Unconventionally Wolf by Julie Steimle (read 50 shades of grey TXT) 📕

Shrugging again, James replied, “I don’t know. I guess I got used to the feel of your presence.”

Rick chuckled at that.

“Besides,” James added. “I checked out all the other groups.”

Staring, Rick hoped no one got hurt.

“They’re all good,” James said, as if reading his mind. “No worries.”

Nodding, Rick breathed with relief.

"So, anyone in particular you want to meet?” James asked.

Nodding again, Rick thought about it. He finally said, “I am looking for a group of foreigners who would be visiting, but they would not be at any particular booth—at least, not anymore. We were supposed to meet them at the Sierra Club booth, but I never saw them there.”

That gave James much to think about. He mentally went over those whom he had met, counting on his fingers. “I know of two groups like that. One of them is a trio of… well, I think they are elves actually.”

“Elves? Or half-elves?” Rick asked.

“This isn’t a Lord of the Rings convention,” a passerby said.

Both young men stared after that eavesdropper, then shook their heads.

“Anyway,” James continued. “I’d say full-fledged, full-blooded elves. And I think they might actually be looking for you. I overheard them talking about approaching the owner of a wildlife reserve. They’ve got issues, or something. They had funny accents, but they didn’t seem foreign exactly.”

Rick nodded.

“The second group was this, I don’t know, almost snooty bunch of French people.” James tossed up his hands. “And I don’t speak French, so I couldn’t overhear anything. But it got me to thinking that we might need to invest in language lessons or at least something better than Google-translate. Peter keeps saying it. He's learning Italian, you know.”

“Where were they?” Rick asked, ignoring the remark about Peter McCabe. Besides being a pro-level soccer player, Peter was intending to be an archaeologist. He was actually studying Latin.

“You want to meet with those French guys?” James looked surprised.

Shrugging, Rick said, “Yeah.”

“Ok…” James shrugged. He then led the way.

Rick followed him.

James led them out of the third floor and down to the bottom floor of the convention center. There, in the foyer, stood the Loup Garou delegates. Unfortunately, neither Remy nor Henri were among them. But then Rick never would have believed the pack would have allowed anyone of Deacon blood to leave their country let alone the territory of the pack. Among the delegates, he recognized the one who had chased him up the Eiffel Tower with two others and then later cornered him in the Louvre—what’s-his-face. Rick cringed as that memory had been entirely the end of his fun in Paris.

And they saw him.

Chapter Six

“Ok, James,” Rick said. “I need to ask you another favor.

James Peterson raised his eyebrows. Rick read incredulity as well as suspicion, yet also a calm understanding that James had decided a long time ago to trust this werewolf.

“I need you to find and bail out Tommy Whitefeather,” Rick said.

James nodded, agreeing. Apparently that was an obvious thing that needed to be done.

“Get him away from Security, as I need him.” Rick then looked to the pack who watched him warily from their side of the room.

Thumbing to the pack, James asked, “Do you need any help with them at all? They don’t seem that friendly to you.”

Not exactly surprised that James was so perceptive—he was a member of the Holy Seven after all—Rick was impressed at how genuine his offer was.

“That’s ok,” Rick said. “I offended them once while in Paris, and they are here to smooth things over.”

“Why?” James peeked back at them.

Shrugging, Rick said, “It caused a rift between their group and Deacon Enterprises. Both of us took losses.”

“Oh…” James nodded. He peeked once more at them then shrugged. “Ok. I’ll be back with Tommy. If you move from this spot, I’ll hunt you down.”

Rick cringed. “Don’t use those words.”

James laughed, slapping Rick heartily on the back. It rocked Rick with weight. Though James still looked a little soft as he did not have chiseled features, under that gentle exterior was a man with serious muscle.

Then James marched off.

The pack approached Rick as soon as they were sure James was gone.

“Who was he?” one of the French wolves asked him, peering down an upturned nose. All of their eyes lingered on James from recognition and memory of his earlier prowl around.

“A friend,” Rick replied.

“He smelled like a hunter,” the French wolf said.

Turning, Rick gestured for them to go to a quieter place. “He is.”

The entire pack seemed to bristle. That's when it occurred to Rick that possibly James was the reason why they were not standing at the Sierra Club booth. He might have spooked them. Of course with the other three hunters around the convention, they would have also moved for the same reason. They were now at an easy escape point after all.

“You make friends with hunters?” one of them snapped. It was that guy who had tracked him to the Eiffel Tower. Rick had never liked him. He had all the appearance of a well-dressed thug. His eyes were dark and sharp. His ears also seemed unusually big on his egg-shaped head. There was something Napoleonesque about him. Not so much his size as his manner and combative spirit.

Peering hard at him, Rick replied, “It is better than them being enemies. You wanted to talk with me? Then let’s find a private place. There are, or were, at least three hunters here at the conference who are hunting me right now.”

The Loup Garou stiffened.

“What?” One of them gasped.

