Grimm Wolf by Julie Steimle (well read books TXT) 📕

Emory nodded.

“Helpful and obnoxious at the same time,” the other guy said. “Like always.”

A shiver ran through Emory. The flame in the one man’s hand was impossible. He wasn’t even getting burned. It was like watching CGI, only he could feel the heat from that fire.

“Who are you guys?” Emory asked, his eyes raking over the pair again in the darkness. “And where is Rick?”

“We don’t know where he is,” the man said, wiping his sticky hand off now on the grass. “We got the signal, which led us to the car, and we followed the tracks to the tree. When was the last time you saw him?”

Putting a hand to his forehead as the man’s words echoes in his head—got the signal, what signal?—Emory closed his eyes. “I don’t know. After… after… after Tom showed up and… and… and…”

“Calm down,” the guy said in a rather fatherly voice. “Take a breath and say it slowly.”

Emory tried to follow his directions, but his heart was beating painfully. The image of Rick becoming a wolf still set his nerves into panic mode, freaking him out. He then lifted his eyes to these two strange men. “Who are you guys? Are you like him?”

“Has Rick ever mentioned the Holy Seven to you?” the other guy asked. He gave Emory the impression of a real soldier, but also of a boy scout.

Emory shook his head. “No. What is that?”

Sighing, the professorial one who had been trying to calm Emory said, “My name is Daniel Smith. That’s James Peterson. We are members of a group known as the Holy Seven. And our job is to deal with supernatural beings who have harmed human beings or have gone haywire.”

“Supernatural beings?” Emory felt sick. His world was all about mathematics—measurable things. He studied economics and numbers. Not hocus pocus. The werewolf thing he could not deny. Even orange-eyed Tom Brown who had defied gravity with tiny wings right in front of him was real. He had seen them with his own eyes. But was this man, who genuinely was holding fire in his bare hand without getting burnt, suggesting there were more supernatural beings out there? It hurt to believe it. But his eyes screamed that he had to believe it.

Cringing, Daniel nodded. “Yes.”

“The supernatural realm usually leaves the mortal realm alone—or hides itself in plain sight,” James explained. He gestured with his sword to the castle. “Like this place. No way would we have been able to find it if Rick had not activated his tracker.”

“Tracker?” Emory stared, wiping the creeping honey back from his forehead to prevent it from getting into his eyes again. “He carries a tracking device?”

“More like an alert system,” Daniel clarified. “To contact us whenever he is in need.”

“What are you?” Emory stared more at Daniel, whose hand was still covered with flames, which he could now see was coming out from his glowing palm. The man’s palm looked like it was a flaming brand, shaped in the symbol of a sun. He looked at it pointedly.

Seeing where he was gazing, Daniel lowered the hand, dimming the light. “Just… people who have been affected by the supernatural, called to handle it for those who can’t.”

“But how can you do that?” Emory gawked, pointing at Daniel’s hand.

James stepped forward and pulled up a similar flames in his palm. He also had a fiery brand in his skin, same shape. “It is a gift given to us as a member of this generation’s Seven. Look, how is your friend up there? You said he was mauled. How bad?”

Emory stared up into the tree. “Very bad. He lost a lot of blood. Tom insisted on giving him one of Rick’s epinephrine shots.”

“Do you know his blood type?” James asked, now climbing up the tree.

Emory shook his head.

He watched James ascend in his partial armor, his sword back in his hilt, though for some reason he could not see the sheath as if it were immaterial. The man seemed gifted for it, climbing and all that. Up in the branches, James checked out Rhett’s condition then called down. “He’s breathing and has got a steady heartbeat, but I think he needs blood ASAP.”

“And how are we supposed to do that?” Daniel sarcastically shouted up.

“If Red were here, there would be no problem,” James answered. “Do you know if he is coming?”

Daniel shook his head. “He’d be coming from the States. I think we need to get a private nurse called in and these guys life-flighted out of here.”

Life-flight sounded good to Emory. Did they have a helicopter? But then his mind went to Rick. He probably did. Of course he did. The guy had private jets and everything. Goodness, the guy probably had his own private army.

“You call Sir Long Shanks and get it arranged, if he hasn’t already,” James called down. He then gazed over the scene, looking to the castle. “Do you hear that?”

There had been a distant howling of wolves. It sounded like a distress call rather than an angry hunting bray. Emory could feel that it was a cry for reinforcements. A pack cry. He was sure of it when other wolves answered from down the hill.

“How many werewolves do you think are up here?” Daniel asked, his lips going a little pale. His flaming hand went to his sword hilt.

James seemed genuinely concerned also. He looked to Emory and quickly climbed down the tree. He pushed Emory to it, “You go back up.” He then stared at his honey-touched hands and clothes, shrugging.

“What?” Emory paled, looking around. “I thought we were getting out?”

