Code Wolf: A Macconwood Pack Novel (The Macconwood Pack Series Book 3)

by C. D. Gorri

  The emptiness lingered in his mind like a disease. He wondered if it would ever go away. Nowadays, his Pack was his family. It was all he needed. Randall didn’t believe in happily ever after for anyone. Except maybe these two. He wished a long healthy life for them both. He sat quietly as Charley perched on her husband’s lap. She smiled as she turned to face him.

  “It’ll be fun, Randall. Warm sand, cool water, a couple of weeks to unwind, all by yourself with no one around to bug you. You could get room service day and night, a deep tissue massage, new movies on demand, and some real privacy! I mean, wow! I’d kill for a vacation like that!”

  “What do you mean you’d kill for a vacation like that? Are you unhappy? Is something wrong?” Rafe looked mildly insulted and Charley rolled her eyes before swatting him on his huge bicep.

  “Oh shush, I didn’t mean that!” She giggled like a school girl, her big brown eyes laughing, as she turned and kissed her husband on his nose before looking back at Randall, “Well, where are you going?”

  “How the heck do I know? Excuse me, Charley, I didn’t mean to snap, but, shi-, I mean, I don’t need this, Rafe. I’m fine!”

  Rafe leaned over carefully so as not to disturb his wife in her delicate condition. He picked up an envelope and tossed it to Randall, a small smile played at the corner of his mouth. Uh oh, thought Randall. He got the joke when he opened the envelope.

  “Oh yeah, this looks relaxing!”

  “Well? Where to?” asked Charley.

  “Bloody Point, South Carolina!”

  “Daufuskie Island is the southernmost sea island in South Carolina. The history of Bloody Point begins in 1715, when the native Yemassee tribe clashed with the European settlers over a variety of reasons, such as unfair trading terms, ending in battle which ran the waters red with blood,” Randall read the brochure to himself as he squeezed into the too-small coach seat on the airplane. He’d thank Dib later for conveniently forgetting to book him first class.

  He stretched as discreetly as he could, but his six-foot three-inch frame and his two hundred-fifty pounds of solid muscle simply didn’t fit. The older woman beside him gave him hard looks as he jostled her elbow for the tenth time since they took off from Newark International Airport. He smiled and mumbled an apology, but she only widened her large blue eyes under almost non-existent white eyebrows and looked away.

  He forgot he could be sort of intimidating to normals. After all, he was a beast of a man. Literally. Even in the best situation, Randall hated planes. It was too close, too crowded, and too damned bumpy. His Wolf was restless and unhappy with the conditions.

  He felt his Wolf closer nowadays. Ever since the curse that kept Werewolves from Changing and even hearing their Wolves until the full moon was losing power, Randall was still savoring the unpolluted joy of feeling whole. But that meant he had to work harder at keeping his Wolf in check.

  He imagined how he looked smiling at the lady next to him and grimaced, maybe it was time he trimmed the beard. Or the hair. Or both. He looked like a damned lumberjack out of a fairytale in his worn jeans, brown leather boots, and flannel shirt. It was April, but in New Jersey the weather was unpredictable at best.

  Besides that, Randall worked in an office with servers and computers. It was vital to keep the temperature at a steady fifty degrees for the health of the equipment. Werewolves ran hotter than most normals, but fifty degrees was still only fifty degrees. His clothes were practical and comfortable.

  It had been a long time since he paid attention to his appearance. Maybe he’d do some shopping on the island. He looked back down at the travel brochure Charley gave to him before he took off that morning. She kissed his cheek goodbye and stuffed it into his travel bag before he could protest. He only brought a duffle bag and his carry on with him. Some shorts, t-shirts, running shoes, and a ukulele.

  The guys had hidden his laptop and his tablet, but he still had a Chromebook. And his phone. And if he got really desperate he’d buy a damn computer. Lord knew, he had enough money.

  WolfMoon was the most significant source of his income, but he also developed various bits of code and patch-ins that he sold to big name corporations under a sub-branch of Graves Enterprises called Upward Compatible. He wondered how long he’d be able to list his name there before he needed to change it.

