Unconventionally Wolf, Julie Steimle [red scrolls of magic .TXT] 📗

This is Not a Request

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter One

 

 

His father's phone call was unexpected. After a rough summer and a difficult start at Brown University, Howard Richard Deacon the Third was barely holding himself together, and his father's call could not have come at more stressful time.

<< Howie, how are you this morning? >>

"Dad!" aggravated, 'Rick' Deacon snapped into his cell phone.

<< Sorry… Rick. But how are you this morning? >>

Groaning, Rick glanced at his roommate who was currently trying to mind his own business, but had been peeking over once Rick's cell phone started playing Duran Duran's Hungry Like a Wolf. Whenever Rick's phone played wolf-themed ringtones, he knew the conversations would be interesting.

"It's been better," Rick muttered. "Econ isn't as easy as I hoped."

<< I thought you were taking your core classes first… >>

Moaning, Rick nodded. "Yes. But I have one Econ class to start up. What are you calling for?"

<< I have request to ask of you. >>

Rick cringed. His father had been making such 'requests' all summer. But his father used that word loosely as Rick didn't really have the freedom to say no. As the future CEO of Deacon Enterprises, his path was already chosen for him. It was his job to comply. In the past Rick had believed that it was for the best as it promoted his own survival as well as created lots of jobs for deserving people in a rough economic time. But since that summer a very different option had arisen, and Rick discovered he could escape all that pressure. And frankly, it was tempting to just abandon it all and take it.   

But Rick obediently asked, "What's the request?"

Sighing on the other side of the telephone, his father said, << Alright, it isn't a request. It is something I need you to do. >>

Rolling his wolf-gray eyes, Rick nodded, glad his father was at least being honest. "Yeah, yeah… What is it?"

<< I need you to stand in for me at a conference in New York City at the Javits Center this week. >>

"What?" Rick nearly threw down his phone in shock. "You can't be serious! I've got classes! I'm barely keeping up as it is—"

<< I know. >>

"So why in the world are you asking me to do this? Or telling me?" Rick's heart raced. "You've got assistants who can stand in for you. Plenty of representatives in the company. And I am already behind in my classes."

<< Because you can't focus. >>

Rick stiffened. He knew an argument was coming. It was their perpetual argument since the disaster at the beginning of summer. Rick's whole paradigm had shattered then, and he was still barely picking up the pieces. "So why in the world do you think I can represent you now? I don't think I can handle it anymore. I still think you should just get in contact with Remy and have him become the—"

<< You are my heir. >>

Peeking at his roommate who was intently listening in though pretending to work on his engineering homework, Rick hissed through his teeth, "You have others, more qualified who can inherit—"

<< Because you need a reset. >>

Paling, Rick sat up.

<< I know in your heart you don't really mean the things you are saying. And I understand it has been difficult for you to keep focused. But you have to beat this addiction. >>

Cringing, Rick closed his eyes. His addiction…. Yes, it was a painful one to beat. But he was 'whipped' to the point that during summer he had to be constantly watched so he would not run off and 'engage in his addiction'. The withdrawals were terrible. And it was difficult hiding it from his best friends at home. His roommates and potential friends at school had overheard that he was in recovery for an addiction he had acquired over the summer. They had just hadn't been told the nature of it.

And what was he addicted to? And how did it happen? After all, Rick Deacon had been a sensible, studious, healthy, and athletic young man. But he was also a werewolf. And so was his father. And as such, they had certain weaknesses which overwhelmed them, and Rick had not been vigilant that one full moon.

It all boiled down to what had happened that last summer. The summer which had destroyed his self-confidence and left him unable to focus on anything but the one thing he lusted after and no one would let him have.

Daisy.

"She's carrying my child, Dad," Rick whispered, hoping his roommate couldn't hear.

In a stone cold voice, his father replied, << I am more than willing to let you see her, if you bring the entire Seven with you to Wolverton. >>

Groaning, Rick closed his eyes. It was the same old argument. His friends from home were great people, but he didn't know how he could face any one of them—especially his best friend Andrew Cartwright—and tell them he had gotten a she-wolf pregnant. And though the pack had conspired together to make it happen, he could not entirely blame them. Werewolf packs were desperate for new blood, and he had not been forced. Not exactly anyway. He had been seduced. He was, to best describe it, addicted to Daisy—starting with her scent which was what had lured him in. And her scent drove him wild with passion for her. That was why she had gotten pregnant.

Problem was, the pack wanted to keep him. And his father had already lined up his future. And worse, Rick was sure his friends would not only be ashamed of him for giving in to hedonism, but they would also side with his father and blame the pack for the entire incident.

