Lone Werewolf Duology (bxb)

1. While the Candle Burns

June 2018, Montana, USA

***

The hospital would have been idyllic with its shaded grounds and large windows studding its white façade, if not for the astringent smells wafting down the long halls. Plus, the halls themselves were depressing. No matter how much natural light came in, no matter how well the air circulated, this was the place of sickness. It hid behind every curtained door they had passed.

Anabelle took Volya's hand and squeezed it. "It'll be okay," she said.

"Of course," he replied automatically.

Lydia flanked his other side and said nothing, but her spicy perfume couldn't hide the sour smell of sweat from Volya. She fretted more than her daughter.

Volya suddenly wanted the long hall to be even longer, no matter how much the smooth walls reminded him of his childhood at the orphanage. In a way, the hospital was worse, because at the end of the hall wasn't the principal's office, but a private sickroom. The man who occupied it, seemed too large for any structure to contain him, let alone a hospital bed. His name was Cole Anderson, Liam's father. His appetite for joy used to match his size, and yet, there he laid, quietly. He stared at the world with unseeing eyes. Only the beeps of equipment hinted that he was alive.

On this visit, Volya wouldn't be just sitting in the room, holding Cole's hand, while his mist-wolf rushed down the infinite halls of genetic memory, searching for an exit.... This time he intended to do more. Much more.

He sniffed the air again, but the hospital smell was too potent. He wasn't getting Liam's scent through it, though the tingling at the nape of his neck announced his mate's closeness. Liam would be there, in the room. He came there straight from the airport, with Ruth Anderson, his mother.

At the thought of meeting Liam's mother, Volya stopped in his tracks. Lydia and Anabelle followed his example.

"It's going to be okay," Anabelle repeated. Her voice quivered. Lydia's lips pinched.

Volya heaved a sigh and resumed walking at a crawling pace. He envied Lydia and Anabelle their mundane reluctance to face Ruth. There was no love lost between Cole's ex-wives. Ruth didn't like Anabelle either, but his problem was next level.

He had to face his boyfriend's mom with an intro like, hello, I'm this white dude from Slobodinsk... that's in Russia by the way. And, oh! I'm going to return your ex to 2018 from the trap of time with my magic. Glad to meet you, ma'am!

If after that he failed to deliver, he'd look like a... Well, Anabelle had said that Ruth didn't mince words, so she'd let him know exactly what he'd look like to her then.

Volya swallowed. Despite their dallying, the door to Cole's room was before them. He took a breath in and slid it open. Liam's scent hit his nostrils immediately, so intoxicating, he couldn't believe he didn't smell his lover before.

Liam sat in the chair next to the headboard, with his back to the window. The first thing that struck Volya was how much his features sharpened since the last time. The fatigue must have gotten worse, like it always did on the weekends when Liam couldn't make it from L.A. to Montana where Volya lived with Lydia's family. Or two weekends in a row. Once it was three.

Volya stopped himself from dashing to Liam with clucking sounds. He had no right to do it in front of the tall woman who positioned her chair next to the middle of the sickbed. She clutched Cole's hand. Her full lips moved in a silent prayer. Her already straight neck stiffened at the sound of the intruders.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Anders," Volya said. "I'm Volya. I'm... ahem." His accent, mollified by his year in an American high school, resurfaced with a vengeance.