Why a Wolf Cries by Julie Steimle (interesting books to read .TXT) 📕

The SRA agent looked to him.

Rolling his eyes, the first ranger said, “It’s not here anymore. Someone came and took him away.”

“Him?” the SRA agent lifted his eyebrows. “You had time to check his gender?”

The first ranger colored.

“Wolves don’t wear clothes,” the second ranger replied dryly. “And she kept on calling the wolf ‘him’. She was practically in love with it, begging that we save it.”

That caught the SRA agent’s interest. “She? The one who rescued it? Who was she?”

“Why does this matter?” the first ranger asked. “The wolf is gone. He was taken away.”

“Who took him away?” the SRA agent asked.

The second ranger groaned. “Some federal ranger. He’s still around here somewhere… negotiating.” His eyes rested back on the first ranger who shook his head darkly.

“Negotiating what?” the SRA agent asked, his curiosity entirely piqued now.

“Time,” another voice said behind him. “I had a feeling one of you would come.”

The agent turned around. Standing there was a man he recognized only from his picture. James Peterson. He was older now. Less boyish. In fact, he was a broad sort of man, the kind who looked inclined to wrestle bears—or perhaps just run you through with a sword while wearing a suit of armor. He had on his red crystal, and there was a hint of him hiding a longsword somewhere on his person, though not visible to the natural eye. However, he was dressed in a clean khaki ranger uniform, not of Yellowstone, but the kind that made you think he had authority over all national parks. The man smiled, clean shaven, with that I-won-every-scouting-award-imaginable posture and a sharp look in his eye that said he was prepared for anything.

James approached. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

The SRA agent smirked. “Not quite yet. Where is he?”

“Not here.” James’s smile revealed nothing. He seemed mildly entertained, mostly.

The agent peeked to the first ranger who was hiding how nervous he was. “Does he know?”

“Not your jurisdiction,” James replied, a threat in his tone.

Lowering his voice to a whisper, the agent said for only James to hear, “If he aided a werewolf he would be guilty of—”

“If you harm a soul connected to that wolf, I will have your head.” James grinned wide.

The SRA agent stepped back. It was then that he realized how foolish he was being. This was, after all, a member of the Holy Seven, and not someone to be trifled with. He tried another tack, turning toward the rangers again. “Why did that woman, that rescue worker, try to save that wolf? Wouldn’t the cougar go after her?”

The first ranger shot James a look for help.

The second moaned. “The cougar attacked her niece. But the wolf interfered. It saved the kid’s life. That’s why.”

And that made sense. The picture was complete. Those weird Deacon werewolves—especially Rick—were such a bleeding hearts.

He turned to go.

James blocked him. “Don’t.”

But the agent laughed, shaking his head. “You have to let me go. This is America. And haven’t done a thing wrong.”

“Stalking is still illegal,” James said, his eyes now in a glare.

“What is going on?” the other ranger asked, looking between them. “I sense that there is some kind of secret conversation going on here, and I’m the only one who doesn’t know what it is.”

The agent grinned at him. “Do you believe in the supernatural ranger…” he read off the name tag, “Smythe?”

The second ranger stared at him. “What? Are you nuts?”

“Exactly.” And the SRA agent walked away.

“That means ‘yes’,” the second ranger whispered to the first, nodding. But that was all right.

And for that matter, James Peterson did not follow him. He wouldn’t. It was mostly likely he was there to guard the first ranger who did know what had happened with H. Richard Deacon III. Maybe even relocate him, knowing how shrewd the Holy Seven were. If that ranger was a believer, they would more likely recruit him to help in their twisted form of dealing with the supernatural.

But what annoyed the SRA agent the most as he called in to headquarters to let them know what had transpired, was that the Holy Seven had definitely allied themselves with that werewolf family. It seemed backward to him. Their priorities were just so screwed up. Didn’t they understand they were monsters?

The SRA agent who showed up at hospital was easily rebuffed by Andrew and Tom. He did not get any further than the lobby. However, that did not end their search. One thing positive which could be said for the Supernatural Regulators Association was that they were thorough. They did their research, and they employed those who were subtle to do it.

After Mr. Deacon II finally had his son flown from Cody, Wyoming back to his home in Middleton Village, Massachusetts and the media circus had moved on, one of their FBI members of the SRA went to the hospital to get true facts from the doctors. It took some time to get them to spill details on both Rick’s condition but also on the case of the cougar-bitten girl—though they did. It took a few bribes, actually. One doctor, though was more than happy to explain all which he had witnessed.

“We did a full blood toxicology and type done on him,” the doctor explained with exasperation, “which has somehow vanished.”

“Do you think the phlebotomist conspired with them?” the agent asked, having heard about Doug Bruchenhaus doing all the bloodwork.

The doctor shook his head. “No. He was too preoccupied with his daughter’s condition. However, there were some strange men there, guarding Mr. Deacon the Third.”

“Strange as in how?” The agent took notes, waiting.

Mentally picturing them, the doctor said, “A pale man by the name of Tom Brown—”

“Tom Brown?” The agent perked up.

“You know him?”

