Page 78 of Marked by the Demigod

"Your wards are safe, Iakov redid them in the middle of the night when I was there. And I had to hide when your friend came in to feed the cats," Katya says right off the bat.

"Iakov came there?" Aimes blurts out.

Katya raises an eyebrow at her, her lips thinning. "Yes," she says, sitting down at her desk like it’s a life saver. "He came over and I nearly shot him because I was asleep."

Aimes looks at her phone, where there is still no text. "He didn't --"

"He's angry, he's scared, and he made it safe for you to go home," she says, opening her computer with an exhausted look in her eyes, and Aimes almost, almost offers her the coffee. "He warded all your jewelry, wear some."

Aimes stands, her back cracking uncomfortably. "I'm going home," she grabs her purse, her heart pounding.

Nodding, Katya looks at her, dark. "I brought your car here, go ahead and drive it, it's safe."

Her keys are still in her purse. "Did you hotwire it?"

Katya nods as if it's no big deal. "Toyotas are easy."

* * *

She turnsthe key in the lock, and there's some sort of residual something on the door, a bit like static electricity and a bit like that moment in a storm where the wind turns, so she grabs her keys in her fist like it will actually be able to harm anyone who might be on the other side of the door, and pushes her way in with a steeling breath.

But instead of anyone else, Iakov just lays, curled up on the ratty couch, fast asleep with a scowl on his face like you wouldn't believe.

She exhales, slowly letting the air out, as if breathing will remove all the drama of the last day.

The smart cat blinks up at her from where he's curled up on Iakov's chest and it's such a calm small moment that her heart aches. If it wasn't for the couch being so small and ratty she would curl up right next to him and try to forget all the bullshit.

But she's still in her funeral clothes, her face feels like it's crunchy from all the crying and the sniffling and the harsh office air. She sneaks to the kitchen and starts her coffee maker, then scrubs her face clean and strips off the funeral dress and into her work jeans while waiting for the coffee to percolate.

After a moment of hesitation, she grabs the beaded necklace Iakov gave her, clasping it behind her neck. The odd feeling of static electricity sits at the base of her collarbone. It must be the wards, as much as she's never actually felt or seen them, but it's the closest thing she has to compare it to.

By the time she sweeps out of her bedroom, the coffee is done and Iakov is mixing sugar into a cup, a profoundly blank look on his face.

He startles, when she walks into view, as if he didn't consider where the coffee must've come from. He blinks at her, as if not comprehending her for way too long, before he sighs. "Hullo," he mumbles, rubbing a hand over his eyes. He deliberately sets the cup of coffee on the counter with a clink and crosses to her, wrapping her in a giant hug.

She freezes for a moment, then relaxes into him, bit by bit, as if her body wins against her mind.

He leans his head into her hair, heavy. "I didn't kill him," he mumbles again, his words almost unintelligible through his accent. "I'm. Sorry."

She stays there for a split second, cause she honestly doesn't know if he's ever said those words. His arms around her tighten, before he steps back and scrutinizes her, looking far more awake than he was even seconds before.

His eyes narrow, and he rests a hand on the back of her neck, right where one of his brothers gripped. "Here?" He asks, and she has to listen so carefully through the thick accent.

She nods, her skin crawling from the similarity. "I couldn't move my feet, or else I would've run."

He watches her small actions through the kitchen, and she feels self conscious of her chipped cups and tiny apartment, though he's seen it many times. "They were trying to intimidate you," he declares.

"No shit." She dumps way more sugar in her cup than necessary. "I picked up on that." And she stares at him, deliberately drinking from her coffee, all of a sudden prickly. He could've been there, he could've stopped them, he could've not run away when Katya was on the phone, and he could've seen her last night, and he could've stayed in one place for longer than 12 hours.

He raises an eyebrow at her, and it does nothing to quell the spiky ball of anger in her chest. "They didn't...hurt you, though." And he says it more like a statement than a question, but the question is there and it sits poorly with her.

She doesn't break eye contact with him, because if she's angry at someone the last thing she wants to do is give them a moment to gain anything. "They threatened to kill me to get you, and it was fucking uncomfortable without being able to move my feet."

Iakov takes a sip of coffee and looks away, and that feels like a small victory. "They didn't stop you from moving your feet, they immobilized your shoes to the ground," he mumbles, as if that’s somehow better.

She crosses her arms, and both his eyebrows rise.

"They shouldn't be able to find you now," he blurts out. "I've hidden the apartment, they can't track you here, and --"

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