Page 76 of Katya and the Young God

Kind’s not a normal word used to describe Katya, at least not to her face, so she sits back, letting him finish.

“And instead you bandage my wounds, stopped my bleeding, took care of my dog, and gave me food.” His hands twist a bit tighter in Stepan’s fur, before relaxing and petting to smooth it down. “It’s all a bit...difficult.”

“Not used to it?” She quips, and again, a startled look. Pushing herself up, she tosses a pad of paper and pencil to him, which thump next to him uselessly on the ugly couch. “Start sketching a map. I wanna see how useful you are.”

12

She leaves him on the couch with his dog half laying on him to go for supplies, ignoring the almost hurt look he gives her when she walks out the door to the small cabin.

First stop is Pieter’s cabin, and the runes barely press against her for a few seconds before letting her pass, as if the magic he imbedded in them remembers her.

She raids his closet, throwing some extra shirts into a bag, because nothing in her little cabin will fit him, and the last thing she needs is a half-naked Demigod hanging around her apartment while she tries to hatch a plan to save Selene.

It’s not that the half-naked part is the most objectionable, but it’s bound to be distracting, and she’s not the type to let things distract her for too long.

But that trip barely takes any time, before she’s back to the Organization truck, with more errands ahead of her.

She needs some more basic supplies. She needs some more information. And she needs some space to think, and there’s no place to think better than being an anonymous face in a crowd.

She collects the few small things she needs, including double her usual food. But none of the small errands ease her mind, as she still sticks out, people giving her sidelong glances in the grocery store, like they can sense she doesn’t belong.

It doesn’t quell the feeling of discomfort in her, so she hurries through the errands, hurries through the grocery store and through her requests for more information from the Denver office. Hurries through each store and office, as if restricting her time there will stop the amount of attention she’s attracting.

She needs to blend in better, especially if she’s going to be here long term.

Especially if she’s going to shelter Selene, somehow. If she’s going to figure out some shortcut, some way to give her a proper childhood.

If that’s even possible.

* * *

Her arms laden with bags,she has to push open her door with her hip, only to find Pieter standing, a hand pressed gingerly against his bandage, but standing over the stove, stirring something in a pot. Something, whatever it is, that smells delicious and warm and full of home.

He blinks at her, owlish, at her, at the amount of bags she carries, and she stops, somehow an intruder in her own house.

She shakes it off, brushing her way into the kitchen to dump the groceries. “You probably shouldn’t be standing so much,” she says, yanking open her fridge with a little more force than necessary.

He just watches her, stirring idly, and he’s still very, very shirtless.

“I went to your place, got some clothing for you,” she continues, not looking at him, and Stepan the dog winds his way between her legs. “I don’t think there’s anything in here that could fit you besides that.”

“I know,” he says, voice neutral. “I did set up the security there.”

So he knew when she went there the first time with Stepan, in those first few days.

“Figured it was better than letting you get cold,” she says, and she’s feeling prickly, way pricklier than she should. “This place didn’t come packed with clothing.”

In her purse, her phone rings, loud and sudden, doing nothing for the level of tension she feels bleeding through her body, and she forces herself to breathe out through her nose before shutting the fridge door, pushing past Pieter to get to the phone.

It’s an Organization number, from Los Angeles, and her stomach drops when she sees it.

But still, she straightens her shoulders. “Katya Rinne,” she says, as brisk as she can, fitting her work voice over her like a mask.

“Ah, Katya, I hoped you would pick up.” From over a thousand miles away, there’s still no mistaking Beatriz’s dry voice from the phone. “I have news for you.”

She lifts her eyes up, meeting Pieter’s from across the stove. “Go for news.”

She doesn’t want to talk to Beatriz, she doesn’t want to be accountable to her, but old habits die hard.

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