Page 64 of Katya and the Young God

Blood splatters everywhere, his skull exploding.

Katya jerks Selene behind her, but the little girl just gasps, a small squeak, and Pieter grabs the girl, holding her, protective.

Stepan barks, shying away and down, underneath the camp chairs, fur bristled. He whimpers, and at the noise Pieter twitches.

“That was surprisingly easy,” Feketer says, examining his gun, but the half-demon stays laying on the ground, unmoving. “Guess he’s not enough demon to heal quickly.” He nods at Katya, still holding the gun.

Katya lets go of Selene long enough to withdraw her own pistol, clicking off the safety, and Selene buries her head in Pieter’s hiking jacket.

Feketer’s face creases, like he really didn’t want it to come to this, but Katya’s not fooled by that, not fooled at all. “You know I can’t lie,” he starts, as Katya aims. “If you give her up, you won’t be harmed.”

“Selene, don’t watch this,” Katya orders, not breaking eye contact with the Pixie. “You can’t have her.”

Feketer’s face twists, and sudden and loud, the helicopter dips down, landing in the clearance, kicking up the dirt and dust and whipping leaves around them.

Pieter clutches the girl tighter, crouching next to her, and she’s not sure if he’s getting ready to run, getting ready to try something, getting ready to shield her little body, something.

Eyes stinging, Katya fires off a shot at the Pixie, but misses, the bullet going wide in the wind, and she fires off again but her gun just clicks, and —

Three people with military grade rifles jump from the helicopter, neatly surrounding them.

Feketer holds his hand up in a fist, in a clear gesture of command, and the soldiers stop. Waiting for an order.

Stepan hunches deeper under the camp chairs, whining.

“Hand her over, and we’ll let you two go,” he says, voice hypnotic. “We don’t want unnecessary bloodshed.” With a crook of two fingers, one of the soldiers advances, the muzzle of his rifle aimed at Katya’s chest. “We just need the girl’s body.”

The other soldier flanks them, gun pointed down at Pieter and the little girl, and for a second, he hunches over her, eyes wild.

Keeping her body intentionally loose, she holds the pistol by her side. Even if all other shots go true, she can’t take all of them, and she’s outgunned, and there’s no amount of luck that could solve this.

So she relaxes her shoulders, cause if she’s going to be shot, if she’s going to be injured out here, then tensing will do more harm than good for her survival, and she can’t move fast enough to dodge a bullet.

The soldier advances, and the muzzle of the gun touches her clavicle, in a clear intimidation tactic. Not pushing her back, just prodding, like she’s cattle to manipulate. He nods down at her pistol, a clear order, and Katya tosses it aside.

She knows operation policy. She’d do the same thing if she was in their position. Disarm all combatants, minimize risk to fellow soldiers.

One pushes against Pieter, and then something behind his eyes click, and he straightens, squaring his shoulders, his eyes alight. “I’ll go with you, with her, if we keep her alive,” he says, his voice strong, gripping Selene’s arm tight. “Leave the human here.”

There’s a beat, then Feketer gives a small gesture, and the soldier next to Pieter draws back a few steps. “Are you begging for your life?” Feketer asks, mocking, relishing in holding all the cards.

“I don’t beg,” Pieter says, but his eyes are ablaze and his hand trembles against Selene’s.

“You control her,” Feketer orders. “The moment we think you’re backing out, we kill you, we kill her.” He points at the helicopter. “Get in.”

Without even looking at Katya, Pieter scoops Selene up in his arms again, his legs shaking, and Selene buries her head in the crook of his neck again. Small, she reaches out towards Katya with a single gloved hand, but Pieter walks her away, towards the copter, and Katya’s stomach drops.

Katya moves, jerks, can’t help it, but the soldier presses back down with the gun, the barrel slipping and digging into her injured shoulder.

Feketer watches, impassive as Pieter climbs into the helicopter, before turning back to Katya. “Don’t come looking,” he orders, face severe. “We’ll kill her if we get a whiff of you sniffing around. Cuff her, leave her here.”

He whirls around, heading for the copter, and she’d go diving for her gun if it wasn’t for the muzzle in her shoulder, but her muscles scream, tense, for her to do something, anything, as Selene disappears from view in the copter.

For a split second, before the door closes, Pieter looks back at her, then his eyes flicker, obvious, to Stepan, before he turns away and the door closes.

Katya keeps her limbs loose, keeps her shoulder loose despite the daggers of pain from the barrel, as one of the soldiers wrenches her arms back with a familiar precision. She grits her teeth, but doesn’t let it show on her face, doesn’t let it show in her stance.

The cuffs click into place, ratcheted tight, the cool metal biting against her wrists, and it’s been ages since she’s been properly cuffed. Her shoulder screams at her, at the position, but she’s too much of a goddamn professional to let them know it.

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