Lone Werewolf Duology (bxb)

25. Nothing to It

Liam's kiss grew, rising Volya's core temperature on the banks of a melt-water stream, in the drizzle, wearing a towel, barefoot. His shoulders, however, must have been cold, because Liam unzipped his vest and coated Volya with it. He surveyed the resulting ensemble and clicked his tongue. "Honestly, bae, sometimes I feel like all my efforts to instill a modicum of fashion sense in you are futile."

They returned to the tent. Liam packed. The bodyguards came. Things smeared into a blur of oh-seven-hundred this and Roger-Roger that. They said their good-byes, but it wasn't enough, not really.

Volya crept out of the camp, ignoring the calls from the dig and stalked Liam's party for a while, his lumbering werewolf shape concealed by the mountains.

Let the bodyguards sweat and scan the terrain, alerted by their own sixth sense to a monster trailing their steps. Let them trade alarmed glances behind Liam's back. Let them.

Every other minute or so, he decided that this was it. This was enough. Time to return... and his massive legs carried him in the wrong direction for another step. And then another. And far too many steps again after that.

His nostrils flared filled with the beloved scent, as he tracked his mate.

Finally, one of the bodyguards split up from the group and doubled back, surveying the crevices and creases carefully. Just as Volya prepared to pounce from his concealment at the man, some last vestige of common sense kicked him out of his hunter-killer mode.

Slouching, he looped back, leaving Liam behind. At least the escort was vigilant, he told himself. At least Liam was well-guarded. Safe...

***

The camp was empty save for Damir and Marina when Volya had returned. The couple had a late start of their own by the look of it. They lounged by the campfire with coffee mugs.

Damir also had a giant bowl with a bent spoon balanced on his knee. Why hurry up? their poses indicated. They had each-other, and no deadlines loomed over them.

Volya had barely recognized Marina with a messy ponytail and shadows around her eyes. She made no effort to conceal it with make-up. Yet Damir couldn't have beamed brighter if she were made of gold and studded with diamonds. He alternated glances at Marina with heaping spoonfuls of buckwheat mixed with stringy tinned beef, glistening with fat... Damir was having the breakfast of champions.

The smell of meat set Volya's stomach rumbling. And since he was out of luck with satisfying any other cravings, he transformed into a human. After tightening the waist-band of his sweatpants, he stepped into the kitchen tent to scavenge for a meal.

Four dry fishes, normally used as a bar snack, and Sangha's Famous Werewolf Power Drink would do famously. Maybe five fishes after all the exertions of the night. Plus, Liam had scolded him for being too skinny. Five it was!

Once he emerged back outside so laden, Marina's glance moved from his fish to Damir's morning cereal. She visibly paled, pressed one hand delicately to her mouth, untangled the other from Damir's waist and used it to dig an organic nutri-bar from her pocket.

"Told you, you'd be hungry," Damir commented with a proud smile.

Volya settled cross-legged next to the star-uncrossed lovers to chew his fish. He devoured two, throwing skin and bones into the fire, then drank some of the aminos-plus liquid. Sangha never bothered to improve the flavor, that's for sure.

Marina studied her half-eaten bar, as if hoping it would magically transform into strawberries with cream or whatever the ladies ate for breakfast.

"Want coffee?" she asked Volya after a labored swallow.