Page 83 of Marked by the Demigod

* * *

When she wakes,her phone is dead and she has no clue if it's night or day, and the lights buzz on. Her mouth feels like she’s eaten a pile of dust, and without thinking she stumbles to the fridge and downs a bottle of the sour tasting Russian beer.

Making a face, she casts her eyes around the room, and...and there's a small pile of books on the cabinet, with an envelope on top.

With probably more force than necessary, she rips it open, a ball of irritation sitting in her chest. He was here, he was here when she was asleep, and instead of talking to her or, you know, getting her out he decided to leave some books.

On the page is a single word, in a spiky handwriting.

Sorry.

No explanation, no idea of how long she can expect to stay in the little box of a room.

She crumbles it up, the paper crunching, and throws it across the room. It bounces off of the sink, rolling underneath the fridge.

He brought her books, he brought her entertainment, but no news on how long.

"That fucker." She mutters, and picks up the top, cranking it open with more force than necessary. "That absolute fucker."

* * *

She'sabout halfway through Alisha Rai's "Serving Pleasure" when it starts.

One moment she's laying on the bed, stretched out like a cat, and the next she jerks into a ball, gasping, as if she's being held underwater.

A lance of pain dashes through her chest, then another, then another. The pain bleeds through her body, numbing the tips of her fingers and the tips of her toes.

For a few seconds, all she is is pain. Pain everywhere, pain all things, before it slowly, slowly recedes into a ball in the center of her chest.

She lays there, gasping, mind racing the moment she is able to think.

Clearly, something happened with Iakov. As she lays there, a frisson of worry threads its way through her mind.

He had reached out to Katya, someone who he doesn't seem to be able to stand, for something. For protection, as a ruse to distract her, something.

Though she knows so little, for all she knows him showing up might've been to hide her away, instead of asking Katya's help. It could've been a ruse, something meant to distract, to redirect whatever the hell is going on.

For all she knows, everything he said could be a lie.

But the brief glimpse of his face, when she did something so small as to squeeze his hand back, when he looked like it was the end of the world and everything was crumbling around him, that...that doesn't seem like it could be such a lie.

Katya probably thought it was a lie. Unless Iakov somehow, somehow gives her proof. Somehow convinces her.

A small part of her wonders if it was Katya who hurt him, before she banishes the thought with a shake. Katya would know that it would hurt her, she wouldn't do that. Probably.

She curls up tighter, pain radiating out of her, and if she hadn't cried so much the night before she would cry again, but instead her sinuses ache.

* * *

An hourlater of pain and feeling distinctly sorry for herself, there's a whisper of movement in the air and Iakov crouches next to the cot.

Blood drips from his chest onto the orange brown tile with a soft pitter-patter.

Slowly, as if the movement causes him great pain, he brushes back the sweaty curls from her face. "I'm so sorry," he whispers, his accent so thick she has to strain to hear him. "I'm so sorry."

She struggles to sit up, and he guides her up, a hand cool on her back, blood glimmering dark underneath his suit jacket. She reaches out, and his shirt sticks to his chest, hot and slick.

He locks eyes with her, nods once and --

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