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

have to say, ranchers not even along the reserve are having this trouble, and lone wolves passing through this territory is the problem. Not the local wolves. And we are, by the way, working on this issue right now.” 

As Mr. Waite nodded, Rick’s ear was struck with a sharp pitchy noise. He recognized that nasty pitch immediately as he was familiar with dog whistle sounds. Unfortunately, he visibly cringed.

Carl noticed. He whispered, “They’re in your pocket.”

Earplugs. But looking at Mr. Waite, Rick didn’t think it as polite to put them in during the on-stage conversation.

“Not now,” Rick hissed back.

Carl nodded, then looked offstage to Tommy Whitefeather. He then crossed over to him.

“Is something wrong?” Mr. Waite asked.

Apologetically, Rick said to him, “I’m sorry. My ears are a little sensitive. I’m picking up a painful pitch… Uh, but keep asking your questions.”

“Dog ears, huh?” Mr. Waite laughed.

So did the crowd.

Rick nodded, because it was the truth.

“Ok, can we ask where you father is right now? Why he didn’t come this time to Geo-Verdigris Con?” Mr. Waite asked.

“Those are actually two separate questions” Rick replied, crossing his legs. “First off, I think I can disclose that my father is in South Korea right now. He generally likes to meet the people he does trade with and explore the facilities he might be supplying or getting supplies from. As for why he did not come, it really is as I have said, my father believes for some nutty reason that it was time I took up some responsibilities in the business.”

“Really?” Mr. Waite looked impressed.

“About both, yes.” Rick chuckled.

“Your father is an incredibly composed and well-spoken business man. Often hands-on about much of his company,” Mr. Waite murmured, thinking on that. “How do you intend to fill his shoes?”

Rick was not sure if that was a blow to his character or an open frank question asking for details. He decided to not read anything negative into it. “Well, for starters, I will be wearing my own shoes.”

The crowds laughed.

“And secondly, I think I still have time to work up to that,” Rick said. Then he smiled. “Of course, no one is as dignified as my father.”

That elicited another chuckle.

“Do you ever feel overwhelmed by the expectations put on you, as heir to Deacon Enterprises?” Mr. Waite asked.

“All the time,” Rick replied frankly.

The piercing whistle struck again. Rick was barely able to hold back the cringe.

“Ok, questions from the audience,” Mr. Waite gestured to the crowd where there was a considerable line at two microphones in the aisles between the different rows. Attendants stood by to direct traffic. “You can step up to the mic and ask one question and then step aside. No lingering at the mic please.”

A chubby girl in a tight shirt and pink hair had the first question at the right side microphone. “How much to does Deacon Enterprises pay the women of the company in comparison to the men?”

Rick blinked into the darkness toward her, taken off guard by that question. “Uh… I’m eighteen years old and not in charge of payroll. I don’t have an answer for that.”

“What are you doing to ensure that women get equal pay at your company?” she demanded.

The dog whistle blew again. It pierced his ear. It looked for a second he was cringing at her question, until he stuck his pinky in his ear. “Sorry… I’m hearing feedback… um, again, I am not in charge of any of that. However, I do know the company makes sure people are paid according to their performance. You know, merit. I think that equals everything out.”

“What about minorities?” she asked.

“Same answer, and that’s three questions,” he said.

She huffed off.

A man at the left came up and asked, “I heard that you just got out of rehab for drug addiction. Care to comment?”

Moaning, Rick pressed a hand to his forehead, much to the chagrin of Carl who had hoped to maintain Rick’s professional image, as well as his perfectly sculpted hair. Rick said, “For the record, I never went to rehab. I do not have, or never had, a drug addiction. And you can quote me on that.”

The man walked away, shrugging.

The dog whistle struck again. Rick winced.

“Are you on any medication for your health condition?” someone asked. Rick’s ears were hurting too much to see clearly who had asked that. He was trying not to wince, but failing.

He shook his head. “No medication. My health condition is inherited, and it will be with me throughout my life.”

“Can I just ask one more question?” she asked.

Rick nodded.

“Have you tried aroma therapy?” she said. “I know some really good herbal oils that you can use that might make things easier.”

Smiling, he nodded. “Thanks. I might look into it.”

Then another person stepped up.

“Tell us the real reason why you climbed out that window at that Alabama factory,” a man said.

Rick cringed, recognizing that voice. “I told you the reason. I had to get out due to the change in the schedule that—”

“Not the real reason,” the man countered, almost spitting out the words. “You killed a man that summer! And I can prove it!”

Moaning, Rick closed his eyes.

“Can we have that man removed?” Mr. Waite called to someone offstage.

“I know what you really are! You’re a werewolf!” he shouted as security approached him with tasers. “You killed my friend! I know it was you!”

Surrounding him, the security prepared to taze him if necessary.

“Please don’t hurt him,” Rick called out when he saw that.