  He was older than he looked. Some Werewolves were, not his Alpha though. Rafe was young, but he was also strong and good. Wise beyond his years and a much better man and Alpha than his father, Zev Maccon. He shook his head at the difference in them and silently thanked the universe for it. It was a long time since Randall had thought of that old bastard. Must be the plane.

  “Excuse me, would you like a drink?” Randall looked up at the steward and shook his head. He was not in the mood to talk. He was too anxious. The young blonde man almost dropped the can of soda he was holding when he looked at Randall.

  He felt his cheeks burn at the blatant interest in the man’s eyes. Under the beard, Randall was good looking. It was a fact that most Werewolves were attractive and prime physical specimens. He was used to getting looks by men and women alike, though it had been a while since he had left his “coding cave” as the guys called it. The older woman next to him ordered a soda and the flustered steward almost dropped the plastic cup right on Randall’s lap. Good thing for fast reflexes or he’d be soaked.

  “I am so sorry, sir, did you need a napkin?”

  “No harm done, son,” Randall smiled kindly. The steward couldn’t have been more than twenty-four years old. Probably just out of college. His name tag read Brian.

  “Brian?”

  “Um, yes, sir? I am so sorry-”

  “No worries, I was wondering if you had a bag of peanuts?”

  “Actually, we no longer carry peanuts because of allergies, you know? But I do have a few organic cranberry acai granola bars if you are interested?”

  “That’ll be fine, thanks,” Randall took three granola bars from the basket Brian held out to him. He had just about as much interest in eating the overpriced rabbit food as he did in eating the biodegradable wrapper they came in.

  What was the world coming to? No more peanuts on airplanes? He shook his head and bumped the woman next to him with his elbow again. Damn these coach seats!

  “Sorry,” he mumbled and ate the first granola bar. It tasted like sawdust, but he chewed until it was swallowable. He chased it with a bottle of spring water that he accepted from Brian who assured him he’d need it. The kid was right.

  Randall needed to consume a lot of calories during the day to satisfy the beast within him. A hungry Werewolf was not a friendly one. And wasn’t that the understatement of the year? Ha! He closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind for the rest of the flight.

  Okay Randall, he told himself, only two hours left in this flying tin can. Fuck me.

  CHAPTER 2

  “Mama! Look here, mama!”

  “What honey?” Tulla Nirvelli turned around on the small outlook where she stood waiting for their first guest of the spring season. The wooden dock was old and the paint was chipped off in most places, but it was sturdy just the same.

  Her eyes found the small blonde whirlwind that was her seven-year old son and she felt that familiar pang in her chest. She pushed all bad thoughts out of her mind as she listened to his excited chatter. Danny loved guest day! That’s what he called it when the small Bed & Breakfast she owned and operated got new arrivals.

  Her Daniel was always getting into something. Right then, he was perched on top of the rickety wooden railing, staring out at the big blue sea. His left hand still had the slightest impression of a dimple from his chubby little toddler days. Was that really so long ago?

  “Mama, I think my dog is coming today!”

  “No, love, no dogs today. Just a new guest!”

  He giggled and spun in a circle shouting about his dog! He’d had a dream about some dog saving his life or some such, she couldn’t keep up. He was into so man
y fantasy themed games and online activities it was difficult to determine which one had a dog in it this week. Oh, my sweet Danny.

  Any day now, he’d be a man. And that was something Tulla was simply not ready for. Her baby was special, and not just to her. Eight years, Tulla thought to herself. Her heart squeezed painfully in her chest. The cold, abiding fear was ever present in her heart. Ever since she had found out just who, or rather what, her late husband was and what he had promised to those who were used to having their way. The knowledge plagued her every day since he died.

  The man said they’d come back in eight years to see if the child, her child, was their anointed one. Time was almost up. She shivered as she recalled the man’s low, eerie voice over the phone.

