Lone Werewolf Duology (bxb)

15. The Same River

Volya zeroed in on the river once he left the house. It wasn't the Don River, but it was a pretty place with grass to tickle his ankles, giving way to rocky river-cut. Some shrubs clustered along the water-line, even a stand of cattails. He found an opening in the thicket and plopped down on the dry pebbles. After a while, his eyes started hunting for the really good ones to toss into the water. The first pebble broke the shimmering surface and ploinked under to lie at the bottom of the river for all eternity. He watched the circle widen and dug for another. Toss by toss, his heart shrunk back from the critical mass to its normal size without exploding.

Grab a pebble, toss it, watch the circles. That kept everything quiet inside him: the voices, the heart, the pain.

He stretched his arm out in search of his next missile, when the crunch of footsteps alerted him to someone's approach. A heavier walk, longer stride, so a man.

"Leave me alone, Liam," Volya snapped without turning, but knew he was mistaken before the words were out of his mouth. This wasn't how Liam walked, and he didn't stink of machine grease and cigarettes. The coward sent Damir to retrieve him.

"Can I smoke?" Damir asked, ignoring Volya's scowl, and the shout meant for Liam.

"I'm told America is a free country."

He also figured that Damir would do whatever he wanted in any country. The cast of his squared shoulders, the lazy way he walked—it all hinted at someone who held the freedom to do as he wished in highest regard. Volya liked that about the man.

"Ha-hah," Damir replied. He sat cross-legged and dug up a misshapen pack of Marlboro from the breast-pocket of his khaki shirt. He tapped its bottom until a cigarette popped out, crumpled the pack and stuffed it back absentmindedly. His dark eyes flickered, then the lighter flickered, as he steepled his hands over the cigarette to shield it from a gust of wind.

For a while they enjoyed the companionable silence, interrupted only by the splashes Volya's pebbles made, birds' chattering unhappily from the reeds after each disturbance, and Damir's puffs.

"Don't let the past reel you in," Damir advised between two particularly satisfying drags.

Volya honored the platitude with the scoff it richly deserved. What did he even have besides his tragic past? His healthy appetite?

Toshka, the inner voice supplied, sending goosebumps over his arms.

Oh, so now it's Toshka, not Liam, who's my kin. Volya snapped back telepathically and rubbed his skin to erase the stupid goosebumps.

Don't look at me, I just follow your lead, the voice replied philosophically of the river's gurgling and the rustle of the cattails.

How am I even supposed to frigging look at the incorporeal sound in my head? With my third eye or something?

You'll see me soon, the voice promised.

Yeah, right. What are you anyway?

There was no reply. To get at the voice, Volya imagined that the voice belonged to a slug, a fat, lazy slug delighting in his misery.

Not a muscle twitched in Damir's face, while Volya debated with the leech on his soul. He just sat there and filtered smoke through his nostrils. A patient son of a gun.

Silence got to Volya first. "Do you believe any of it? That I'm a werewolf and that there's a magic curse?"

He slanted his eyes to watch for any reaction he had missed, but no, the guy smoked and surveyed the aspens on the opposite bank.