Wolverton by Julie Steimle (sites to read books for free .TXT) 📖

I first joined the hunt. I had been part of a small pack before, but not all packs are equal.”

Rick blinked at him. “What pack were you part of?”

Shaking his head, Mr. Blithe helped himself to coffee next. “Ah, it doesn’t matter. It wasn’t strong, and the wolves were more combative than helpful. And there was only one she-wolf.”

That didn’t sound good. Rick could imagine all the problems that would come from that.

“How did you find this pack?” Rick asked.

Laughing, Mr. Blithe nodded to him. “Kind of like you. I was looking for work, and I smelled a wolf at the place of business. I inquired, and he introduced me. And like you, I was resistant at first to the quirks of large pack life. I’ve come and gone several times before I finally brought my family here and settled. I mostly came here for the protection against hunters. I am sure you know what hunters are like.”

Nodding, Rick sighed. He picked up a few things from the plates at the silent urgings of Mrs. Blithe.

“See that?” Mr. Blithe pulled down the neck of his shirt to expose his right shoulder. Under the collarbone was a bullet scar. Rick knew those intimately. “I got that in New Orleans. Totally in the crossfire of another wolf being hunted. And this,” he lifted up his shirt to show a scrape just under his ribs. “That’s from a silver wedding server at a garage sale in Baton Rouge. Totally an accident, but it hurt like heck. I hear you got war wounds.”

Nodding, Rick dug into his eggs.

“He’s got lots of scars,” Kurt said, nodding.

His father shot him a look. The room fell quiet. Kurt seemed to sink into his seat. The air in the room, Rick had begun to realize, was tense. And it probably always had been. He peeked to Mrs. Blithe who did not meet his gaze but was busying herself with making sure Luko had enough butter on his toast.

“Yeah,” Rick said, trying to break the stiff silence. “I’ve got a number of war wounds. There are hunters that follow me every full moon.”

“Would they come here?” Mrs. Blithe asked.

Mr. Blithe stared at her, a little surprised at her interested tone.

“I’d hate to see him or the children hurt,” she added to her husband.

“I doubt they know where I am,” Rick assured them. “We work pretty hard to lose the hunters after us. Unless something weird happens and, I dunno, the boss does something stupid like call the FBI, I don’t think any hunters will come this way.”

“The FBI?” Kurt’s eyes widened.

“The FBI know about werewolves?” Susi asked.

Rick nodded, then shrugged. “Not all of them. But there are FBI agents connected to the SRA—”

“The what?” Mr. Blithe asked.

“The Supernatural Regulator’s Association,” Kurt said.

His father shot him a sharp look. “I didn’t ask you.”

“But why not?” Rick bristled on Kurt’s behalf, trying to control his temper as he could feel there had been abuse in this home. Instinctively, he wanted to protect them. “I told him about them.”

The father turned his head sharp on Rick. But he quickly checked himself, realizing he was not putting forth the face he had wanted Rick to see. He eased his expression. Weakly laughing, he said, “I just never expected my son to know this sort of thing. What other things have you shared with him?”

But there was a threat in that question, barely masked.

Rick maintained his business façade, one he had learned while working with his father on various business trips, as he replied, “Oh, a number of things about the outside world. I’d hate to bore you.”

“I don’t think I’d be bored,” Mr. Blithe said, smiling closed-mouthed. For a human, it felt more dangerous.

Raising his eyebrows, Rick said, “Ok. I grew up in a witch town. That’s a town dominated by witches who run the ladies aide society and the men’s club. I’ve been hunted by the SRA since my first transformation when I was thirteen. I’ve been shot at with guns, crossbows, and even magic…”

The father started laughing, shaking his head.

“…I’ve met two vampires now…”

The father stiffened.

“…and I know the Holy Seven personally.”

That last part made the father stare.

“Who is the Holy Seven?” Kurt asked.

“Shhht!” his father hissed. He then rounded on Rick. “Are you serious? The Seven?”

Rick nodded, uncowed.

“As those old hunters that—”

“No. I mean, I know Mr. Jones, that old man who was once in the Holy Seven, but I am talking about the new generation. Their leader is my best friend, Andrew Cartwright,” Rick explained, taking more jelly for his toast.

The middle-aged man-wolf pulled back, staring hard at Rick. “Why would you—”

“Be friends with warriors for God?” Rick asked, smirking. He shook his head, realizing all the stares in the room were on him. “It makes tons of sense if I want to survive.”

“But they kill wolves like us!” Mr. Blithe rose from his seat.

Rick remained in his chair, staring up at him with incredulity. “Wolves like us? Mr. Blithe, they only kill man-eaters. However, the SRA will kill any werewolf and any human associated with them. Those in the Holy Seven judge a wolf entirely on his behavior—not his DNA.”

But that didn’t seem to make a difference for Mr. Blithe. He gaped at Rick as if he had taken a dump right in the center of his table. “A wolf is a wolf! You are either on their side or our side!”

Frowning, Rick shook his head without any recoiling from that man. He was beginning to understand what Mrs. Blithe was afraid of.

“I’m so glad they don’t think like you,” Rick replied, groaning. “Because the Holy Seven spared my father’s life when he was young, and this new generation has been protecting me.”