  It was rainy and dark that night, just a few hours after the police had knocked on her door to tell her the unimaginable. Her husband of under a year had died in a boating accident. She was alone in the world with her newborn son and terrified of her uncertain future. Little did she know there was so much more to fear.

  The phone rang as she sat at the counter with her hand on her still swollen belly. She had just come home from the hospital with her newborn son to discover Tom was gone. She’d called for him during the two days she was in labor and the two days she spent in recovery.

  He never answered, never came to see her or his boy. That was when she alerted the police. After they investigated they informed her that Tom had been killed in what appeared to be an accident.

  “It was no accident, Mrs. Nirvelli, I killed your husband and now it is you who bears the weight of his promise. I will come to visit the child in his eighth year.”

  “No. who are you?”

  “Who I am is of no consequence. If the boy is the chosen one, he will return with me to be trained. Consider yourself lucky, Mrs. Nirvelli.”

  “Lucky? You want to steal my baby, how am I lucky?” She asked him, the true horror of his words not penetrating the fog that clouded her brain. Tom was dead, a stranger wanted her son, and she was lucky? How could this be happening to her?

  “You’re still alive. The child needs his mother right now, otherwise I would have sent you to meet your husband already. Enjoy the next few years while you can, Mrs. Nirvelli. We will be watching you.”

  After the call, Tulla packed up her few material belongings. She let the landlord keep the security deposit on the house she and Tom rented and she left. With the mainland town she had lived with her husband, Tom Nirvelli, for a little under nine months in her rearview mirror, she and Danny headed to Daufuskie Island. To the small cottage her great-aunt owned on Bloody Point.

  She was grateful for the warm welcome Great-Aunt Mildred had given her. They lived together for two years until the old woman had suffered a stroke. She could no longer handle the rough sea winds of the small island and she went to live in a senior center in Charleston to Tulla’s great dismay.

  It was better for the old woman, Tulla knew that deep in her heart. Still, she was the only family Tulla had left except for Daniel. Aunt Mildred was a kind and sweet soul. She was taken care of by the friendly staff and nurses at the senior center. Tulla made sure of that.

  Tulla loved Aunt Mildred for her warm spirit and boundless hospitality. She opened her heart and her home to a grand-niece she had very seldom seen. Oh, and how she had welcomed them! She doted on Daniel and became a surrogate grandmother to them both.

  Six month’s after her stroke, Mildred died. She left Tulla, her only living relative, her tiny cottage. By then Tulla had already started taking in weekenders to the island. After a few months and some modest renovations with the small inheritance she received, she turned the place into a cozy B&B. Nothing could replace the old woman in Tulla’s memories and she planted little annual flowers outside to remind her of Aunt Mildred every spring. She loved flowers.

  The Sea Mist Bed & Breakfast sat right on the corner of the island’s south side, on a stretch of sandy beach that was almost completely isolated except for a few widespread neighbors. The waters were rougher on that side of the island with the south wind constantly blowing, but larger developers have already come around sniffing for cheap land to build larger resorts for their golfers and vacationers.

  Tulla had no wish to sell. Not when she felt safe on an island with only a couple of hundred permanent residents year round. She had come to appreciate Bloody Point’s beauty despite it’s gory name. The moss-covered oaks and oceanic birds that nested on the shores, the alligators that you could sometimes spy sunbathing in the summertime, the clam bakes and friendly faces made it a lovely place to live.

  She made decent money with her B&B. She had four, single-bed, guest rooms. Two had spectacular views of the ocean, the other two faced a row of oak trees that were equally pleasing to the eye. Outdoor attractions at her B&B included a pair of beachside hammocks hung together under a group of transplanted palm trees, a wood deck off the kitchen that sported a huge outdoor table with an umbrella surrounded by oversized chairs with cheerfully colored cushions and pillows, and a large outdoor fire-pit. She had a small row boat for those who enjoyed fishing when the weather permitted and a handful of cushioned lounge chairs lining the beach.