In most cases that would end up in an awkward not-associating-with-you situation. But because his friends were not ordinary people, it made things even more difficult. They were the Holy Seven—which was nothing more than the title for a group of eight individuals chosen by God to combat dangerous supernatural interference in the world. Rick was sure his friends would not look too highly on a werewolf pack—even if they weren't man-eaters.

"You didn't tell them," Rick murmured, "Did you?"

His father did not respond right away. Then he said, << I want you to tell them. You should. I think you owe your friend Andrew an honest explanation as to why you had been avoiding him. >>

Cringing, Rick didn't want to tell Andrew a thing. In his eyes, his friend was a monolith of virtue. He was just ashamed, thinking about himself compared to his best friend.

"I…"

<< This is why I need you to go to this conference. You need to get back on your feet again. I had hoped school would help, but it hasn't— >>

"I'll get behind in my classes," Rick grumbled, cutting him off.

<< I'm sending someone to sit in your place to take notes and record the lectures. >>

Moaning, it was clear his father was not going to let him get out of it. "What can I possibly do at this convention? What would I even be there for? I am only a kid. Whoever it is that I am going to be talking to is going to think that."

<< I was nineteen when I took up the reins of the company— >>

"Because grandpa got killed," Rick snapped.

His roommate turned his head and stared wide at Rick. Rick just waved back, then shooed him away to mind his own business.

<< All the same, I was only a little older than you are now. And you can do it. >>

Exhaling, Rick was surprised that he needed to hear that. But it gave him relief. That entire summer, after he had that fiasco in Alabama with the factory and that ghost-town-inhabiting wolf pack, he had been constantly watched, as his father no longer trusted him to not sneak back to Daisy. And he knew his father had asked the dorm leaders to keep track of him because of his addiction—though they didn't know what it was either.

<< Now, I am sending all the documents you need to read. It is an environmental convention with exhibitions and vendors as well as panels. I had originally been approached to be part of two panels and one roundtable discussion, as well as a question/answer session. I need you to study as thoroughly as you can all the material I am sending you. Do your best to clear your mind, as you will be speaking for the company, and for me. >>

Rick paled. "Are you serious?"

<< Dead serious, son. >>

Shaking his head, Rick exhaled hard. That was a lot of pressure. Almost too much.

<< At the convention, I also need you to collect and sign agreements with various organizations on the list in the file. There are several pre-approved. They just need a signature, and I have allowed yours to be legally binding. I'll have Carl Webb there with you to work as your personal assistant. >>

"A babysitter?" Rick said dryly, because of course his father didn't fully trust him.

<< No. Carl is one my assistants. And I make it a policy never to accept documents directly from people at conventions. There are hunters that attend these functions pretending to be interested environmentalists just to get at me. >>

Rising from his seat, Rick left his desk and all his books—he wasn't going to be able to finish it anyway. And he walked out of his dorm room and into the hallway. He didn't need his roommate to overhear the rest of the conversation.

"Hunters?" Rick marched down the hall toward the stairs. He needed to get outside for air.

<< That's right. Hunters. Conventions are just another place they like to seek prey. You see, the entire world gathers at conventions. You would be surprised the kind of people I have met at them. >>

"So… the SRA might have people patrolling for folks like us?" Rick reached the stairs and went down.

<< That's right. And, just to warn you, they don't play fair. >>

That was an understatement. The Supernatural Regulator's Association were about as unfair as any monster hunting guild—though in this case, they were a union.

"So, I have to keep an eye out for hunters. Anything else?" Rick reached the other flight, halting next to the small exit sign on the wall.

<< I think there are a few permission forms you will have to sign. >>

"Permission forms?"

<< Yes. Occasionally there are those who come to ask to film on our land, or to use our land for college projects. I usually sign eight or nine of them per convention, depending on the quality of the propositions. I'll let you decide which ones are worthy. >>

Rick raised his eyebrows. "How would I know which ones are worthy?"

<< You will know. On that matter, I am sure that our judgement is the same. Just hear them out and read through all the fine print. >>

That gave Rick pause. "How many have you rejected each conference?"

Chuckling, his father replied, << Enough of them. There are those who try to make you sign away things. If you doubt or don't comprehend any language of a permission form, don't sign it. Or pass them to Carl, and he will send them to me. >>

Nodding, Rick sighed. He started again, going down to the bottom floor. "Ok. So, when do I go to this convention thing?"

He could hear the relief in his father's voice as he said, << This afternoon you leave for the hotel. Carl and a driver have been sent to pick you up. They will be bringing clothes, so you do not need to pack. >>

Groaning Rick stopped on the steps. "Not even underwear and socks? Pajamas?"

A laugh came from the phone. << Not even that. Just be ready for them when they pick