The Loup Garou Society by Julie Steimle (romantic novels to read txt) 📕

“You knew that?” Rick turned to face Henri.

Moaning like a fashion model with boredom, Henri said, “Oh… I’ve seen him a number of times at parties, so stiff and all that….”

“Dad hates parties,” Rick murmured.

Henri shot him a look. “Well, that was also obvious. He was all business. But I had overheard him once or twice inquiring about us.”

“Openly asking if he could see his children,” Remy cut in. “Asking what they needed. Even offering…” But he shook his head, cringing.

“…To join us in Middleton Village,” Rick guessed.

Remy nodded with pain. Henri shook his head, staring at the car ceiling as if such as idea was absurd.

They car turned onto the street where the Loup Garou Society building stood. Escaping now would be almost impossible. If he could not convince his brothers to help him escape, he might have to text Tom and hope he was awake to answer it. He doubted the Loup Garou would let them go free.

“Why did you not take him up on his offer?’ Rick asked, growing anxious as they neared the building, hoping for a miracle.

Shaking his head, Remy struggled to reply.

“Life was good,” Henri said, shrugging. “And lone wolves are in constant danger. Our grandfather was slaughtered, which is why our father fled to the Loup Garou. The pack protects us. We know you are hunted.”

Rick looked to Remy.

Meeting his gaze, Remy shrugged and said, “I could not leave Marie. She needs my help. And Margarete and Genevieve…. I just couldn’t.”

Rick nodded. “So, you were being manipulated too.”

Remy painfully chuckled.

The car pulled to the curb. Peering past Remy to the building, Rick groaned inside. Did he even have time to call Tom? The fight was only beginning. He only hoped that Genevieve and Margarete read his note and had acted quickly. Opportunity was not a lengthy visitor… and if they do what he hoped, Margarete won’t be able to contact him again for a while.

The driver stepped out and opened the door. Remy exited first, gesturing for Rick to follow him, as he really had no choice. Rick climbed out after, heaving a deep breath. Henri followed. They each went to a side of Rick, Remy on the left and Henri on his right.

Rick groaned.

“Stop huffing,” Henri said. “You are not going to an execution.”

“Says you,” Rick muttered as they led him up the steps.

Remy struggled with a painful laugh, but did not leave his post.

“You just need to account for your behavior before the pack,” Henri said while they reached the doors. “And make restitution.”

Snorting, Rick shook his head. “Account for my behavior…. I was obeying my father, which I think is a great deal better than listening to a pack that I am not even part of.”

Henri grumbled, watching Remy press the doorbell. “Are all lone wolves this obstinate?”

Rick shrugged. “I don’t know. Dad and I are the only lone wolves I have ever been in contact with.”

Remy started laughing.

The door opened.

And they took him in.

Chapter Ten

They read Rick’s note three times, feeling the bankcard in their hands along with his baggage ticket. Their hands were shaking as they silently exchanged looks a number of times before making a decision.

Get my backpack from the coatroom. The contents are yours. This card is to an account here in France. The pin number is the last six digits on the front of the card. Do what you need to do. If you need a ride out of Paris, call the number below. Our man is under orders to take you anywhere you want, including out of the country if you need it. Act quickly. The pack will freak out when they can’t find Marie or her kids, and this opportunity will not last.

Good luck,

Rick

They went straight to the coatroom and picked up the backpack. Walking out, heading to the nearest metro, they examined the contents.

Inside was money. Cash. There was also an instruction booklet on how to change their name and forge documents along with two unfinished French passports. There was also a small medical kit including doses of epinephrine and instructions on how to inject it, along with other things. They had no idea what they needed that for, but they put it back in the bag just in case. There was a booklet full of contact cards, listing hotels, hostels, and places which would house a person on the cheap and not ask questions. The preface to the contact book said to simply drop the name Deacon and the password—which was (crazily enough) basketball.

They went home and called the number.

Answering the number was a native Parisian who worked for Mr. Deacon. He wasn’t just a driver either. He called himself a courier.  

<< Do you want to move any items from your home? >> he asked.

Margarete shared a look with Genevieve, shrugging. “Uh, we don’t have a destination yet, except for a country.”

<< Which country? >>

Deciding they had to just jump for it, she responded, “Switzerland, for now. We want to end in London, if we can.”

A short pause occurred on his side, like he was taking notes. << OK. I have two addresses I can take you to. Do you have passports? >>

They cringed. “No.”

Another pause. << We can get around that too. If you have the prep package, I will just need to take photos of you for the passports. Otherwise, it will just be trickier. Were you given the prep package? >>

“Yes.” The ladies sighed, thinking on that.

