Page 16 of Katya and the Young God

Katya doesn’t deign that with a response, though she gives him a limp wristed shake back.

“Always glad to have the Organization take an interest in my work.” This close, his eyes seem to waver in their glimmering of red, like it’s an illusion that doesn't hold up under close inspection. “Tell me, who sent you?”

Katya feels the weight of the Demigod’s eyes on her, like a backpack, like lead in a pocket when she has to tread water. “Beatriz,” she answers, and her voice is back to being professional. “I was not given much warning.”

He bounces on the balls of his feet, like he has too much energy and he has to be moving, constantly. “Well, I’m JD, I’m funding this entire thing,” he starts, and he’s so proud of himself that under normal situations this would be super easy to manipulate.

Prideful men fall, and fall hard.

“I understand,” he dips his voice low, “that you have access to an Archdemon? Can you call him in?”

Her eyes flicker to the Demigod. “Access is a strong word.” If there’s a Demigod involved, there’s no reason to need an Archdemon. “He doesn’t answer to me.”

Disappointment shutters JD’s eyes, before it’s covered with more pep and energy. “Still, great connection to have.” He leans in close, and it’s only from her years of self-control that Katya doesn’t lean back. “I’d appreciate if you don’t shoot any of my members.”

Feketer’s off chatting with the Vampire, and Katya doesn’t really think he’d stick up for her, but some back up would be appreciated. “Extenuating circumstances,” she says with a smile. “I’m sure you understand.”

“Still. I need everyone here, everyone is crucial. If people think they’re disposable, it would all go south.” He’s so close she can count his pores.

She’s not backing away, and she’s not shoving him, despite the itch in between her shoulder blades to do so.

“I think it’s excellent the Organization sent you, I’ve been a big fan of your work for years,” he says, and the bullshit just grows, “but please, leave the old grudges behind. You can do that, right?”

The Demigod stands and stalks forward, and she resists spinning to keep him in her sight, but the minor demon’s eyes light up. “Pieter, I’m sure you can agree, yes?”

There’s a nudge at her knee, and despite herself, she looks down, and Stepan the dog is nosing at her, like this is the moment to get pets, and she has to swallow down an irrational laugh at how poorly timed everything is.

The Demigod—Pieter, Vanya must’ve been the one who died—barely glances at Katya. “Of course,” he says, his voice rough with his accent. “We’ll settle things elsewhere.”

And his hand comes up, grips her on her shoulder, and he drags her out of the room, tossing her out into the hallway like she weighs nothing.

Katya stumbles for a split second before she forces her feet underneath her, her back against the wall. She pulls the knife from her belt, clicks it open in one smooth motion.

But he just stares at her, not getting closer, and the dog plops down between them.

So she breathes, the handle of the copper knife going slick in her hand, and doesn’t attack. Remember the rules of engagement. Let him make the move to her, use his motion.

“Beatriz sent you.” He states, his voice quiet, and there are lines in his face that weren’t there before. It doesn’t make sense—Demigods don’t age that quickly.

“So you know her,” Katya says, still ready for any motion, for him to charge her, for him to attack.

His slate gray eyes narrow, and she sees that look in so many of her nightmares. “Tell her I don’t beg for scraps.” He crosses his arms, hunching in on himself. “Tell her I said no.”

Stepan the dog cranes his neck to look up at him, thumping his tail.

If the dog comes to her cabin, and if the owner is just a few miles away, then...then they intentionally put her within a stone’s throw of the Demigod. Without telling her.

She’s going to have to redo all of her locks so badly.

Katya straightens, getting her shoulder into a more comfortable position. “No for what?”

He squints at her, looking for all of his bluster, hurt. “I’m not going to...” He wavers his hand, like she knows what he’s talking about. “If she thought I was going back and thought that sending you was the way to do it —"

“She didn’t tell me anything,” Katya snaps out. “Just about this power source.”

“And you just thought you’d show up,” he snarls, and his expression changes so fast she can’t track it.

He takes a deliberate step over the dog in front of him, and Katya snaps up the knife. Holding it close to her, a purely defensive position, one that no court of law would convict her for.

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