Lone Werewolf Duology (bxb)

3. Up in the Air

Transatlantic Flight, July 2018

***

Despite the late hour in L.A., where Volya's transatlantic flight had originated, the sky was bright. Pretty much all of the Boeing-747 passengers shut the blinds on their windows against the light. Volya didn't. To his right, separated only by an oval of transparent material, lay the blue expanse. The airplane left the clouds far below. Even farther down stretched the shimmering plane of the Atlantic Ocean. It was ready to swallow the insignificant man-made thing should it fall out of the sky.

Volya had no fear of flying anymore, none whatsoever, but he still Googled what those windows were made of. He simply wanted to know if the material could withstand the enormous pressures that made his ears pop. It was called stretched acrylic. He must have repeated 'stretched acrylic, not glass' to himself twenty times before he leaned his head back in his seat and closed his eyes. He imagined the slight pressure of Liam's lips on his eyelids and every molecule of his skin clamored to go back.

Liam carved twenty-four hours out of his recording schedule before putting him on the airplane. Volya suspected that the rest of the Buzzkill gang would have gladly given him thirty, if that meant Volya was out of their hair for a bit. They had never forgiven him for two weeks of PR Liam had stubbornly forced upon them. Or that Harris—their Harris—and Liam weren't going to be an item ever again.

Unless... Volya tilted his head to the right and checked the view. The clouds strung along nicely. The engines hummed. The tiny plane on the screen in front of him nudged closer to London with every refresh. There was no 'unless'. Everything was fine. He was going to make it to Russia, find his sister, ask her some hard questions, see how his dream ended and return to Liam. No force in the world, not even a direct meteorite hit or American immigration, could stop him from going back.

The inner voice chuckled. Like you've returned for Toshka?

Volya had lots of things he could have said to that, like oh, I would have, if he wanted me to. Or hello, I've promised to be the best man at their wedding. Or a simple, all-inclusive, sod off.

I'll return to Liam, he told the mist-wolf and closed his eyes again.

He had a scholarship from the Agrino Fund. A major American university had admitted him. And he was a single young man, untrained in any useful craft yet, a wee bit of Americain work experience and no discernible ties in Russia. The immigration that he had barely noticed the last time could be far less genuine without a popstar to gawk at. What if his wish would turn into a nightmare?

Volya splayed his hands on the flimsy plastic tray, until his fingers bumped into his cup. Without thinking, he grabbed it and gulped down whatever was left in it. Water immediately squeezed out of his pores as cold sweat.

Was this dream worth the risk of losing Liam? Even his sister, was she worth it? The only interest she had shown in him so far was on the aggressive-aggressive side... and that's if he believed that she was the poisoner. What if there were two different women? And neither was his twin?

Volya shifted in the stiff plane chair and found the flight attendant in her chair at the front. Between the steadying breaths he formed a single compelling idea: bring me more water and jolted it at her.

The attendant got up, pushed her cart over, poured a cup of water and handed it to him across the elderly couple in the seats separating him from the aisle. Her face remained friendly, without a trace of surprise. Perhaps it was because she expected the requests like this anyway. Nifty.