The security guards looked startled to hear him say those words, but they obediently followed his request and merely forcibly-escorted the man outside the hall.

But then the whistle blew again, and he cringed. He could feel his teeth elongating in pain. He discretely covered his mouth.

“Well now, the crazies always come out of the woodwork when a Deacon is around, don’t they?” Mr. Waite said with a laugh. And the crowd chuckled. He then gazed at Rick who was trying to maintain his composure under the sharp attacks of the dog whistle. “Where did that whole rumor about your family being werewolves come from anyway? I’ve heard that tale a dozen times from these freaks. Do they actually come out and hunt you?”

Rick nodded. But the pain was too much. He almost howled in reaction, which would have blown everything.

But in that next second, the sharp pitch immediately cut off. Then, swooping over the crowd, straight to Rick’s shoulder, flew a bald eagle… who happened to have one black crow feather sticking out of its wing. In its beak was the whistle.

It then launched off again, flying offstage.

The crowd went wild in reaction. Several had jumped out of their seats. A bunch screamed.

“Was that yours?” Mr. Waite exclaimed, practically jumping from his seat in shock.

Rick shook his head, pleased that the problem had been solved. “No. Who owns a bald eagle? They’re endangered, right?”

But he was feeling much better. Tommy had done his job. He could see Tommy standing at the side of the stage again, back in human form, tucking away the dog whistle.

“Are there any more questions?” Rick asked, looking ready for more.

As the crowd settled down, more people came up. The questions ranged from his political opinion on outsourcing, on how many conspiracy theories he buys into, what he was allergic to (he mentioned ‘honey and certain herbs’) and on trivial things like his favorite sports—which Rick was glad to talk about.

But the hour was soon up, and Mr. Waite publically thanked Rick for his time. When Rick rose and returned his microphone to the stage staff, he put the lid back on the jar of balm and walked off stage.

That was when the smell hit him.

Nightmare come to life

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Five

 

 

“Oh!” Rick covered his nose, to block out the strong wolfsbane reek. There was a collection of potted plants on the edge of the stage that had not been there before. He recognized the purple flowers of aconite, also known as monkshood, which grew in pillars on tall green stalks. They came with a card wishing ‘Mr. Deacon’ luck.

Carl looked and groaned. “When did these get here?”

“They’re part of the decoration, we thought,” one of the stagehands said.

“Come on.” Carl pulled Rick past them and into a space that did not have their odor.

Nodding, Rick shifted away from them, feeling sick to his stomach.

His bodyguards chose their positions in front and behind him. Tommy strolled along with them.

“Holy cow,” one of the workers murmured as they led Rick away. “He really has allergies…”

“Is he really that weak?”

“I heard he’s one of those mountaineering types, but I can’t imagine him going anywhere without his allergen free pillow.”

Snickers followed.

Weak. Rick was tired of those kinds of remarks also. But at that time, he felt it. He could be a Bubble-boy. Normal people didn’t have so many allergies.

“Ok, we have a few more places to visit,” Carl said, looking at the agenda he had written which was based off of Rick’s map. "You have marked that French group—the Loup Garou Society—which you need to meet. And there is that one group, Wolf Awareness Inc. which your father intends to send in donations. But they need you to sign something giving permission to use our land for some of their rescue projects.”

Rick nodded, just listening. He didn’t think Carl knew the Loup Garou Society were actually werewolves and not just wolf preservationists. That meant so he had to figure out a way to dismiss his personal assistant so the man didn’t listen in to their conversation. For that matter, he didn’t want Tommy overhearing them either, as Tommy was still a member of the SRA and might not think as kindly about other werewolves. But he had to make sure with Carl at least.

“Carl,” Rick turned to him. “Did Dad ever inform you about the nature of the argument between us the Loup Garou Society?”

Unconcernedly shaking his head, Carl replied, “No. Your father said it was personal in nature, and that you specifically broke off the arrangement between the company and them. And that he mostly approved.”

“Mostly…” Rick murmured over that detail.

Nodding, Carl said, “He did mention that it did not end as satisfactorily as he had hoped. And he believed a renewed connection might bring about the end results he was hoping for.”

Rick nodded. He knew what his father wanted in that case. His father wanted to meet Louisa, the one child he had not been able to meet that last visit to Paris. He also wanted the rest of his illegitimately-sired children freed from Loup Garou control. He wanted a relationship with them. And Rick knew his father would pay for their freedom.

“I see…”

Tommy stepped in. “Who is the Loup Garou Society?”

“An international wolf conservation society in the EU,” Carl explained. “Mr. Deacon used to be a member of that society and donated an enormous amount of money to their cause.”

Tommy shot Rick a look, but Rick ignored it, thinking. He really had to get away from his group to meet with the pack from Paris. After some consideration, he decided that Carl would not be a problem. But Tommy still would. He might have to ask them to step aside while he talked privately with the French and