Lone Werewolf Duology (bxb)

57. Hangover after Victory

"Since when are you smoking again?" Marina demanded, but without venom, just tiredly. So, the unhappy couple hadn't kissed yet, or she would have known that Damir was sneaking smokes.

Damir's back relaxed. "Since you've brought the kid to Montana."

Marina looked half-way between crying and hugging him. Whatever she wanted, she didn't put it in words or otherwise.

A few more pulls—and Damir flicked the butt into the fire. "Let's... let's talk about something other than my many vices, shortcomings and failures."

"Damir!"

But Damir wasn't listening. To Volya's horror, his wandering gaze fell on him.

To serve as the buffer between those two? No, just no! For one, Volya wasn't made of a fire-retarding foam, for another—

"If you are done with your assessment, Dr. Sangha, Marina and I need Volya's help with the text I'm working on," Damir said, ignoring Volya's desperate signaling.

"It could wait until he had a full night of sleep," Sangha objected. "I don't know how he didn't topple into the fire yet, with this drop in the blood pressure."

Volya shook his head. His surroundings swam to confirm Sangha's concerns, but he bit his lip to stay upright. The prospect of sitting with Damir and Marina wasn't great, but being sent to bed like a child on New Year's Eve grated him more.

"I won't be able to sleep anyway."

"I can give you a mild sedative."

Americans! They had a drug for every problem.

"Thank you, Dr. Sangha, but work is the best way to simmer down and do something useful for science." Good thing that in the firelight, nobody could see him blushing while spouting this absolute rubbish.

Sangha shot him a suspicious look. "Keep the monitor on and stay within my sight."

"Okay," he lied, fairly confident that the second Sangha got her hands on Anabelle, she'd forget all about him.

The meekness earned him an even more suspicious glance. Gee, was he that obstinate?

"Don't keep him up too long. I want him to rest as soon as possible," Sangha said to Marina and Damir. The two nodded in unison, like a teen couple being placed in charge of a baby.

Damir extracted his notepad, asking Volya to repeat PIE sentences from the interviews they had done earlier. Then he pointed out the text to Marina.

"This is what I was talking about earlier. I think this is evidence of oral poetry tradition. The rhythm, the meter—Akrum had to be going by heart from the pre-existing lyrics."

Marina leaned closer to read the lines in the uncertain light. "Oral traditions are hard to pinpoint. Also, it's a personal subject, rather than epic. That's one strike against it being something that was performed by memory."

Volya peeked into Damir's notes and gulped. They were debating Akrum's passionate whispers about traveling between the two hills and into the valley, etc. "Personal? That's like saying fire is hot!"

"It could have been something like a folk song," Damir argued, ignoring Volya's input. So much for engaging his expert services...

Damir tilted his head to find Marina's eyes and recited the segment. The language was dead for them, but came as natural as Russian to Volya. If they bothered to ask him, he would have told them it wasn't any folk song. It would have been too embarrassing to blather this out in public, even five thousand years ago. But he didn't think Damir was after the truth.

"Excuse me," he muttered and wiggled out of the tight spot. It's not like they needed him. "I... I think I should turn in after all."

Damir and Marina acknowledged his words with absent murmurs and they would have said exactly the same things if a bulldozer drove by. If it flattened them under its treads, they would still gaze at one-another.

Volya found Liam with his eyes. He was dancing with Anabelle to the slow-something that played in their shared earbuds. It would be awhile till Liam could be torn away from his sister's side. More importantly, why would he want to tear him away from her? Liam had hired Volya to be a miracle worker, and Volya had delivered on their contract. If anything, he over-complicated things with his personal drama.

No, Liam was where he belonged tonight, with his family. Seeing him glowing brighter than a firefly with happiness should be enough of a reward for a man who wasn't totally selfish.

As quietly as only a werewolf could walk, Volya slunk away to their tent. He, however, had no intention of obeying Sangha's prescriptions. This night wasn't for sleeping.