Shaking his head, drawing his sword, Daniel shook his head. “Nope. Not yet. You get back among all that honey. You’ll be safer than us.”

As the wolves cried out more, Emory had no desire to argue. He scrambled up the tree, slipping a little. But he got back to Rhett who was still out cold, but definitely alive. He watched the two men draw their freakishly real swords and brace for the fight. As they did, both of them pulled out a fiery light in their hands, which set fire to their swords, nearly enveloping their weapons with heat as if they were angelic warriors.

“Oh my… Holy…” Emory watched as the wolves came upon them. There were more than the last. And they were fresh with strength.

Both men lifted their flaming swords, eyes on the dark as they prepared for the onslaught.

And yet, splitting the natural sounds of the forest came the chime of a cell phone. It rang a few times before James slipped it out from his pocket with his left hand and checked a text message. Tucking it back in, he said to his companion, “The Zombie is on his way.”

Daniel laughed, almost sounding a bit like a mocking Robin Hood, nodding. He raised his sword higher.

Zombie? Was that guy serious? Emory felt sick. A zombie was now coming? Was that for real?

And yet as the wolves approached to attack the two men with flaming swords, it felt like anything was possible.

Chapter Seven

The wolves tore into the two modern knights, or tried to. Not only were these two men skilled with their swords, they could literally throw fire. Several wolves were blazing before they knew it. And in the middle of the battle, through eh trees, up rumbled a motor bike off the road. On it was some weird dude in leather. Emory couldn’t see his face, but he was carrying a back pack with ropes of garlic strapped over him like one would ammunition. The wolves ran from the very scent of him. 

The newcomer climbed off the motorbike and dashed into the fray, pulling out what looked like a spray canister. And he started spraying the wolves.

“Eh!” James called out to him when he got a small dose of whatever it was. “Watch it with the garlic! We’re going to have to meet Howie this way!”

“Sorry!” the guy said, his voice a pleasant tenor. But then he switched to a wicked looking silver knife, tucking back the spray bottle. The knife was about as long as his arm and kind of made Emory imagine Crocodile Dundee even backing away from it.

“Are you any good with that?” Daniel laughed when he saw it. The freaky knife glinted off the firelight which engulfed of Daniel’s sword as he slashed at a wolf biting in towards his leg.

Snickering, their new friend (who really was difficult for Emory to see well in the dark) replied, “You’re not the only guy skilled at knife throwing.”

And he demonstrated.

He was really good. It struck a wolf square between the eyes. And not only could he throw the knife, but somehow he could retrieve the knife as if it were attached by an invisible tether. The thing flew back into his hand.

“How’d you do that?” Daniel looked impressed, making a one handed swipe with his sword into another wolf who had sprung in to get the newcomer in the back.

Winking, or at least that’s what Emory thought the man did as the newcomer’s head kind of nodded in that way, he said, “A new trick I learned. I’ll show you later.”

“You’d better.” Daniel was laughing. Emory could hear more than see by this time. It was so dark that the only things that shone were the flames from the swords and the dimming moonlight, which had long shifted.

“How come you got here so late?” James asked. The yowls of wolves slain in dark echoed amidst growls and snarls. “You were right behind us in Cochem. What happened?”

Groaning, the new arrival said, “I got waylaid by that guy Art Condie. The one Red knows. He recognized me and wanted an autograph.”

“Ah man!” Daniel groaned, slashing another wolf whose yelp would have grieved Emory in a time before wolves had tried to eat him. Now it was a beautiful song.

“And then so did his friends.”

“Your fame gets really annoying sometimes,” James said. There were other yowls and snapping.  He probably maimed one and killed another.

Emory now wondered who this new man was. Famous? Rick would know famous people of course, but who was this guy? He could not see. It was too dark. And it was frustrating.

“But I got some useful information out of them,” the supposedly famous newcomer said. “Not all the family is in town. And I got Art and buddies to call an ambulance. So, was anybody hurt?”

“There’s two in the tree,” James said, stabbing a wolf. “Both bitten. One badly hurt.”

“But wasn’t Rick traveling with three people?” the newcomer asked, concerned.

“I think he’s dead,” Daniel replied gravely.

More wolf yowls came after with growls and attacking noise.

“Oh, man.” Their newcomer sounded genuinely upset, huffing as he strained in a fight. It sounded like he had kicked the wolf. “That is not good. Who?”

“I don’t know.”

“I didn’t recognize either guy,” James said.

“Would I recognize them?” the newcomer asked.

“I doubt it,” Daniel replied. There was more wolf noise. By this time, it sounded like the wolves were starting to retreat. “Not unless you visited Howie at Brown a lot.”

“Gotcha.”

“Red might know them.”

Emory wondered who Red was… especially since the only one guy he