and backpacks. He had three packed in his current pack, just in case.

 “Now, are you sure you do not want to join me and the pack here in the hunt?” his father asked, heaving his pack onto his back, clipping the belt straps and adjusting them.

Rick shook his head, shuddering as he lifted his out and shut the hood to the trunk. “Uh… no. Thanks. I… I think I want to go it alone. I’ve had enough of wolf packs for a while.”

“These are wild wolves,” Mr. Deacon said to reassure him. “Not a drip of human blood or thinking in their brains.”

Silently shaking his head more, Rick decided not to argue the point. He had said enough on the subject before. He was not fond of other wolves at present. Since being attacked and seduced by three different packs of werewolves, he’d rather just not mingle with anything wolfish right now.

Hefting up the backpack and securing his straps, so it rested comfortably on his hips, Rick nodded to his father. And they went off together.

Their plan was to hike north away from the canyon, find a decent camping spot with no people in it, set up camp as if they were actually staying there, even set up a fire and let it burn enough for evidence of someone being there. When it got dark, leave the camp as wolves. His father intended to spend the entire three days with a local wolf pack that knew him—the invitation open for Rick if he ever changed his mind.

They did not say much as they hiked in. The view was breathtaking, as nature always was. The wide skies. The blue mountains in the distance. Warm air. Even the bare rock faces they were leaving.

They spotted deer in the meadow. The deer also saw them, smelling the air. With a curious twitch in the ears, they rushed off, probably sensing wolf on them. 

Father and son climbed up wide hilly fields, broad meadows, using walking sticks to balance out and even up the journey. They had to cross a creek using a large log, which in most cases hikers would have straddled, but with their impeccable balance, they walked across it. The water level was lower than usual due to the low snowfall that winter. The thaw was simply less, causing the drought. Thank heaven for the recent rain, or camping would not have been allowed not have a fire in some parts.

Of course they saw signs of bear here and there. There were tracks on the trail, but both of them also smelled the different bears in the area. They hoped the bears could also smell them, and would stay away. Not far from the path was a grizzly bear dig site. Rick recognized it, familiar with such thing from so many hikes on full moons.

“Did you bring bear mace?” His father asked, chuckling a mite as he glanced at the dug earth.

 “Ha-ha.” Rick heaved a breath and continued onward, shaking his head.

There were animal bones, elk antlers, and scat in the wild grasses full of yellow, white, and blue flowers. Rick sniffed some tall growing chicory, savoring the scent before continuing on. He honestly loved the aromas wafting over the meadow—all of them. There were signs of squirrels, distant sheep, elk, raccoons, badgers, skunk, weasels, foxes, otters, chipmunks, gophers, porcupines—a lot of animals he could not eat without a painful fight. But there were also lots of different kinds for rabbits—which was what he wanted.

Up and down hills, sweating under the warm sun as they went, they finally reached a campground that no one occupied. They had passed a few campers along the way, but those were hiking toward the parking area, probably to go back to their motorhomes.

When they reached a campground near a brook, Rick halted for a moment, considering loading up his canteen.

“This is good.” Howard Deacon II turned to his grown son who was wiping sweat off his scarred neck as he unbuckled the belt strap to his backpack. Mr. Deacon smiled, but his eyes remained melancholy. And considering his eyes were wolf-amber in color, it gave him the air of a wild animal deeply in mourning—especially since he also had the coloring of a gray wolf. Of course, he was a gray wolf. It is what he became when the moon was full, or whenever he willed it—which was rare. No one seeing him as a wolf would have known he was a man most days.

Rick was similar shape as his father, equal in height and breadth of shoulders, but he had the same coloring as his mother, rusty brown hair and gray eyes. And when he was a wolf, he was rather peculiar looking wolf, one with the build of a gray wolf but very human coloring. Of course no sane person would have suspected Rick Deacon was a werewolf when he was human. He just did not have the visible markers, except around the full moon when he grew slightly hairier and tended to look like the Marvel comics’ Wolverine. Of course, these days, people would stare at Rick for the sheer number of scars on his body—all from the incident with the savage, man-eating werewolves in Germany.

Everyone knew about that incident too. It had been in the news internationally. Not that man-eating werewolves had been reported, but a pyscho German who kept pet wolves had been. And a murder. And a fire. Most of Rick’s scars had been stitched up by the best professionals, and they had healed well. Plastic surgery had improved those that had been on his face so that they were not prominent, but the marks were still there and they reached deeper than just his skin. His soul had been scarred.