Sighing heavily, Rick said, “Look. Coming to the convention to speak with me wasn’t exactly the wisest—”

“Your father insisted,” that Eiffel Tower wolf snapped.

Rick leaned back, surprised.

“He said he would not allow us to meet with you except in a public place.” The man-wolf seemed to growl the words. “If we were willing to risk it.”

“Wow…” Rick murmured, understanding his father's reasoning now. “Then you really want to meet with me.”

They reluctantly nodded.

Rick gestured once more toward a possible side room.

But the fivesome from the Loup Garou refused to be stuck anywhere that they might be cornered. So, they ended up stepping off to a cozy corner of the foyer where they could find seats yet be close to the main exit.

Once they were sitting comfortably, an awkward silence ensued. None of them truly wanted to be there. In the delegation were five members of the pack, all young relative to the leadership of the pack. The men were in their thirties at least. But the two she-wolves were clearly in their early twenties. Rick did not quite understand the logic of it.

Finally, the Eiffel Tower wolf spoke up. “I think we got off on a wrong start with you in Paris,” he said. He extended his hand. “My name is Mathieu Boucher. This is Louis Poirer, Colette Royer, Daniel Deschamps, and Lucy Fabre. Uh, we are here to attempt to begin our relations again, on better terms. As much as we hate to admit it, this past year or so we realized the degree we need the contributions from Deacon Enterprises.”

Rick gazed wanly at them, at least glad that they were being direct.

“And though the elders are still rather upset with you meddling—” 

“My meddling?” Rick raised his eyebrows. “May I remind you, the Loup Garou manipulated my father into compromising his personal values and then practically enslaved—”

“It wasn’t slavery!” Louis protested. He was a man with gray eyes, a long horse-like face, and a rather roman nose. He gave Rick the impression of an undertaker for some reason.

Rick glared sharply on him. “Oh, so not passing on money intended for his children while forcing them to act as prostitutes—”

“That’s an exaggeration!” Louis retorted.

“That’s what happened!” Rick rose from his seat, bristling

Their eyes went wide, realizing he was ready to leave.

“I will concede that we have a difference of opinion on the events,” Mathieu said.

But Rick cut him off. “It is not a difference of opinion. My brothers and sisters were held hostage to bear children for the pack. I rescued three of them. And I wish I could have saved them all.”

“That is an exaggeration,” Louis snapped again. “Only two ever actually obeyed the pack.”

“Three,” Rick bit back. “Are you not counting Marie?”

They glared at him.

“Where did you take Marie? And her children?” that he-wolf Daniel asked. He reminded Rick of a lumberjack for some reason. Maybe it was the breadth of his shoulders, or his overpowering musky cologne. He was freakishly tall. Even sitting, the he-wolf towered over the rest of them. Rick wondered how he fit on the airplane.

“I’m not telling,” Rick bit back. “She is happy where she is, and that is all I care about.”

The French wolves stared at the floor, clenching their teeth. For some reason none of the she-wolves said anything. It was weird. Both she wolves were similar to his sisters. One looked a bit like Margarete, with rolling brown hair, a fresh face, blue eyes, and a healthy figure. The other had Genevieve's cherry mouth and an almost coquettish femininity to her perfectly shaped curves. Both were rather lovely. But neither of them compared to Daisy—not even their sweet scents, which for some reason just smelled off… like too damp flowers.   

“So, we’re still at an impasse,” Rick said, watching them all.

Mathieu lifted his head. “No. The elders want to make a compromise.”

As Rick leaned back, he examined Mathieu’s face carefully. “And what do they propose?”

Sharing looks, the French wolves held desperate expressions. They chatted in French, which, unfortunately, Rick still didn’t know much of. Not that he didn’t study the language harder his senior year of high school… but that he had started Mandarin lessons in college and had nearly forgotten the French he had barely acquired.

They finally lifted their heads, and Mathieu said, “The elders have given us permission to trade concessions.”

“Such as?” Rick rolled his hand, waiting for the things the Loup Garou wanted from him. It actually amazed him how blatant and arrogant these French werewolves were. If they had more of the sneaky grace of the Wolverton pack, they might have gotten farther with him. Back in Alabama, the Wolverton pack had smothered him with kindness and gave him a peculiar sense of freedom. They blinded him with it, really. In fact, they had marinated all his senses with their inclusiveness and familial bond so that it flowed through his veins also. But these Loup Garou really did look down their noses at him.

“We used to do business with Deacon Enterprises,” Mathieu said.

Rick nodded. It really wasn’t that much in comparison to most of the EU, though. Honestly, the company hardly felt it when they pulled out of contract with the French pack. And whatever loss they had taken, Mr. Deacon the Second had reinvested what he would have paid to the Loup Garou back into the company. It really had been a win for them. Mostly.

“Not good enough,” Rick said.

Mathieu frowned, wondering why it wasn’t acceptable.

“What I want? What my dad wants? Is pretty obvious,” Rick explained. He then glared at them all. “I want my dad to be able to meet