The Loup Garou Society by Julie Steimle (ereader with android txt) 📖

talking about picking the lock.”

He snorted. “Good luck with that. I shoved the dresser in front of it.”

She stared. He really was used to escaping places. She wondered what kind of life he had before coming to Paris.

“So see you later,” he said. “Because I am leaving.”

“Where can we meet again?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I don’t really know Paris. I can’t guarantee—”

“Then take me with you,” she said again, climbing up alongside the roof to get closer to him. He was standing like he could do somersaults along the ridgepole and not get lightheaded. His silhouette in the moonlight was something striking.

“I know Paris. And I can take you to safe places,” she said.

“Or kill me,” he murmured.

Closing her eyes with a heavy sigh, Margarete rose up and said, “I swear on the goddess Diana and the full moons, I have no more desire to harm you.”

He cocked his head back and examined her for several seconds. His eyes tracked to the window, watching to see if anyone was coming for them. Then he peered down the roof edge.

“You nearly fell down that last time. What am I supposed to tell Dad if you fall? It will all be on my head.” His eyes narrowed.

Margaret stared, surprised he cared, let alone would tell his father about her.

“Look,” he shook his head. “I want to know more about the truth of what happened. But I don’t think it is smart for you to follow me. So, give me an address or something. Somewhere where I can meet you later.”

“Tonight,” she said, realizing if those at the party had picked the lock and pushed their way into the room, the elders would hunt Rick down at the hotel. “Not later. You can’t go back to your hotel.”

Rick moaned. “Dad will be waiting for me. You could come there with me.”

She scooted back, shaking her head. “No. The elders will go directly to your hotel when they find out you are missing. Your father is aware of what they intend with you, isn’t he?”

With a cringe, Rick nodded.

“So he’ll expect you very late, or not at all,” she said, hinting she had no faith their father would wait up for him.

He lifted his eyes to her, mischief back. Glancing over the edge again, he said, “Then meet you at Metro line one. I saw the entrance not far from here. I will wait for you. But go down the normal way, please.”

She sighed, nodding.

He was about to go when he turned and said, “Wait. Do you have a cell phone?”

Nodding again, she pulled hers out.

He skidded down the roof next to her and whipped his from his pocket. “Give me your number, and I will text you.” His was nice shiny smartphone, gray with the newest apps apparently. He inputted her number with deft thumbs. “Do you use WeChat at all?”

“What?” She had no idea what he was talking about.

“Never mind.” He shook his head, closing an app on his cellphone. He tucked his phone back into a pocket then quickly climbed up and over the roof—and was gone.

She stared after him a full two minutes before coming to. It had been like a dream. Had he even been there? Or had it been a hallucination? Margarete had to crawl back to the window. It was laborious, but there was no way she was going to walk the ledge after her near fall. She looked down once to the far ground before maneuvering her way toward the open window. She could have sworn she saw someone down below jog a ways from the building then halt, peering up at her before continuing at a run.

It had been real.

Maybe he would wait for her. Or maybe he counted himself escaping two nasty situations. He had, after all. She had come to the party with the intention to exact revenge on the beloved heir and therefore her blackguard father—only to change her mind about the son at least. He could not help who his father was any more than she could.

Sliding carefully over the narrow lip, she pulled her legs into the window and entered the party again. It was like coming into another world. Outside had been so quiet and peaceful. Inside was the exact opposite. Half of the partiers were drinking and laughing at the ruckus on the far end of the room. Margarete looked there.

Over the heads in the dark she saw the door had been taken off its hinges and the he-wolves were shoving the dresser out of the way with effort. Curious, she wandered to see the workmanship of Rick’s mischievous hands. The dresser had a high back with a mirror which blocked most of the doorway so none of them could get past it. But when they finally shifted it aside, they tumbled onto the bed, which he had also moved—along with a chair, end table, and lamp—of course finding no heir to the Deacon fortune.

“No way.” Theon crawled all over the room, searching for a hiding boy.

Remy went straight to the window. He slowly nodded to himself, murmuring, “He was checking out escape routes…”

“Not possible!” Theon shouted, rounding back to the door and jumping through the gap. Margarete hopped back, getting out of his way. He ran straight to the other window, sticking his head out. “Hey! Where’s that she-wolf? Margarete?”

Several of the people in the party who were not entirely drunk looked right at her. Remy climbed out the hole also, almost passing her without noticing she was there—yet he halted and stared at her. Then he pulled back from her. “You didn’t!”

She shook her head. “Do you see a dead body down below?”

Several ran to the windows and peered out. Of course there was no corpse or blood splatter, or any sign that she had pushed anyone from that height. They all pulled back in.

