Lone Werewolf Duology (bxb)

21. The Howl

Volya stared at the keyboard in front of him. Not one of the keys, black or white, looked more appealing to him than any other. Liam was off his rocker when he'd suggested he'd play one at random. He had said it wouldn't mean anything, but Volya suspected it was a lie. Liam wanted to learn something about him from this choice. But it wasn't choosing when you didn't know what was even in front of you.

A low rumble started deep inside Volya's chest. Liam and his challenges! Liam being nice 24/7, while always directing Volya to do what he wanted! If the inner voice had asked its favorite question, who's your soulmate, Volya? at this particular moment, Volya would have pointed to Toshka without hesitation. With Toshka, he always felt the same thing, a tender concern. With Liam, his infatuation ebbed and flowed every which way, poisoned by suspicions, by incredulity, by a simple language barrier, for goodness sake. He wasn't sure from one moment to the next how he felt about Liam.

Naturally, the inner voice never asked this crucial question when Volya saw things with crystal clarity.

Liam sat quietly, hypnotic eyes not straying from Volya, waiting on some revelation.

Here is his revelation! Volya hit a key at random, somewhere to the left, between him and Liam. It ended up being two keys at the same time, actually, because of how stiff his fingers were. The sound broke out sharp and loud, so cringeworthy that he would have yanked his hand right back. But Liam's arm encircled him, reaching for the keys on his right.

"G, F... Okay. Keep going," Liam said, while his fingers did their own thing independently of his voice. The guy wasn't even looking at the black-and-white board. He only looked at Volya. Waiting for another revelation.

Volya hit another key.

"C is for cookie!" Liam added a bunch of extras, turning Volya's random pounding into... nope, not the insipid nursery rhyme. The tune was something hanging from the tip of his tongue, a half-forgotten eighties' instrumental.

Volya warmed up to the game, even though it was rigged against him. He gave it his all, reaching out, left and right, pressing the keys faster and faster. His fingers slipped on the polished plastic, muffling the sound or, on the opposite, making it explode by banging too hard. He no longer bit his lips when it happened.

Liam's arms flew up and around him, incorporating everything into the single crazy rhapsody.

Blood rushed in Volya's veins. He could make Liam trip, miss the beat, he was sure. He just had to be more random, faster and more aggressive. Think up the best way to be random, fast and aggressive. Do it. It always worked in a fight.

He hit one stupid key after another, only to have Liam reach a dozen in return, fingers splayed, face meditative, and the smile growing wider. Liam was enjoying every moment of it, more smug than a cat with a fresh kill in his teeth.

Faster pace, slower pace, leaning all the way to the left or right, pounding the heck out of the instrument or barely dipping the white surface with his fingertip—Liam chased him down and forced his cacophony in shape.

The problem wasn't even that he was losing the game hands down.

The problem was that no matter what key he picked, Liam's improv turned it into a centerpiece of a turbulent melody that plowed through his chest, leaving a bleeding furrow behind. He didn't like being stuck in the epicenter of this storm, and even less—unleashing a new gust every time he lifted his finger.

Liam sat too close for comfort too, despite seemingly being oblivious of his surroundings, or how he ensconced Volya into the space between him and the white-and-black fence with his arm and his music.