Lone Werewolf Duology (bxb)

40. The Lineage Theory

This time Liam waited by the Mnemosyne with a rolled-up blanket. He shook it to its full length, and draped Volya head to toe, like a parent cocoons a child after bath time. Except, when Liam folded out the corner to put the cross on Volya, Volya's body filled with grown-up lust. He lowered his head, chin nearly touching his clavicle. The cross looked the same, but the metal felt warmer against his skin than he expected.

His perplexed, slightly cross-eyed expression didn't escape Sangha.

"There, are you happy, Renato? The boy is traumatized. Absolutely traumatized." Sangha jabbed an accusing digit at daSilva, at Lydia, at Volya, and in every direction. She sounded livid, and no wonder! He was so sapped of strength, he barely kept from drooling and probably looked worse.

DaSilva rumbled some objections, though not without an anxious quiver in his voice. "We don't know it. The adjustment to the time-space differential takes a few seconds."

Lydia tightened her shawl over her shoulders—the woman must have had a wardrobe just for shawls—watching him with rapt eyes, like he was the only living being left on Earth. Desperation and hope swept over her face, neither taking root for long.

"I'm fine," Volya said, "just let me dress, please. Please?"

Lydia ushered Renato and Liam out. Sangha stayed, keeping a penetrating stare on him. To be honest, it was comforting. But to keep on form, he muttered how a man couldn't get a lick of privacy, and how he was totally fine.

Sangha did the usual work-up before letting him outside of the trailer. By then, the night had fallen in the modern world as well.

The expedition had a generator, so they had all the electricity they needed to power the technology and work comfortably. Despite that, the heart of the camp was the firepit next to the kitchen. The pine logs burned merrily, scenting the air with sap. The expelled moisture hissed as it dripped down from the logs onto the coals. The sparks tore away from the fire and flew into the sky. The smoke curled with every shift of the breeze.

It is to the firepit that Volya came to make his report, after fortifying himself with Sangha's miraculous cocktail. For his story, this setting seemed more fitting than a crowded room of a trailer.

He looked from person to person, illuminated by the warm glow. Their clothes were made from new materials, but in the dancing firelight they didn't look that much different from the rough-span fabrics. The faces were free of paint (except for Lydia's of course) but the shadows made up for it.

Volya was startled by how little human nature had changed over the millennia. Toss a group of strangers into the wilderness—and they would huddle around the fire, nudged closer by the encroaching darkness.

Sometimes, they crowded together too close for comfort. Despite her earlier protests, Marina held Liam's guitar in her lap, with Damir sprawled by her feet. He had a sheepish grin on his face, despite how crappy her plucking of the strings sounded. She smiled dreamily.

Volya froze, unsure if he should take an empty folding chair next to Damir. Bursting the couple's rainbow bubble seemed cruel. They would do it to themselves in a short order.

"I saved a space for you," Liam called softly. He waved at Volya from a padded mat strewn on the grass. Volya plopped down. This simple action had the effect of sending up a flare. Everyone on the team dropped whatever they were doing and called out their questions.

Volya closed his eyes at the onslaught of scientific curiosity. "Give me a moment to collect my thoughts, please. I'll tell you everything."

Liam's arm slipped around his waistline, gentle yet steadying. Liam's breath, as warm as the night's air, but scented by a foreign smell of his chewing gum, tickled Volya's temple. It would have been sweet to rest his head on Liam's shoulder, touch him...