Lone Werewolf Duology (bxb)

29. The Kiss

AN for content purposes: Age of consent in the State of Montana is 16. Volya is 17. They are kissing in this chapter and hold one another.

***

Everyone left Volya alone that afternoon, apart from two phone calls.

Sangha called first to insist that he must eat, but he refused, because he was a fool.

Then Damir called later to inform that he (Volya, not Damir) was a fool. Also, that he (Damir, not Volya) would break and enter to drag him to the kitchen by the ear at supper time. In the background, Marina argued that he (Damir) should give the kid (Volya) some space.

Just before sunset, Volya crept out of the house, because he wasn't confident about the outcome of the Damir vs. Marina bout. He dashed for the river, praying that Anabelle wouldn't spot him. Two conversations in a row about her beauty was as much as he could take.

On the grassy riverbank, he whiled away the last hour of the day, watching the sky change colors. His mind kept churning through miserable memories. He looked like some scary shaman; the Elder called him a foreigner; he snapped at Liam. And the icing on the cake--Toshka pitied him. Toshka! He hated it the most. He didn't want anyone's frigging pity! He wanted the same longing that filled his chest to echo in Toshka's voice. Just a little affection, some sign that he could hope, even when Liam's and Anabelle's hopes were dashed because of his ineptitude.

The pinpricks of stars showed in the sky. Or maybe they were planets, asteroids, meteors or satellites... He was too tired for it to make a lick of difference. They were the bright sparks in the sky, counting which kept his dizziness at bay.

The moon rose and hunger built up in him, twisting his guts into macrame. The brighter the moon shone, the greater the urge to howl became. His chest heaved in relief after he gave in to it. He filled the air with a long trilling note, lonely and threatening at the same time.

He howled until he spotted the headlights of a car bouncing up and down the country road. This scattered light was no match to the moon's glow, but Volya cut himself off mid-howl. He jumped to his feet and loped to the house, hoping to intercept Liam, hoping to apologize... hoping.

Alas, the SUV beat him to it. By the time he sprinted into the courtyard, panting and sweaty, it was already parked askew by the porch, but light filtered between the curtains in Liam's bedroom window. Volya couldn't see anyone moving, so his imagination pictured Liam lying on the bed in his shoes, strumming his guitar, sulking. Probably drunk, or high, or entertaining some girl. Or a guy.

Maybe it was better to leave the apologies and stuff till morning. Volya winced, kicking a pebble around with his toe. Definitely better.

He entered the house, and froze by the staircase. His bedroom was straight up, on the second floor. The rational part of him wanted to go there and sleep. His belly wanted him to turn left and raid the kitchen. What he did was to turn right and follow the hallway to Liam's bedroom.

He owed Liam an apology for his earlier outburst, he told himself while shuffling his feet on the strip of light pooling underneath Liam's door, straining his hearing to the max. His Alpha-hearing, the academicians would have called it. Liam was breathing. Without as much as straining his nose, Volya picked an acrid scent. Alcohol, of course. Unlike that night in Moscow, no other human shared the bed with Liam.

Yes, it was better to leave Liam to his drinking, but Volya rotated the doorknob and pushed the door. If Liam wanted to be left alone, he would have locked it, right?

The door opened without a squeak.

Liam slumped in his lazy-boy chair. A thick-walled bottle leaned against its side threatening to spill the remnants of its amber content. An empty glass slipped from the dangling hand and rolled away, leaving a trail of ice-cubes behind for some Hansel to follow.