Lone Werewolf Duology (bxb)

38. The Taste of Success

Once out of the Mnemosyne and dressed, Volya asked for an extra blanket, since his knees were knocking together uncontrollably. His shakes didn't come from chill, but from adrenaline pumping through his veins. He wanted to hide it, yet his excitement infected every face in the crowded trailer. They guessed that he'd experienced something extraordinary.

Liam was the first to move. He dashed away yelling, "One blanket coming right up. Don't say anything until I'm back."

The scientific crew filed outside after Liam, and swarmed Volya as he stumbled around looking for a good spot to sit down. Finally, he plopped on a bench by the row of trestle tables long enough to sit the entire expedition. It wasn't there before he went into the Mnemosyne, so they must have installed it under a khaki awning next to the kitchen tent while he was floating in his dreams.

"How long was I under?"

"Two hours," Lydia reported. "You had a vision?" Another second, and she'd chew her perfectly manicured nails—a sight Volya wouldn't miss for anything.

He tried to control his chattering teeth the best he could. "Y-yes. Let's... that is, I'll wait for L-liam to tell."

Damir pushed a glass of water into his hands. "Drink. Or do you want something stronger? Your lips are blue."

"No. I can't drink alcohol."

"Crap, I forgot." Damir sighed. Everyone always did.

Volya set the glass on the table after sloshing half of it onto himself. He instinctively touched his lips and jerked his finger away when the stubble prickled him. That's right, stubble. In his sad state, he forgot that he'd stopped shaving in imitation of Damir. The man waxed poetic about beards for the field season, and always in Marina's hearing.

While the most rise Damir had gotten out of Marina was a derisive snort, Volya couldn't resist experimenting. The result was more encouraging than the fuzz from a year ago that made the nicks from a razor a better option.

"Where is that blanket?" Sangha demanded, shuffling Damir out of the way. Her withering gaze made everyone who had sat down on the bench, jump up. They didn't go away though. Sangha wrapped the pressure sleeve around Volya's forearm to check his vitals and glared at her esteemed colleagues. "All of you, clear out."

"No!" Volya exclaimed. "No! I have to tell everyone what I saw s-soon. And I feel fine."

"You don't look fine."

A few tense moments passed in silence while Sangha did her measurements. "Hmm. Not as bad as I've feared, but—"

"One blanket coming right up!" Liam, who'd arrived earlier and froze while Sangha worked, wormed through the small crowd.

Volya listened to the familiar steps and stroked his facial hair. The nascent mustache was already curling, though a far cry from a hussar's brave look. If it were longer, he'd twirl it cockily. He had something valuable for Liam, something that justified the blind faith Liam had had in him all along. You bet, he'd twirl it!

The blanket coated his shoulders, but warmer than that, were Liam's hands. They smoothed the fabric to close over Volya's chest.

"Liam, I have it." Volya looked upward, happy to meet Liam's glance. For a second, all the other eyes, the tightening circle of other faces, tilted forward, waiting for his report, ceased to exist. Liam removed his hands, but squeezed himself onto the bench right next to him.

Marina squeaked her annoyance at being so unceremoniously displaced, but gave way.

"I'll try to speak in English," he told Marina, "but help me if I get lost, okay?"