Lone Werewolf Duology (bxb)

4. The Citadel of Knowledge

Volya rubbed the nape of his neck. The freshly cut hair there prickled. He missed his ponytail, but such was the price of respectability and he needed every ounce of it now. His ability to influence became more powerful when he could back up the animal magnetism with more pedestrian means. He wasn't even sure it could work on a room full of self-assured adults. His experience was mainly with the high school crowd.

Volya focused on Nesterov. "It's not a fantasy, Dr. Nesterov. The language lives in people's memory."

He straightened a little more just before every gaze landed on him. He could not let them see a disruptive teenager, so he pushed on their minds, particularly of those sitting the closest to Nesterov. Confusion flickered across some faces. He seized it, weaving it into his magic.

"This is how it sounds," he said. "That's how I remember it."

He'd never spoken in the language of his subconsciousness to such a large audience. He grabbed the memory of Akrum's love song because it was the easiest to recite for any length of time. The longer they listened to his voice, the more control he gained, and the more they would be inclined to keep listening.

Volya wished his dad sang about something spiritual rather than pure smut. Luckily, Damir and Marina were the only ones who understood the words.

When he finally finished the verse, Nesterov was the first to stir from the stupor that Volya imposed on the room. His voice lost some of its authority. "Young man, do you mean to say that the PIE is still spoken somewhere?"

"That's how I remember it," Volya repeated, then drove his point home. "Damir's interpretation is quite accurate. I vouch for that."

He had them. He held the humans in the palm of his hand. Even Nesterov. It was a dizzying sensation... and then... then... something came between them like a shadow.

Nesterov looked around with wide eyes and shook his head. He frowned at Volya. "Are you an actor?"

"No," Volya gritted, wrestling with the impedance.

"A student?" Nesterov fired his next question. Confusion was clearing off his face.

Marina flicked one beautiful nail across her throat like, cut it out.

"Yes, I'm a student." Volya lowered his head and focused so hard, sweat coated his forehead. But he just couldn't penetrate the now massive block.

"Linguistics?"

"Accounting."

While Nesterov chuckled politely at his answer, Volya swept the auditorium in search of his opponent. A woman was fleeing to one of the three doors leading out of the room. If she was his mysterious challenger, she must have known that her job was done.

The scientists and students rallied. Some didn't hide amused smiles. Others looked disapproving. Low murmurs grew louder with every passing second...

Worse—Volya caught hands fumbling with the phones, no doubts calling security. And Russia had three things in inexhaustible supply: ballet, vodka and security.

No way he could regain control now.

"Accounting," Nesterov repeated. And once more, with the feeling: "Accounting!"

"Is accounting bad?"

"Not at all, young man. However, you are at the wrong faculty and at the wrong building. This interruption is unacceptable." He pointed to the door. "I must ask you to leave."

As impeccably polite as Nesterov had sounded, it was also incredibly condescending.

The mist-wolf stirred. You could snap his scrawny neck in half.