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

Blinking at him, Rick replied, “I’ve found Jesus.”

Groaning, Remy headed to the counter and grabbed a beer. “He needs to get drunk.”

Rick stepped back from him. “No, I don’t. I’m a minor. In America, you don’t drink until you are twenty-one.”

Both Frenchmen laughed.

“But you are in France.” And the leather-clad wolf shoved a beer into Rick’s hand.

Rick shoved it back. “Change of location does not change the values I live by.”

The man-wolf pushed the beer back into Rick’s hands. “Quit being a prick, and drink up.”

Sighing, Rick shook his head, staring at the floor. It was going to end up as a fight. It wasn’t exactly how he wanted it to go. But he’d take on an entire pack if he had to.

“You’re offending everybody here if you don’t participate,” Remy hissed in his ear.

Whipping around and meeting his gaze, Rick huffed, handing him the beer. “I don’t care. My body. My liver. I don’t drink.”

“Oh, you are such a whiny baby,” the leather clad wolf said, laughing. He then made a crying gesture, rubbing at his eyes while mocking Rick.

Rick hung his shoulders, staring up at the ceiling.

The man-wolf shoved another beer into Rick’s hands. “Drink it.”

Rick did not grasp the bottle. When the man-wolf let go, it dropped from his fingers. The bottle thudded but did not break, dumping beer over the ground

The hostess shrieked. “Oh!”

“My bad!” Rick popped up, real distress on his face. “I’ll clean it up.”

He hopped to the kitchen to get a rag.

The crowds stared at him. This wasn’t exactly what they had expected from the wealthy CEO’s son. They had expected smugness, snobbery, and brattiness. But they kept getting this awkward, occasionally self-conscious seventeen-year-old who wanted to do nothing more than eat the snacks. He didn’t even act like he was rich. 

“Get him another one,” the leather clad wolf said as Rick came back with a towel, sopping up the beer.

But Rick made a face up at him. “Give it up, would you? I don’t want it.”

“Be a man,” the leather clad wolf said.

Rising to his feet, Rick growled, “I’m a wolf.”

The watching people pulled back.

Alarmed, Remy jumped up, pulling his friend away. Whipping around, he faced Rick, using himself as a barrier. “Stop!”

“He started it!” Rick pointed.

“Don’t be so childish.” Remy growled.

Standing back, Rick folded his arms. “I’m only seventeen, what’d you expect?” He then stomped off to the room and slammed the door. It was ‘conveniently’ empty.

Remy stared after him, huffing. “Spoiled rich kid.” He then turned to face his friend. “Are you ok? You forget, Deacon blood is savage. Remember Claude.”

His friend nodded, his face pale. Rick hadn’t known it, but his teeth had elongated when he had shouted, and he had looked like he was about to bite that man-wolf’s throat out. The man-wolf shook his head. “It does not look like the Elders' plan is going to work.”

Sharing a look with their hostess, Remy nodded to himself. “Well, Deacon blood is also rebellious. You can’t force it.”

The hostess nodded while waving for others to still enjoy the party. She then looked to him. “So what should we do? Make a peace offering? Drug his food?”

“He’s a complete brat,” the man-wolf said.

Remy sighed. “Can’t we just tell the elders we tried our best and give it up?”

Both his friends shot him a dirty look. The hostess replied with bite, “Don’t be lenient on him, Remy. We know why you do want to not push him into it. But you have your duty.”

“Does it matter that his father told him not to?” Remy asked.

They stared.

The hostess hissed. “That should not change your mind. Remember who you are loyal to. You are Loup Garou.”

Rick had heard it all. And he was really kicking himself for having not studied French better—though he knew they were talking about him. He knew they were plotting. He had learned how to read tone of voice and body language well enough to figure it out. Having been Tom Brown’s roommate—a guy who could hear all the wicked thoughts of the people around him, real or imagined—he knew every soul was struggling between demons. And having seen a few demons himself, he knew that his fight was not over.

He walked to the window and peered out. 

[1] Live Action Role Playing

Chapter Three

The party was in full force when Margarete arrived. They had told her to stay away, that she, with her attitude, was not welcome. But she said that she had as much right to meet the young heir to Deacon Enterprises as anyone. More so, as she was his sister.

They said that was the reason she was not invited.

“Come on,” Margarete said at the door. “Let me in. I am not going to kill him or anything. You’re all there to protect him, you know.”

Remy pulled the door open wider, glaring at her. “You shouldn’t have come.”

“Oh, and you are allowed?” She raised her eyebrows at him.

“You do not follow the rules,” Remy said, his lips thinning. “You have lost the right to meet him because of that.”

Margarete bitterly chuckled. “Better than towing the line for the elders. A wolf was meant to be free.”

“A wolf is nothing without the pack,” Remy replied. 

She huffed nonchalantly. “I have Genevieve. And for your information, we do care about the pack. We have not left, as you can see. We just don’t pander to the elders’ wants like a dog.”

