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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."

<>

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

<>

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?"

<>

"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—"

<>

"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.

<>

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, <>

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, <>

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."

<>

"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.

<>

"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 you up. >>

"How about school books?" Rick asked, growing annoyed. It was still the total controlling thing going on. Before the summer incident had occurred, his father had given him plenty of freedom.

With another laugh, Mr. Deacon said, << I'm glad your spirits are rising. But I want you focused on the convention. Leave everything else behind. >>

"Not even a comic book?" Rick tested.

<< Especially not that. >> His father groaned. But it was in good humor.

Rick missed that. His father's laugh. His father had been in bad humor since he had fallen in with a wolf pack. It was also ironic that his father wasn't half as upset about what happened between him and Daisy as he was at the pack's persistence to maintain contact with him. Rick believed his father thought they were trying to steal him away. And though Rick knew his father was protective, he never felt him so possessive before. He wondered if that was another reason why his mother had divorced his dad—never mind getting freaked out by her son's first werewolf transformation.

<< Alright then, >> his father said. << Be on the lookout for Carl. Oh, and by the way, everyone will be calling you Mr. Deacon. Do not correct them. Don't joke around and say: 'Mr. Deacon is my father.' You represent me when you go to this convention—so basically, you are me. Understand? >>

With a cringe, Rick moaned. "Really?"

<< It is professional, and you must be so. >>

Of course. But Rick had hoped not to have to go by the title of Mr. Deacon for just a little longer. The mantle of CEO was not something he was ready for yet. And he constantly wished his father to have a long life—hoping to take his place only after many, many years.

"I got it. Mr. Deacon…"

<< Unless, of course, you bump into a friend. >>

Rick laughed. "Dad, my friends will all be in school like me."

<< You'll be in New York. And I do believe Matthew is training with the NYPD there along Joshua Johnson. >>

"And why would they show up at an environmental convention?" Rick asked. He stepped out of the stairwell, finally, and strolled through the foyer of the dorm toward the front doors.

<>

But Rick cringed. As much as he liked Matthew Calamori and JJ, he didn't want to tangle them up in his mess his life was at the moment. Besides, Matthew could read thoughts behind spoken words and could tell if he was keeping a secret—and he didn't want Matt to know about Daisy. Not yet anyway. Not until after the baby was born and there was no getting around it.

<< It's just a suggestion. >>

Sighing, Rick stepped out and gazed up toward the sun. The sun always made him feel better. He could think in the sunlight.

<>

Closing his eyes, Rick just soaked up the sunlight. "I know, Dad."

<< I'll call you when you should arrive at the hotel. Carl is under special instructions to handle things if it gets too overwhelming. But son, it would be a good idea if you called your own friends once in a while to help you out. Extra eyes around the convention center always helped me. >>

Groaning, Rick nodded and opened his eyes. "I got it. That's why you want me to call Matt and JJ."

<>

Laughing, Rick nodded. Tom, his old roommate at Gulinger Private Academy was nicknamed Trouble for pity's sake, and for good reason as he was half imp. But Rick said, "Can't. Tom is on a covert CIA training mission out in Barbados."

His father huffed. << And you know about it? Does he not understand the meaning of the word covert? >>

"I think he was bragging." Rick chuckled. One of the main things he loved and hated about Tom Brown was that he was the king of mischief. But he made an awesome bodyguard when you could get him to cooperate. It also had to do with being half-imp. Tom especially was enjoying being in the CIA—and teasing them. Tom had confessed that he actually joined so he could have access to government toys enabling him to protect people like Rick. And Matthew had confirmed that Tom wasn't lying. But Rick didn't want Tom around anymore than Matthew. Tom overheard the temptations people had, and Rick didn't need him to hear his imps shouting for him to run away and join the pack at Wolverton just so he could make love to Daisy as much as he wanted. It was embarrassing.

<< You made that sound. >>

Rick puzzled. "What sound?"

Sighing, his father said, << That sound you make when you start thinking of her again. >>

Groaning, Rick wished he wasn't so obvious.

<< You need to find a way to get her off your mind. >>

"It is extremely hard," Rick groaned, clenching his teeth. "Especially since she is going to have my baby."