They pitched their tents not far from the camp ground’s fire pit. Rick had his own tent, which was battered and well-used from many campouts, including the one in Germany. His father’s was a little nicer with a smooth rain tarp over the top. Rick had lost his rain cover, or so he had been told until one of his friends had confessed that it had been coated with honey and they got rid of it entirely, just in case. He also lost his last backpack for the same reason. Rick had lost a lot of things on that journey.

His mind on that thought, looking to his hands, Rick realized they had been shaking. In all honesty, this was first in-nature full-moon hunt since that day. All of his hunts between then and now had been in secured indoor locations (such as rented gyms or warehouses) with a released chicken or rabbit. Out in the wilderness, he would have predator competition. And the prey fought back more.

“Should I start the fire?” Rick asked after his tent was finally up. He had put his backpack in it, tucked to the side. He noticed the sun was beginning to lower in the sky. The gibbous moon had to be rising, just behind the trees. He just had to avoid looking at it to keep human form. He was grateful for the tree cover.

His father nodded. “Yes. It will have to be out when we go on the hunt.”

Rick nodded, glancing to the brook, then at all the stray wood he would need to collect. He went right to it, picking up dry branch after dry branch. Rick had a lot on his mind. He wasn’t in the mood to talk.

Going over that past year in his mind, he also thought of what he had ahead of him. He had finished all the work he needed for his MBA. He was just in the final stages of finishing the process towards graduation. And then… well, he would start full time with the company. He was already doing things for Deacon Enterprises part time, most especially representing his father and the company while working deals in place of his father at negotiations stateside. He mostly had it right. He hadn’t screwed up that part of his life. He still felt like an inexperienced boy, though, and much of his confidence had been leveled to the ground in Germany. But in the realm of business, he still got the job done.

Problem was, and Rick knew this would continue to be his problem perhaps forever, he was subject to the opinions of stockholders and those they did trade with. Most of them were worried about his mental health due to trauma, and also, of course, to rumors that had circulated about Rick since his high school graduation about his involvement in some weird cult. It was better they thought it was cult, though, than know it actually had been pack of werewolves. His father was also worried about him, though for the real reason.

Dumping the wood he had gathered in hardly any time next to the fire pit, Rick brushed all that old stuff off from his mind. He was starting over. Life was full of restarts, it seemed. But at least this time he was starting entirely fresh.

A wolf let out a cry somewhere in the park. Rick’s hair bristled, reacting to it. He almost transformed right there, but he strained with all energy to resist it.

However, his father lifted his head and let out another cry, answering the wolf.

Shuddering, Rick shook his head and stuck a finger in his ear. “Can you not do that yet?”

Mr. Deacon shrugged sheepishly. “Sorry. I just wanted to let them know I was coming.”

“Are they expecting you?” Rick asked, eyeing him.

With another more wolfish shrug, his father replied, “I’ve come around earlier. I think they are waiting for me to come back.”

Rick pointed a stick at him. “Don’t get a she-wolf pregnant.”

His father laughed, genuinely amused. “Funny.”

But Rick just shrugged.

“You know that has never been a temptation for me.” His father strolled up to him, taking out their ‘food locker’ which they would have to hang in a tree to keep bears away from the camp. There wasn’t a whole lot of food in it. Mostly he was stashing in his cell phone, wallet, and keys. He reached for Rick’s.

Sighing, digging into his pockets and passing them over, Rick said, “Ok… but, and I mean no disrespect, but you know Mom has moved on. Don’t you ever get lonely?”

Pausing as he tucked in his valuables, Mr. Deacon frowned. “Sure, I do. But I vowed never to hurt a woman like that again. I don’t want the people I love to be harmed.”

Rick nodded, thinking on that. His father’s plan was his plan also. Never again.

He started breaking sticks and stacking them like a pyramidal log cabin in the fire pit. He put shavings and stripped tree bark in the center as tinder.

“You don’t miss that she-wolf, do you?” His father angled his head to peer into Rick’s gray eyes, helping him break sticks for the fire.

Laughing painfully, Rick shook his head, stacking the cross pieces so they did not roll off, constructing a decent mound. “No. For heaven’s sake, no. I’m over her.”

“Good.” His father nodded, then went back to filling up the box. “Ok… watch?”

“I use my cellphone for that.” Rick hardy looked up, adjusting the small wood pyramid.

“There’s no Wi-Fi in the wild,” his father said, smirking.

Taking out some matches from his pocket, Rick extracted one and struck it. Admiring the flame, he stuck it carefully into the tinder, gently blowing to get it to catch fire. “No kidding. That’s why I gave you my phone.”

His father