Remy leaned back from her, puzzling over it as he was sure that if she had encountered Rick outside during his escape, she undoubtedly would have tried to throw him off the roof. But then he eyed her more shrewdly and asked, “Did you see him out there?”

Shrugging first, she decided to admit it. “Yes, actually. But there was no way I could have possibly pushed him off the roof. I saw him run across the gable, expecting him to fall. And later I saw him running away down below.”

“Oh…” Remy groaned, grabbing his head. “They are going to kill me. How could I have lost him?”

She shrugged again. “Maybe it is a habit if his. He is a heretic isn’t he? Without the blessings of the goddess, he has had to live by his wits alone.”

Several of the partiers nodded, thinking about the nature of heretic wolves. A wolf without a pack had nothing but his wits to save him.

Massaging his forehead, Remy breathed in and out, thinking.

“Where would he go from here?” Theon asked, ruffling his hair in stress. “What would a Deacon do in this situation?”

“Maybe you should be asking what a lost American werewolf would do in this situation,” Margarete replied while heading toward the door to go. “This is his first time in Paris, isn’t it?”

“Youth hostel?” someone suggested.

“His hotel,” Remy muttered. “He’d probably expect his father to be waiting for him.”

They nodded in agreement.

Margarete had already wandered to the door when they pushed her aside to get through. Only Remy shot her a look as he and the others with him rushed down the tall stairs. She wasn’t sure what that look meant. Doubt? Relief she hadn’t killed Rick? Or perhaps his usual skepticism that things were not exactly as they appeared. That kind of intuition, she believed, was a Deacon trait.

She went down at normal pace. Once at the bottom floor, she walked out and headed toward the metro. She was going to take the metro to go home either way—with or without the little wolf. She wasn’t sure if he meant any of what he had said about meeting up. He was, after all, trying for a hasty exit. Rick’s escape had been well-timed. If she had tried to follow him, he probably would have gotten caught. And he probably knew that.

Going into the metro entrance at a regular pace, she descended into the tunnels, keeping one eye out for him. It was mostly barren, stark-looking under the fluorescent lights. Some night revelers were out. Stalker types were probably as well. Normally, Margarete did not go places alone at night. It was dangerous, especially for a woman alone. And though she was a wolf and could defend herself from any attacker if needed, as a member of the pack she had to keep such incidents as low as possible so that international hunters did not enter their territory. Dispatching hunters was a messy business after all.

There was not a sign of him. Not between the turnstiles, tickets dispensers, or within the metro route itself.

Of course he wasn’t there, Margarete told herself. He was trying to lose her the entire time. And breathing in the air, she realized that she had been followed by wolves anyway. Not Rick, but others from the party. Remy must have said something when they were going down the stairwell ahead of her. He really was the perfect pet dog for the elders.

But then thinking on it, Rick must have figured that out as well.

She decided not to wait for him. It was best to go home. He had her cellphone number if he wanted to text her, as he had said.

Heading straight through the turnstiles with her transit pass, she strode straight to her stop where she waited. The curved tiled ceilings nearly echoed with distant sound of the train either coming or going. She glanced at the no-smoking sign then sniffed, as the odor of someone either having just snuffed their cigarette or was hiding one was nearby. So were the two wolves following her. Once the teal-and-white train arrived, the doors opening, she stepped on and found a seat

Would the wolves follow her home?

Probably.

But they also knew where she lived. There really was no possibility for a rendezvous that night after all, even if the Deacon heir had intended to meet her rather than go back to his hotel. But if he was stupid enough to go back to the hotel, he deserved to get caught.

The trip home made her head a little dizzy. The evening was a bust. Her first plan failed with glory. The second and shorter plan also slipped away. She’d have to tell Genevieve something of course. But Genevieve was never hard on her. It had been a longshot anyway. That family was protected by the Loup Garou, even though they were heretics. But any wolf that runs to the Loup Garou is adopted into the pack—as by decree of the elders. So maybe the goddess was in fact protecting them.

The sad thing was, the elders claimed that the goddess wanted these two wolves to increase their pack, adding to the next generation—something Margarete felt within her gut was could not be right. Considering the misery of being a fatherless ward of the Loup Garou, under command by the elders to propagate their species and quickly as possible as much as possible, she could not believe the goddess wanted this for her. Most other wards from other fathers complied and were rewarded with beneficial positions within the pack—except for those of pure alpha breeding like the Deacons. It was ironic, she thought. The heretic wolves had the most cherished blood, purest to the wolf in them, and yet they did not believe in the blessings of the goddess. It made no sense.

She drew in a breath, and while sighing smelled the two wolves who had followed her. Margarete decided not to look.

Her phone let off a chime. She looked at it.

A text came.

Opening her phone, she read the digital print on her small screen in English.

 

Sorry I could not wait. I smelled