<< Good. Now, do I need to send a shipping crate to your home? >>

They exchanged looks and again and said, “Yes.”

<< You will need to leave your door unlocked. Do you have a back door at all? >>

“No,” they said this time.

<< Alright. We can handle that…. >> He paused, writing probably. << Very well. You will want a day bag with a change of clothes at least. You can purchase fresh clothing at your place of destination. I have only one last question to finish off. What names do you want on your new documents? >>

Sharing looks, Margarete realized that he was asking for a declaration of identity. But they both knew the Loup Garou could track them over their real names. And to declare their family name as Deacon would be putting target on their heads. So, Margarete said, “Margarete and Genevieve… Curé.”

“Curé?” Genevieve mouthed.

Margarete nodded, raising a finger to let her know she would explain later. Curé, in this case, meant priest… which sounded a great deal better than diacre[1] and less obvious.

<< Good. A driver will be there shortly. Keep watch. You will know him by the New York Yankee’s cap he will be wearing. >>

The call then ended.

“New York Yankee’s cap?” Genevieve shook her head, walking back to their kitchen where she had been emptying their refrigerator of their perishables, assessing what they could take and would have to leave. “It must be an American joke.”

From there, they hastily went about packing up their most precious things. It was a wrench, really, as they had built a most comfortable home, despite what the Loup Garou did to keep them in poverty. But like they had done at Marie’s, they chose their most prized possessions and left the tech.

That was truly painful.

They had to leave their cell phones, which meant they would not be able to call Rick to tell him when they were safely on their way. Also, their computers were not something they had wanted to part from. Margarete had to make backups of every file on her computer and put them into USBs. Their computer was full of files, from recipes to pictures of loved ones. Secretly, they had photographed every one of Louisa’s children—all six of them. And they had been tracking them, just in case they ever wanted to find their birthmother and regain contact. They also figured one day Louisa might want to know where they had gone. One day she would regret her choice to obey the elders’ scheme. Margarete and Genevieve had also tried to hunt down Henri’s offspring, but that was more difficult as he did not associate with them and did not tell them whom he had impregnated. Those pictures, they hoped to one day verify.

Genevieve gathered the cooking items she did not want to part from, fretting over them until Margarete said, “Leave them all. We can buy better ones once we get settled.”

“Oh, but this marble candy slab,” Genevieve groaned, patting the heavy square tile. “I saved up for so long to buy it.”

“Someone else can use it,” Margarete reminded her. “We don’t have much time.”

Nodding, Genevieve closed the doors on her cooking things and collected instead those things she might not ever be able to buy again, no matter how much money Rick had given them.

It was a repeat occurrence during their packing. Only this time, Genevieve reminded Margarete as she was going through her closet that she could not bring all her clothes and shoes with her, no matter how cute they were.

“You can buy better ones when we get settled,” she said, teasing her back.

Margarete tossed away her red heels, sighing. She had saved for each piece. And it was hard to choose her favorite outfit from the set.

Most of their things were in the front room when all the files on the computer had been completely downloaded. Margarete tucked those files into her purse, not trusting any shipping company to keep them intact. Then she proceeded to delete her computer memory entirely.

“That is so sad,” Genevieve said, staring at the generic screen. It no longer had the picture of them together

Then they went back to work.

They weren’t completely packed when they heard the knock at the door.

Their heads tensely perked up.

“Let that not be the pack,” Genevieve said, neck tensing.

Margarete hurried to the door. She peeked out the side window.

It was a man wearing what looked kind of like a baseball cap, but her view was lousy.

“Who is it?” she called out.

“Courier.”

That was what the man had called himself on the phone, but she wasn’t sure if it was the right person. He didn’t look professional. Looking back to Genevieve, Margarete urged her to hide the boxes. Genevieve hastily shoved them behind the chair.

Then Margarete opened the door.

Standing there was a tall, but ordinary man. No wolf smell. With a nod, he tipped his white New York Yankees baseball cap—a classic one with stripes. “Ready to go?”

It was him.

“Almost,” Margarete said, smiling with relief.

He stepped in. “Passport stuff first. Then, let me help you pack. We need to hurry.”

It took them only a handful of minutes to get two digital passport-acceptable pictures taken then five minutes to gather their things in front of the door with just enough room to open it. The boxes were neatly stacked with the stuffed pillow cases. Margarete penned a note, pinning it onto one of the bags. All it said was: Take this pile only.

The courier, who said his code name was Pierre as his real name was a secret, said to them once it was all ready, “Now, my job is to get you safely