Lone Werewolf Duology (bxb)

45. The Raid

Volya savored the memory for as long as he could. Something about the Buyan Isle made it as crisp as if it had happened yesterday, not years ago. When he was done here, he decided, he wanted to return to Toshka. He would change the script then. He loved living on his own. He loved showing affection openly instead of keeping everything inside. Toshka would be thrilled too. If he could bring Toshka to the Buyan Isle, he wouldn't have to hide the truth any longer. Nobody, let alone an impressionable guy like Toshka, could doubt evidence in front of him.

Who knows, maybe they could even live here together, since the Walkwe deserted the magic island. Why did he get so upset that his mother wasn't rolling out a welcoming carpet for him? He'd inherited this piece of magic land. Toshka and he could re-make this place to suit them.

Maybe they would sit right here, under this very oak, and carve their initials into its bark. Volya ran his hand over the trunk, imagining it, smiling, feeling great. The pulse of its sap echoed in his fingertips. The bark, the grass under his butt, the sky above his head—everything moved in unison. The place was getting under his skin and into his blood.

Blood, the oak leaves whispered in dozens of voices.

Startled, Volya looked up, searching for his mist-wolf. His vision twined, multiplying the boughs overhead. The leaves and acorns multiplied, like the shards inside a kaleidoscope. There was no wolf he could discern in their star-burst patterns, but the voices kept repeating 'blood'.

Volya was not in the Mnemosyne. He was wide awake. And the memory of the past still swooped down, taking the world for a spin. He struggled to break his spiraling fall into a vision. He deserved this lazy afternoon on the Buyan Isle and his daydreaming after what he had done.

Alas, he was powerless to stop it. Nobody had the power to change the past. Only the future.

***

Volya didn't grow around horses, but even to his inexperienced eyes, the riders that crowded Akrum, were no cowboys.

They rode bareback. Their mounts lacked graceful lines of galloping horses in the movies. The size of the riders versus their horses didn't match what Volya expected to see based on modern times. The horses were too small and chubby. However, the Yamnaya nudged them with their leather-clad knees better than he could have ever done.

The unshod hooves flew at him, as a rider bore on Akrum. The horse alone was scary enough for Volya to duck. But Yamnaya also hefted a spear! An effing spear aimed at... at Akrum. This was all in the past, and he'd be fine. Volya still squeezed his eyes, because the Yamnaya frightened the living light out of him.

The only thing worse than the Yamnaya in battle, were the Walkwe. In the fray, Akrum alone remained in his human form. The rest of them had transformed into the creatures of nightmares. Or video games, whatever one preferred. Volya recognized the wolf-headed, hulking forms with the clawed arms hanging past the knees and powerful legs. The clumps of fur coated the lean bodies, muscles roping underneath. Yes, he'd call them werewolves, though he recognized bears and chimpanzees in their appearance, or maybe the long-lost cousins of the modern humans.

The intimidating animal-human physique wasn't just for show. It imparted sinewy strength that propelled the leaps and powered the slashes that tore into the horses and the riders with a terrible force. The hooked claws came out bloody, with steaming stripes of flesh.

Sickened, Volya squeezed his eyes shut again. Could a guy retch in an out-of-body experience? He had to see this battle through, though, even if he retched, fainted or screamed like a little girl. For Anabelle's sake, he had to see. Liam counted on him not to flinch and to figure the magic out.