  She was a good hostess. Her natural warmth and honest face inspired people to loosen up around her. Business was good and steady and she prided herself on keeping her guests happy. A novice chef, Tulla provided her guests with three home-cooked meals prepared daily and served promptly at eight, one, and six. A constant supply of fresh cookies and sweet tea were available in the kitchen for anyone in need of snacks along with healthier options like sliced fruit and yogurt.

  Danny loved the island though more and more he asked to go on trips to the mainland. There was a small school on the island where Danny attended classes. Their private rooms were set apart from the guest quarters. In fact, she had renovated the garage into a mini apartment for them. They each had their own bedroom and a small play/living room area with a television, gaming system, loveseat and small table with a computer she had gotten secondhand.

  Danny loved computer games and was always fiddling on the used laptop she bought to keep track of their guests, their bank accounts, and their inventory. Danny was a smart boy. Inquisitive and a delight to his mother. The pair of them had carved out a nice little life for themselves on Bloody Point.

  As every mother of curious little boys knows, he was prone to asking a ton of questions, and therefore, had strict instructions not to pester the guests. Especially until Tulla got a good look at them. Well, a good listen anyway. She tried to instill a sense of security in their lives, but her nerves were raw. She was always dreading the day she’d hear that voice again. The one belonging to the man who wanted her son.

  She shivered and looked at her towheaded boy with that panic still gripping her heart. It took her a moment, but she willed herself to breathe. Danny knew nothing about his father or the man who terrorized her dreams. She never told him. How could she? It was impossible. Tulla wanted to keep him safe and innocent of whatever madness Tom had been a part of.

  “Mama, can you see it?” Danny pointed and almost lost his grip on the railing. Tulla reached out and steadied him.

  “Look, it’s coming closer!” She smelled his soft hair and the fading scent of the baby shampoo he used.

  Her son was caught between that inevitable transition from baby to boy. She held him a little too tight and he squirmed to get free, caught up in the excitement of a new guest.

  Tulla wasn’t focused on their new arrival. She was lost in thoughts of her son. She wanted to pick him up, to hold him close to her heart, like she did when he was just a baby. Not in public though. He would be highly offended if she didn’t take into consideration his manliness when they were out and about. The little devil!

  “My dog is on that boat!”

  “Hush, silly, he’s a guest not a dog!”

  “Right there! Right there!” She nodded as he pointed out to sea at the small image of the water taxi co
ming into view.

  It was so far away it looked more like a toy bobbing up and down in the unusually rough waters. She inhaled the salty air and steadied herself, trying to relax into her usual guarded, but friendly professional face. The boat would be carrying her guest for the next four weeks.

  A Mr. Randall Graves, if her memory served. He was coming alone and staying at The Sea Mist for what his colleague had said was an overdue break from work. The man who phoned her and made the initial reservation was quite insistent on giving her details of Mr. Graves’ poor overworked sense of duty and dedication to his job.

  The man hadn’t had a vacation in years! His co-worker, a Mr. Lowell, described the poor old man as married to his desk. No family, no children, no one to care for him! That only made Tulla more sympathetic to his lonely plight.

  She was so moved by the thought of him all alone that she put on a pot roast complete with mashed potatoes and glazed carrots. She even baked two dozen double chocolate chip cookies with walnuts just for her guest. The man probably hadn’t had a home-cooked meal in ages! She felt a certain responsibility to her new guest and wanted to make sure he was pampered a little for all his hard work.

  Poor old thing, she thought. She had instructions to give him his space, which she would naturally. Except for doing his laundry and preparing his meals, of which he preferred large portions of organic meat, fowl, or fish with every meal, he required no other services. No guided tours, golfing, or chauffeuring. Except for today of course.

  There was one other thing she was asked to do for her guest. She was asked to tell Mr. Graves the internet connection was down for the duration of his visit. Normally, Tulla did not like to lie, but she was told it was a matter of great importance to the man’s health. She had struggled for a moment or two before acquiescing. To be honest, she still wasn’t sure she could pull it off.

  She worried it over and over in her mind until inspiration struck! She knew she could never lie with a straight face, so she disconnected the modem and “accidentally” dropped it in the kitchen sink when it was full of soapy warm water.