Remy stiffened.

Rolling her eyes, Margarete finally said, “Look. I just want to meet him. Can I at least see him?”

“He locked himself in a room.” Remy stepped aside and let her in.

Margarete eyebrows lifted, her cheeks coloring. “With one of the she-wolves, I suppose.”

The room was crowed. The music rumbled as everyone still enjoyed the party despite their petulant American guest.

“No.” Remy walked over to the beers, reaching past them to the wine. There were still several bottles available. He poured himself a glass. “He’s hiding. The pup knows what he was brought here for, and he’s not cooperating.”

A surprised laugh escaped her. “Really?” Happily shocked, Margarete said, “Well that is surprising. Considering how obliging his father had been.”

“His father regrets it.” Remy then took a long drink.

Margarete stared, watching him lean wearily against the table as he downed the wine like an alcoholic. He looked weighed to the ground by responsibility. Of course, the elders did use him as much as they brutally could considering the things he had been refusing to do ‘for the sake of the pack’. She knew they were punishing him with this.

After swallowing the entire glass full, Remy continued, “The elders are going to be furious if I can’t get his son to cooperate.”

“I don’t care about that.” Margarete stepped closer to him. “You see Mr. Deacon every time he visits. Every time. But you have not said one word about his thoughts over this entire business—until now. Why?”

Remy took another swig. Cringing at the bitter taste in the bottom, he said, “I overheard a conversation between Father and heir while I was driving them to headquarters. Mr. Deacon, apparently, had never even told his son about us until today. It was like I was a priest at a confessional. The boy was so upset with his father….”

“For screwing around?” Margarete asked wryly, savoring it.

Nodding, Remy went to find another open wine bottle to pour another drink. “And for abandoning his kids.”

Margarete leaned back. “You lie.”

He shook his head. “No. Not a lie. The man says he regrets it. And he made his son swear he would not do the same thing.”

She looked to the room where she guessed Rick had locked himself in. It wasn’t like she had changed her mind about the pup. He was still a spoiled, pampered brat who had all the advantage of knowing their father while getting the life of freedom and future none of his other brothers and sisters had gotten. And he still needed to pay for the sins of his father. But it was good that, in the least, he understood that his father had sinned.

“I need someone to pick the door’s lock,” Remy muttered. “We can’t force him—but Odette has thought of a way to drug him so he is less inhibited. She’ll put it in a cake or some other food item—because he’s ‘not a drinker’. How is it that Americans can be so prude about some things, and wild about others?”

“He could sue for rape…” Margarete turned to stare at Remy. “Have you ever thought about that? They’ll test his blood and urine for drugs. The Deacon family undoubtedly has an army of lawyers.”

Remy groaned, hand to forehead. “I know. This is a disaster. The only luck that we have is that he is stuck in the apartment.”

Stuck in a room in the apartment, Margarete thought. A cornered wolf. Of Deacon blood. That was a dangerous combination. Cringing, Margarete remembered Claude. He had also gotten cornered. And what had happened because of it had been the worst tragedy ever—not just for Claude but also for the Loup Garou.

“Well, since he is not coming out to impregnate all these ladies,” she said, picking up a beer, “I’m going to enjoy the party.”

Remy rolled his eyes and waved her away.

Margarete strolled across the room through the kissing couples and those drinking and dancing. As she meandered through, she overheard the she-wolf gossip about Rick, some murmuring over how they could entice him back into the party and help him let loose. Others hissed in kinky whispers how great he has to be in bed with a body like his.

“He had a six-pack, I’m telling you.”

“I’m sure his family has a gym in their mansion.”

“I hear they own their own wildlife reserves.”

“I bet he can take a deer down by himself.”

“Do you really think what he said about those claw marks was true? They did look larger than wolf scratches.”

“It could have been from a bear.”

“He was just messing around. There are no such things as demons.”

“If you say so. But… I don’t think he was lying.”

“He was lying. He was just puffing himself up.”

“Maybe it was a vampire. They’re real.”

“I don’t think vampires have claws.”

“Some might.”

Margarete walked to the far window, gazing out. The view, as always, was spectacular. She could almost see the Seine. Buildings got in the way, though. But the lights of the city were like stars.

 A scuffing noise outside to her right drew her attention. There, in the shining first quarter moonlight, she saw the silhouette of a lean man crouching not far from the window as if he had just climbed over it. He rested, then instinctively turned his head, staring straight at her. For a second, his eyes reflected the moonlight like a wolf’s.

“Please don’t alert them,” he whispered in English. “I don’t want to have to start running from here.”

It was him. She could not see his face clearly, but it was the heir. He was a lot taller than she had expected. He almost looked like Remy, except there was something distinctly wild about this one—which was odd because everyone knew Howard Richard Deacon III had a human mother.

The roof had a small lip on which