<>

Which was true.

Honestly, Rick felt incredibly guilty about that. Despite how he tried to focus on the baby, getting updates on the child's progress through an agreed-upon, monitored, monthly phone call to the house, his mind always turned toward her and how he wanted to hold her, be with her, make love to her. The pregnancy was four months along. Daisy was excited, already counting the days and in each phone call she talked about her checkups and the progress the baby was making. He wished he could feel as happy about it as Daisy did. But he didn't. Not really. He just felt responsible for impregnating her.

<< Maybe you need to get that paper out and read it again. >>

Groaning, Rick nodded, realizing his father was right, and he dug into his pocket for his wallet. Inside was a worn note paper which he had folded up and carried with him as a reminder of reality whenever his hormones took over his senses.

<< I'll call you later. >>

And his father hung up.

Tucking away his cell phone in is front pocket, Rick walked over to a bench and sat down, unfolding the paper. In one of his private therapy sessions with Pastor Cartwright (Andrew's grandfather), the elderly pastor had Rick write up this compare and contrast list for Rick to straighten out his thoughts so he could think clearly about his attraction for Daisy. Their attraction was entirely chemical, after all. When he wrote out the list, one column was entirely what he was looking for in a wife—barring perfection. He stared at it. It had to be a practical list, as the future CEO of Deacon Enterprises needed a wife who could handle the media getting into her face, as well as him being a werewolf. The other column was a list of the qualities which attracted him to Daisy. The contrast was glaring.

Yet as he read the list, he stared at the last thing he had written about Daisy. She wasn't a gold digger. She only wanted him. And a life with her would be so much simpler.

Rick shook off that last thought.

He was just going through withdrawals. And it wasn't just about Daisy. At least not for the Wolverton pack. They wanted him. She was just the bait. He didn't really want to run away to where the wolves of Wolverton had relocated after the summer fiasco. Not really. Pastor Cartwright had also had him logically add up what would happen to him if he did leave his life to join the Wolverton pack.

First and foremost, he would not have the Deacon fortune anymore to fall back on when times got hard. So, no money. That meant he would have to get an ordinary job and rely on that job only for his income. And if he did abandon his current path at getting a college education (which aimed for degrees in Economics and Business), then he would have to take a job in a store or factory—as there was no way he could actually make a career playing basketball like he used to dream of as a kid. He wasn't as good as his friend Peter McCabe was in soccer who would go pro within the next few years.

And he would hate a factory job.

He would also be leaving all his friends behind.

That was the worst part. He had many friends from many walks of life around the country. But the pack was adverse to his main ones, if not all of them as they were not wolves. His main friends from Middleton Village were the Holy Seven. And the pack was terrified of them.

But even then, if he was willing to do all that just so he could be with Daisy, he had to face the facts that life would be dull and rather pathetic between the full moons. He might even become a bitter wolf like Mr. Blithe.

Rick shuddered. Honestly, thinking of Mr. Blithe (who was an abusive werewolf with a poor trapped human wife and three kids) was a perfect deterrent against going back to the pack. Mr. Blithe despised him. And Rick didn't want that family to suffer unduly if the man transferred his wrath onto them.

"Oh good! You are already ready!" Carl Webb marched up the sidewalk, grinning at Rick.

Rick quickly folded up the paper and tried to tuck it back into his wallet.

"Nuh uh uh." Carl held out his hand for the paper. "Let me smell it first."

"It is not one of those," Rick moaned. But he handed over the list. Carl was another person in the know about his 'addiction'. Rick didn't know how much he knew, only that Carl had been handling their mail since Henry discovered Daisy's postcards, which Rick had hidden in various places around the house. All the postcards had Daisy's scent on them. And they had kept Rick in his addiction despite his father's efforts to remove Rick from her influence. All the postcards had been burned and the house had to be fumigated to eliminate her scent from it, while Rick was forced to stay at the local bed and breakfast with Henry, groaning while being made to wash her scent off of him also. Rick's withdrawal pains had been agonizing.

Carl sniffed the paper once then handed it back, not even reading it. It was one good thing Rick liked about the man. Carl minded his own business.

