Page 17 of Katya and the Young God

His eyes flicker to the copper blade, then stay, as if he can’t look away. “You going to stab me?” He asks, voice whisper soft. “You going to stab me like your friend stabbed Vanya?”

There’s a confrontation in his voice, a confrontation and a challenge. Almost a dare.

“Only if I need to,” Katya says, and her voice isn’t nearly as smooth as his.

He takes another deliberate step closer, keeping his eyes on the blade as she brings it up, holding it up over her breastbone, her fist sure around the handle.

He stares at it, opens his mouth as if to say something, but the thought escapes him, and he’s close. So close that if she just arcs her hand down, it would easily end him.

And yet, just the appearance has him spellbound, and she’s too smart, too curious to let this go.

“Why would a Demigod follow a minor demon anywhere?” She breathes out, and his eyes snap to hers, startled. “You can teleport, you have way more latent ability, why not just go into the mountain and get what you want?”

“Is that what Beatriz wants to know?” He asks, slow, voice like a silk sheet. “Is that what she’s getting at?”

“It’s what I’m asking,” Katya says, and, testing, tilts the copper knife ever so slightly, catching the light from the room against the blade, and his eyes are there once more, like it’s painful to look away.

Her pulse calms, narrows down into something surer of herself.

Behind him, Stepan the dog climbs to his feet, slow, and she can’t dismiss the idea that now the fucking dog might attack her, of all things in this place a dog, and...

Pieter jerks forward, grabbing her by the wrist, holding the knife in place, slamming her against the wall, pinning her.

The wind knocked out of her, she struggles against his hand, but he’s strong. Of course he’s strong, he’s a Demigod and she’s nothing but a normal human.

The lights swing on their fixtures, creaking towards them, and the very air around them swirls with darkness. Kicking it up, like it’s a wind against her feet.

Katya closes her eyes, steeling herself.

“Don’t hurt my dog,” he snarls, and she blinks at him.

“Why the fuck would I hurt your dog?” She pushes back, and he compensates by pressing the heel of his palm into her injured shoulder, and she can’t jerk the knife over to defend herself.

The darkness around them engulfs them, blocking out any other light, and she struggles, useless.

“I don’t know what game you’re playing, what offer Beatriz is giving by tossing you at me, but the dog is off limits.” His voice slips deeper into the Russian accent, like he’s forgetting to cover it up.

Breathless, the heel of his hand just on the border of painful, she nods, and he releases her with a step back, explosive.

She sags, taking the moment to breathe, gasp a big gulp of air, something. Across the small hallway, the Demigod runs his hand through his hair, looking, for all appearances, frazzled.

The dog in question nuzzles his leg, and, his eyes not really focused, he pats Stepan on the head, an automatic motion if she ever saw one.

Like a switch is flipped, the darkness disappears, the lights stop creaking, and it’s a normal hallway again.

Telegraphing her motions, she closes the knife, and the small click makes him look up. “I’m not gonna attack your dog,” she repeats, because the last thing she wants is a Demigod thinking she’s going to harm the apparent one thing in this world that he cares somewhat about. “The only thing I’m going to say to Beatriz is ask why the hell she sent me without warning me who was here.”

She can see him visibly put himself back together, put his mind back in order, and it’s terrifying.

“Beatriz thinks—everyone thinks—that I killed Vanya,” she says, keeping her voice low. There’s no point in spoiling that particular fact for everyone in the room. “This was a murder she could have deniability for.”

His face shutters, and he turns away without another word, striding away, the dog following him without a command.

Katya’s eyes slip closed, and she rests her head against the cheap sheetrock of the wall for a brief, brief second.

When she opens them, Feketer is waiting a few steps away, studiously not looking at her, and she pushes off the wall without a word.

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