The agent nodded, thinking all Mr. Deacon would need was Tom Brown. He wondered if Tom was still under suspension with the CIA. “Keep going.”

 “A couple doctors came in. One stayed. Uh. Dr. Andrew Cartwright.” He looked to the agent to see if that were important.

“Cartwright…” The SRA agent grit his teeth. Andrew was the leader of the Holy Seven—and Rick’s best friend. Of course he would be there.

“And the other one was Dr. McAllister.”

Blinking, the agent paused. “Man or woman?”

“Man,” the doctor said. “Blonde. Blue eyed.”

The agent sighed, feeling better. If it had been Eve McAllister, then they would be in trouble. She was dangerous. But it really was just her brother, the good New York doctor. “Anyone else?”

“Friends came and went. Do you want a list of them?”

“If you would, please.”

The doctor handed over a written list. He had taken the time to make it as the agent was writing up his notes. “These are the names I remember. There was also a couple who spent time with both the Deacons and the Bruchenhauses.”

The SRA agent paused, raising his eyebrows. “What are their names?”

“Randon and Silvia Spade.”

“Ah…” The SRA agent nodded. “That’s interesting. How were they connected?”

The doctor shrugged. “They came with the Aunt. They’re her friends. In point of fact, she seemed to know all of them—except for Dr. McAllister.”

“Interesting.” The SRA agent closed his notebook. “You have been extremely helpful. Can I ask you one last question?”

“Anything,” the doctor said.

“Did she go in to see him? The aunt.”

Shrugging, the doctor sighed. “I didn’t see. But I would not be surprised if she did. She was at the hospital most of one day.”

“Thank you.” The agent then had another thought. “One more question. What is your theory about what happened to H. Richard Deacon?”

“My theory?” The doctor shook his head. “I saw the damage in his back. That man—either as a man or as a wolf, as I am sure as you are sure that he is a werewolf—fought a cougar. If he was a wolf then he probably is the wolf that family talks about who interfered in the cougar biting that girl. His damage was clearly from an animal attack and not a car accident. He terrifies me.”

The agent nodded. But then he asked one more question. “Do the other doctors know of your theory?”

The doctor rolled his eyes. “Yes. Some of them think I am a fool, but some of the others are as convinced as I am that Deacon guy is a werewolf. They saw his blood like I had. He has dog-type blood antigens.”

“Really? Then, why won’t they talk to me about this?”

The doctor snorted. “They like him. One of my colleagues is awed by that werewolf. He thinks he’s good.”

The agent stared. “Crazy.”

“That’s what I said.” The doctor shrugged. “Then he accused me of being prejudiced. I mean… the guy is a werewolf! A monster.”

The agent quickly sent his information back to the SRA. Back in their offices, their best researchers pieced together the event, adding up what really happened. And as much as the SRA hated the Deacon family, they had to commend Rick for saving the life of a little girl, rather than eating her. But their curiosity was piqued when they found out who had rescued the wolf.

Audry Chandra Bruchenhaus had been on their radar already as a tiny, yet insignificant blip. She was a friend of a friend. She knew people. But she knew nothing of the supernatural. They had checked her in the past. And they were staring at her now, wondering how in the world had such a woman gotten sucked into this cluster of people. They had mapped her connections. They created a time line. They listed incidents in which her life crossed the Deacons’. And they noticed how she had left all of those connections and friendships to continue her research out west. And though the SRA had even found the wolf tee shirt she had used for fundraising, they also discovered the nature photobooks and postcards she had made full of other animals for the same purpose of funding her research. Out of all of that, only one sure conclusion could be drawn.

Yes, she knew H. Richard Deacon III as a man. But in regards to the wolf, she was just an animal rescue worker. It was what she did. And clearly she did not connect the two.

So, the next question had to be asked. What was she to H. Richard Deacon?

Also, why did he save that little girl? How did he know the cougar was stalking them?

This they did not have an answer for.

The Deacons’ decision to come to Yellowstone had been last minute like most of their hunting decisions. However, the SRA knew nothing about the Bruchenhaus family and why they were there. So they plowed ahead with that investigation. Discretely, they sent agents to their homes so as not to alert the Seven.  

The agent who visited the Bruchenhaus family home of Doug and Jean presented badges connected to the CDC. Genuine. The CDC was immensely interested in the spread of lycanthrope and they were incredibly useful in such situations as wild animal bites. The couple greeted them with polite smiles and a proper invitation into their home. When they asked to speak with their daughter, while their son lingered on the fringe listening in, they obliged, but never left them alone with her.

They gave young Maris Bruchenhaus a quick checkup, with permission from her overprotective nurse mother. As they asked her to tell the story, they learned about her amazing Aunt Audry who rescues lions and cheetahs and wolves—and rescued her wolf. They mentally noted the phrase ‘her wolf’. When they left that visit, it was with a promise for a second checkup if ever anything peculiar arose. They noted after they walked away the visit, that both parents were involved in the medical field and were competent, if not active citizens, in advocacy for natural medicine and the environment.

When they visited the grandparents, they merely got an account of the attack and how the wolf was handled. Again, the agents were reminded that they aunt