“Really?” Kurt asked, staring.

Rick nodded.

“Complete nonsense! The Holy Seven are monster hunters!” Mr. Blithe shouted, spit flying. “They are the enemy! Who do you think shot at me while I was in New Orleans?”

Blinking at him, Rick replied, “Well, it wasn’t my friends. They are all about my age. Most of them barely finished high school the same as me.”

The man stared at him, confused. Then shaking his head, he sat down and finished breakfast.

Everyone else ate silently, waiting for another blow up from the father. As he was devouring his eggs, he waggled his fork at Rick. “Do the elders know this about you?”

Rick shook his head, downing some orange juice while maintaining control of his emotions. He could feel any reaction might start an actual brawl. Keeping his eyes mostly on his plate, he didn’t want to engage the others gazes, wishing to spare them their father’s wrath.

Mr. Blithe grumbled to himself, finishing off his bacon then his toast. Through more painful silence, the father soon ended his meal, wiped his mouth then kissed his wife before going out in a purposeful huff.

“Now you’ve done it,” Kurt said once his father was gone. “He’s off to tell the elders what a lousy heretic you are. Not like they don’t already know…”

His mother broke into a nervous laugh, wiping her mouth with her napkin. Rick reached over to her, grabbing her wrist. “Are you ok?”

She nodded, but her hands were trembling.

“Were you together when that New Orleans thing happened?” Rick asked.

She shook her head, rising from the table. “No. That was before we met.”

Nodding Rick went back to his toast, munching off the crust.

Once everyone was finished with breakfast, they scattered from the table. Susi remained to help clean up while Kurt went back upstairs for something then went out of the house to go get those eggs. Rick stayed inside. To be honest, he didn’t want to bump into Daisy. He was too afraid of what he might do. He was too afraid he would lose control. Deep inside, everything in him wanted her.

As Luko went upstairs to change his clothes, Rick sat on the couch. Then, in boredom he picked up a book sitting next to the lamp on the end table. Watching Susi run outside to do whatever, he turned the book around in his hands and read the cover.

It was the New Testament.

Lifting it, Rick called out to Mrs. Blithe, “How does Mr. Blithe think about this? You know, considering the wolf rite, moon cult thing…”

Mrs. Blithe was washing the dishes. She halted and looked back at what he was holding. Walking over to him, she looked more closely. “Oh.” She blushed, taking the book from his fingers and cradling it in her arms. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” Rick said, rising, following her back into the kitchen where she went back to dishwashing. She set the book to the side, plunging her hands back into the hot water, scrubbing a pot. “Yesterday you talked about being a good Samaritan. And though I know pack wolves know the reference, it is not exactly doctrine they follow. They are more Rudyard Kipling fans.”

She stopped her dishwashing and stared at him.

Shrugging, he explained. “You know… the strength of the pack is the wolf, and the strength of the wolf is the pack.”

She chuckled, nodding. Yet she did not answer.

Sighing, Rick finally said, “You wanted to tell me something earlier and you got interrupted. Why did you tell me to run?”

Mrs. Blithe cringed. She peeked at him, then she peeked around to see if anyone was coming.

“I mean, I have never felt more at home anywhere than here,” he said. Though he also nodded to himself. “Admittedly, last night ended up differently that I had ever intended. But I have never been comfortable in my wolf skin until now.”

Lifting her eyes to him, so sad, she took one soggy hand out of the water and squeezed his wrist. “But that is just it. It is just like honey.”

“Honey is…” He cringed thinking of the last time he had accidentally eaten honey. He could hardly breathe and he had to go to the hospital for a shot of epinephrine.

She shook her head. “Not what I mean. Haven’t you ever heard the saying that you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar?”

He stared. “Go on.”

Nodding, she peeked once more to make sure no one was listening in. “It is sweet, alluring, and sticky. Even if you are a ‘heretic’ as they like to call you, they desperately want you and need you to stay.”

Rick stared at her. “Well, that’s not happening. I have responsibilities. I have—”

“I know.” She hung onto his hand, gazing at his eyes in earnest. “But they have their ways. I told you I got trapped in this life. And I will never be able to get out.”

Rick cringed, as she was probably right, especially since she was not going to leave her children the way his mother had left him. And though he was sad for her—especially for her being stuck with that overbearing wolf who truly must have manipulated her when she was young to get her as his wife—he also admired that she stuck it out for her kids.

“But what you need to know is that lone wolves pass through this pack a lot,” she said.

Rick nodded. He had guessed that much. Her husband was one of them after all. And the pack was astoundingly diverse. They were not inbreeders. This pack was a bit more like a werewolf mecca. He was just surprised his father hadn’t known about it.

“Don’t you understand?” Mrs. Blithe said in earnest, holding tight to his wrist. “You don’t know whom you are dealing with. And it is best that you leave now and don’t go hunting with the pack again.”

That struck him hard. Though the situation with Daisy was still a mess which he had to deal with, he honestly was looking forward to the next hunt. He wanted very much to do it. He could only be full wolf for a short time. And he wanted to have it. He wanted desperately to belong to this. He wanted deeply to have this.

“Look,” she said. “I think you are an honest and good person.