"Well, we have to be careful." Carl then turned on his heels and started to head back the way he had come. He halted after a few steps when Rick did not follow. "Come on. Time's a wasting."

Moaning, Rick hung his shoulders and folded back up the paper, putting it into his wallet. But he didn't budge. "Can't I go back to my room first and change?"

"Nope." Carl nodded sharply to him. "Everything you need is in the car. You can change tonight at the hotel after you study the files your father left for you."

Dragging his feet, Rick moaned.

But Carl eyed him sharply as he said, "I hope you don't intend to walk like that at the convention. You need to hold yourself with the same dignity as your father."

Groaning, Rick squared his shoulders. Yet he replied as he caught up with Carl, "No one on this planet has as much dignity as my father."

Suppressing a smirk, Carl nodded. "True."

As they got into the car, Rick thought about what his father said about getting some friendly protection at the conference. A person had come to mind, actually, when his father talked about Tom Brown. Thing as, there was more than one Tom that he knew who could be helpful. And this Tom could stroll into an environmental conference and look like he belonged there.

Smiling to himself, Rick scrolled down the contact list on his cell phone and dialed.

Filling Rather Large Shoes

Chapter Two

Everything Rick needed was set before him once he came to the hotel in New York City that night. His suitcase had clothes from home as well as suits and ties. While Carl read out loud from a few of the documents to Rick, a tailor took in his new suits to make adjustments to them. Rick stood in the center of the room feeling like a robot being programmed by mad scientists with an Economics degrees.

“…at the meeting. You need to study this document here on your father’s stance on Agenda 2030 and Rancher’s Rights. This is connected to the community in Colorado, which you are protecting.”

Rick nodded. The community in Colorado were civilized werewolves who raised their own deer and cattle for their hunts. They were connected to a wildlife reserve that the Deacons owned and allowed the pack to hunt in. Agenda 2030’s plan for sustainable development was threatening their livelihood. It was also threatening the Deacon’s control of their own wildlife reserves, as the agenda wanted the government to control it all, reducing free land to nil.

“Lift your arms,” the tailor said for the third time. He was getting annoyed with Rick who was already annoyed with him for not being able to use one jacket as a model for the rest. The adjustments were taking forever.

Lifting his arms again, Rick moaned.

Carl continued: “As for the rest, your father wants you to meet with Professor Jackson from NYU as he has a number of grad students that need project approval—”

“I’m giving approval to people further along in college than me?” Rick raised his eyebrows.

“—and I hear there is a delegation from the Loup Garou Society that wishes to meet with you a neutral location to renegotiate a deal with the Deacon Enterprises.”

“You’re kidding me.” Rick stared at him.

Carl shook his head and set the file on the bed. “No sir. I am not. And your father explicitly wants you to make the decision, as you are the one the Loup Garou Society has an issue with.”

Rick wondered if Carl knew the Loup Garou Society was not a French environmentalist group but were actually a pack of werewolves just based in Paris. His father kept so many things secret, even from his most trusted employees. Rick was sure he could count on one hand the number of people in the company who knew about the Loup Garou. Henry was one of them. But then Rick had not told his friends about the Loup Garou either. To do so would open a huge can of worms—as his father had been just as guilty of sowing his wild oats in a pack as Rick. The only difference was that his father’s situation was more scandalous.

Ages ago when his father was nineteen, his father had gone to Loup Garou for refuge after Rick's grandfather Howard the First had been killed by a hunter. And in his distress, Howard the Second was easily manipulated by the Loup Garou who wanted him to breed with their females to improve the gene pool of the pack. They had also gotten him drunk to make it easier. Since then, Mr. Deacon’s regrets had tortured him—as he had sired seven illegitimate children whom the pack had controlled and he had been barred contact with. Of course that all changed when Rick came to Paris two summers ago and the pack had intended to manipulate him in the same way. That fiasco in Paris ended with Rick triumphant, not only saving three of his sisters from pack control, but also meeting his two living brothers (one had been killed long before Rick had ever arrived at Paris). Remy was one of his older brothers. And these days, Rick thought that Remy would have been a better heir to his father. He was, after all, a personal assistant working for the Loup Garou elders,

Impressum

Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 25.04.2018
ISBN: 978-3-7554-7895-9

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