Lone Werewolf Duology (bxb)

17. The Will and Hope of the Wolves

"You won't be going alone, son," Taina Wolkova said. So sad. So gentle. So reasonable.

Volya cleared the obstruction that clogged his throat enough times to qualify for an offer of Heimlich maneuver. The damnable thing just popped in there at the sound of his mother's voice.

"Huh?" he inquired once he regained his ability to speak.

"A dozen hand-picked Huntresses would accompany Kramola and you to provide for the expedition's needs. More, if necessary."

"Seriously?" he asked. "Seriously? Because the one thing that ensures my peaceful sleep in Kramola's company is the escort of her twelve best friends?! Thirteen of them versus one of me, more if necessary? At least you don't underestimate me any longer."

Kramola huffed. "Don't flatter yourself. I can squash you like a fly."

He pointed at her. "See, mama? This... this right here doesn't reduce my level of discomfort with your rad idea!"

The Walkwe women whispered to one another, exchanging shocked glances. It was hard to say what they considered insolent, his tone or addressing his mother as his mother.

The Shaman lifted her hand, forestalling everyone. "Nadezhda."

She didn't shout, but the noise died down. Volya pulled in a deep breath. One day people would grant him silence when he speaks. That would be the day!

"Nadezhda, the sign was clear. You're no longer an apprentice, but a woman of Sight. You will guide the..." the venerable dame frowned, considering what to call a mixed party with this one odd man. "...this group as a Shaman."

Nadezhda's face lit up so fiercely, that Volya half-expected her to hop and clap. Their mother beamed at her with pride. A scowl softened on Kramola's lips. Even the Huntresses nodded their approval.

The glow of achievement spreading from Nadezhda pulled him in too. He stepped forward, his arm outstretched to shake her hand, but then he didn't know if the Walkwe shook hands. But she had hugged him earlier, so he hugged her too.

"Grats, sis."

Her eyes glittered with a veil of happy tears. "Thank you!"

The Shaman—the other Shaman— cleared her throat, and Volya awkwardly let go of his sister. She, however, didn't distance herself. In response, some of the women jostled to find a place closer to Kramola. Great, now they all were flying their colors.

"You, Nadezhda, will stand a witness to any discovery," Volya's mother said. She glanced at Kramola sternly, channeling a warning, like no shenanigans, buttercup.

Kramola's face turned sour, a familiar taste to him. So familiar, that his shoulders twitched. He forced his lips out of the pinched expression, released the bite on his lower lip, relaxed his jaw. She tried to school her face too at the same time as he did. Their gazes locked. He might as well be looking in the mirror instead of at his bitch-sister.

A grudging spark of understanding passed between them.

This plan was stupid and they would just get into each-other's way. The Crones should have chosen either or, not saddle them with a camping trip in hopes that they would... what? Bond or something? In Volya's experience that strategy only worked in the movies from the sunshine-and-lollipops 1960's era.

With Nadezhda being forced to act as a neutral party, Volya needed more friends. He jerked his thumb in Damir's general direction. "Fine, but he's coming as well."

Over a hundred throats expelling an aghast sigh made a pretty loud sound.

Volya ignored the collective exhale and kept pointing at Damir. Yes, it was rude. No, he didn't give a crap.