Page 29 of Katya and the Young God

He’s not exactly being the quietest, and years of making sure she’s not overheard in public places makes her look up, identify who’s listening in, and of course the only person actively watching them is the Demigod from the other side of the camp.

“Exactly how I would talk to anyone else,” she says, and instead of wasting her sarcasm on him, she goes for coldly professional. “The Organization doesn’t discriminate against anyone, regardless of origin or personal history.”

Which is, of course, a lie, but a lie that Katya believed for so long it’s still on the tip of her tongue, and a lie she doesn’t feel too guilty repeating to JD.

He raises an eyebrow at her, as if testing if she actually believes it, but she’s been lying for various government entities for far longer than people think, so she holds his gaze.

“Well, I guess that’s one way to look at it,” he says, simply, and his eyes glitter red. Katya never learned if Demons can control when their eyes flash like that, but she wouldn’t put it past him to try to remind her of who he is.

But she endeavors to be a boring type to people like him, so when she doesn’t respond he heaves a sigh, standing and striding over to the Golem and the one other human, who Katya expects to be a Magician, who eagerly welcome him into their little circle, chatting animatedly.

Katya scarcely has a moment to breathe, to roll her shoulder back again, before Rory the Vampire sits on the chair next to her, and it’s only because of years of training that Katya doesn’t flinch.

With the setting sun, Rory has shed the extra layers obscuring their face, and has a flush at the top of their cheekbones. “Here,” they say, handing Katya an aluminum camp plate piled high with potatoes and sautéed meat. “JD was chatting your ear off, I thought you’d be hungry.”

Katya takes the plate, eyeing it suspiciously. “Thanks?”

The Vampire watches, unblinking, as Katya settles back in the chair. “Enjoy the hike?”

“Not particularly,” Katya says, picking at the food. “The altitude is what got me.”

“I imagine,” they say, as they have no blood oxygen and probably don’t have the same issue at such heights as Katya would. “Sorry about the silent treatment, didn’t know if Pieter would strike out if anyone spoke to you.”

A quick glance shows that Pieter’s busy feeding Stepan from the dog food stores on the harness, and Katya heaves a deep breath. “That wasn’t fun.”

The Vampire falls silent, face unchanging, and conveniently waits until Katya’s mouth is full. “I once saw his brother eviscerate a human just to make an example. I wouldn’t have the bravery you did, talking to him all day.”

Katya swallows the unwieldy bite. “I hardly spoke all day.”

Rory only inclines their head at that, settling into the chair. “Well, tomorrow will be interesting,” they murmur, and they’re looking out at the group of human cave guides, tracking their motions with the practiced eye of a predator.

Katya doesn’t really disagree.

* * *

That night,long after the camp has gone to sleep in the giant tents, Katya gets awoken by a giant dog resting its head against her shoulder and licking her cheek.

She sputters awake, and gets rewarded with a dog blink very close to her face, as if this is a normal dog activity, to go up to strange people and wake them up in the most startling way possible.

Taking deep gulping breaths, she sits up, and the dog gently tugs on her sleeve. “What?” She whispers, looking across the giant tent, at the people sleeping in their cots.

Of course, she can’t see Pieter, but she does see an empty cot.

The dog tugs on her sleeve again, a bit more insistent, and she doesn’t know why this dog has decided to come to her for this, but a pit of dread forms in her stomach.

Slow, as to not awaken the tent with her rustling, she draws her gun and holster from her bag, holding it loosely, still clasped in. Fitting her feet into her boots but not bothering to lace up, she stands, and Stepan gently pulls her out of the tent.

Outside, the chill bites into her arms, raising goose bumps, and the fire has burned down to coals. Sitting on the far edge of the camp, his head in his hands, is Pieter.

Of course.

She couldn’t expect anything else.

He doesn’t move when she zips back up the tent flap, and doesn’t move when Stepan tugs on her sleeve again, but she takes her time, her motions deliberate.

When she stalls too much, Stepan grips her sleeve a little harder, a little more insistently, like this is exactly what he’s trained to do. Like he’s an actually trained dog, trained to get help in dire times.

She takes another step closer, and Pieter’s head snaps up, his eyes burning through her so vividly it takes her breath away.

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