Page 41 of Katya and the Young God

If she’s going to die today, if she’s going to die to open that seal, she doesn’t want it to also be the day some random cave explorer thought it appropriate to feel up her leg.

* * *

Once everyone’s awake,fed, and Katya’s hopefully given off enough vibes to stop anyone from approaching her, the group collects at the seal, standing there.

She’s noticed no one has touched it yet, and since she feels no compulsion to be the first one, she hangs at the back of the group, her pack still off, where she can easily stick her hand in, draw her gun if needed.

She doesn’t know what shooting a gun would do in a cave and she really doesn’t want to find out, but she rests the palm of her hand against the textured butt anyways, ignoring the irritated look Pieter keeps shooting her.

After a too-long pause, like he’s waiting for her to stop fondling her weapon, Pieter sighs, pushing through the group like they’re all there just to inconvenience him.

From his pocket, he withdraws a single handkerchief, flicking it open to reveal a vial of blood.

The humans breathe in quickly at the motion.

Stuffing the handkerchief back in his pocket, he gives them a polished smile, and a chill goes down Katya’s back at how sickeningly familiar that smile is.

Everything else aside, the fantastical setting aside, it’s the smile she sees in her nightmares, and her stomach drops at seeing it again.

“Seals this big require blood,” he says, and he’s putting on a show, his accent smoothed away, and her skin crawls with terror, even as Feketer breathes a sigh of relief at the obvious not-human-sacrifice of it. “I came prepared.”

There’s an awkward laugh, the sort of laugh that is born more out of relief than of humor, and it ripples through the group before stopping dead at Katya.

She can’t laugh, can't get herself to move, not after that show so close to her nightmares.

Pieter’s eyes flicker to hers, before he turns back to the seal. “If this doesn’t work, we don’t need to worry,” he says, much quieter. “I’ll just prick someone’s finger, it’ll just need fresh blood.”

His voice crawls over her, and she wants to run. Wants to run so badly.

So quiet you can hear a pin drop, he uncaps the vial, breathing deeply, like he’s calming himself, calming his heart.

But power swirls at his feet, darkness collecting around him, and the humans around shift, not quite gasping, not quite recoiling, out of some self-preservation instincts.

Katya remains as close to stone as possible, still, at the obvious display of power.

With his back to the crowd, she can barely see his hands moving, dancing, sketching out rune after rune, small beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

Whatever magic he’s doing, whatever power he’s drawing, it’s stressing him.

After a moment, after the dark power swirls around his feet, he lifts the vial to the wall, kissing the glass to the stone and tipping it.

The blood drips down, rolling down the black stone, leaving a sluggish black trail.

There’s a wait, there’s a breath. As they all watch the blood drip, slow, down the wall.

Pieter’s eyes follow the train, unblinking, his jaw tightening in a way that Katya doubts anyone else sees, before he turns back to the group. “So it needs fresh blood,” he says, scanning the crowd.

Katya’s breath freezes the moment his gaze falls on her.

He stares at her, his slate gray eyes frozen on hers, for a long, long moment. A moment that she thinks will never end, that they’ll stay there, looking at each other, for eternity. Just the two of them.

She tightens her hand around the butt of her gun in her bag, not pulling it out, not drawing the weapon, but.

But.

Ready.

Sudden, so sudden it leaves her bereft, he twists away from looking at her, facing the crowd as a whole again, the smile from her nightmares back. “It’ll be just a prick of the finger. Nathan, can you?”

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