Lone Werewolf Duology (bxb)

3. Not Nothing

Volya slipped into his dorm. It was exactly the same as all the others—a long rectangle, oppressed by its low ceiling. Ten cots lined along the wall with the two windows at a prescribed distance from one another. The other wall was given to the clothing hooks and the shelving units. A shoe-rack for the footwear ran below that, and it didn't improve the ambient air quality.

He had no intention to pack, of course. No, his cunning plan was to lie on his bunk, staring at the ceiling. Maybe sulk a little. But what was the saying about the best laid plans? They oft go awry...

A red-headed, freckled figure sat on his cot, absolutely desolate in the empty room. Toshka must have cut the class somehow to see him.

The cot sprung back under Volya's weight when he sat too, next to Toshka, but not enough. He slipped toward his mate, bumping into his hip. Pleasant warmth flashed across his skin at the same time as his chest constricted.

"How did you know I'll come to the dorm, not back to class?"

Toshka shrugged. "I don't know. Just had a feeling, I guess. What happened?"

"It wasn't anything bad."

"Oh, thank God! Thought they were transferring you to Rostov or something."

Maybe for this one day, it was okay to give up the struggle with the crappy furniture and snuggle together. "Liam Anders is now a spokesman for some charitable joint, so he—"

Toshka's eyes rounded. He jumped up, stubbing a shaking finger at the wall above his own cot, plastered over with pictures of the musicians. "This Liam Anders? The singer?"

Sure enough, Liam was smiling between Jim Morrison and BTS. "Yes."

"Wow! Here!" Toshka's eyes gleamed the brightest blue Volya had ever seen. "And you've talked to him!"

Before Toshka used up the orphanage's annual budget for exclamation marks, Volya rattled out what happened. He just made his exit sound more graceful than it had been and didn't mention the secret tongue. Or the genes part, because it sounded like bragging, like, a super-star told me I have cool genes...

"You refused?! Are you... are you nuts?! Go back! Go back! Tell them you're going!"

Toshka planted his feet on the ground and pushed at his shoulder, trying to dislodge him off the cot. They would tumble on the floor together if Volya gave way, but Volya set his feet wider apart and held his ground.

"No," Volya said in exasperation. Of all people, Toshka should understand why he'd refused. "No, I'm not doing that. It's not good. It's unfair. We're going together or not at all."

Toshka tossed his carrot top. In the excitement of the argument, his cheeks heated up to match his hair. "Vol', you must! Please... Don't you see it? We don't have anything going for us here."

"I was barely in your band. I can't sing. Why the heck should it be me?"

Because you're special, remember? The inner voice wheezed mockingly in Volya's head. Or maybe he thought this. Hopefully, he thought it, because hearing voices ended up badly.

"Is that it?" Toshka asked incredulously. "This can't be it."

"You invested your whole heart into the band. I thought you'd be crushed. Or you'd hate me."

"I'm envious, no question.... But I'd give anything for you to get out of here. Someone has too." The cot screeched when Toshka dropped back on it. "Besides, it's fair that it's you. Any attention we've got was thanks to you."

Volya's jaw hung. "Because I'm such an awesome singer?!" Anna Leonidovna confessing that she was his number one fan was understandable, but Toshka?!

"Good grief, no! I didn't ask you to join for your singing either. You are super-handsome. Don't tell me you don't know that," Toshka said.