Chapter 3 Forced vacation

"Are you fuckin' with me?"

"No, Randall, I assure you I am not fuckin' with you," Rafe Maccon eased his immense frame back into his oversized, black leather chair and narrowed his ice blue eyes at his Third and one of his oldest friends.

How long had he known the man sitting in front of him? Randall had come to Maccon City when Rafe was about ten, he looked the same then as he did now. Tall at six foot three inches, muscular, and more than a little intimidating to the Wolves under him with his long beard and equally long deep brown hair. Rafe, however, was the Alpha. He was more amused than intimidated by his surly friend.

"A vacation?! What the fuck am I gonna do on a vacation? Come on, Rafe, this is bullshit!"

The door to Rafe's private office flew open and in strolled a very happy, very pregnant Charley Maccon, Rafe's wife. The Alpha's eyes glowed as they landed on his positively glowing mate. She wore a long, flowy dress. The shade was a pale-yellow color that, Randall admitted to himself, looked damn good with her creamy complexion and curly dark hair. Their Alpha Female was quite something. There wasn't a Wolf Guard in the place who wouldn't lay down his/her life for her.

"Well, maybe you should consider a vacation to be a relaxing experience, Randy," she dropped a kiss on Randall's cheek and walked past him, over to her husband whom she kissed full on the mouth.

The way his Alpha's eyes homed in on her when she opened the door was nothing compared to the hungry gaze that followed her across the room. Randall had noticed it took a while for Rafe to get used to his mate's habit of greeting everyone with a kiss or hug. Wolves were protective of their mates, but Randall thought his Alpha was doing an exceedingly decent job of hiding his tension.

Werewolves did not share very well. Charley; however, had stood firm. That was the way she was raised, and she wasn't going to change for any, how had she put it? Neanderthal brow-beating husband regardless of how cute his ass was! Randall had no direct knowledge if the "cute ass" statement was true or not. And he didn't want to know.

He liked Charley though, had from the beginning. He was musically inclined and often took to one of the common rooms to strum his guitar or play a few keys on the piano. Charley liked music too. In fact, they bonded over it. She had a good voice, and he made her an open invitation to sing with him whenever she felt like it.

Yes sir, he liked his Alpha's wife. She was one hell of a woman. He felt like a voyeur as he watched his Alpha place a large hand over her swollen belly and rub it in small slow circles, a gesture that was as loving as it was intimate. He felt Rafe's joy in their Pack bonds and couldn't help, but smile. Regardless of his own profound emptiness.

Randall had thought himself in love once, a long time ago. He was young and full of lust and promise, and of course one pretty big secret. She was a normal, she knew nothing of his world, and he liked it that way. When he suggested they marry she laughed saying that she never wanted a husband or a family. She did not want him or his children. Not ever.

Her rejection was brutal, permanently damaging something inside of him. His tale was sad, but not uncommon. His experience with love was short-lived, but there it was. He vowed then to stay away from it and any attempt at anything resembling family.

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 schoolgirl, 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 swallow able. 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.