Lies of My Monster (Monster Trilogy #2) by Rina Kent

That’s the hope I held on to as I snuck around like a spy.

When I saw him at that clinic, I stayed there as long as possible, greedily memorizing every inch of his face—his eyes covered by the black-framed glasses, his stubborn nose, his square chin, and his mouth that was set in a line. I wanted to touch his knitted brows and relieve the tension lurking there. I wanted to lay my hand on his chest and make sure his heart was working properly and that the haunting faint sound I heard when I was taking him to the hospital had actually disappeared.

I wanted to do many things, but most of all, I wanted to look into his eyes and have them look back into mine. Even if it was in anger or contemplation or whatever his emotions are toward me. I didn’t care as long as he actually looked at me.

This silent treatment and complete apathy are hitting me harder than any anger he could express. I was ready for his physical punishment, but I had no clue the mental effect would be ten times worse.

The second time I saw him was when Karina invited me to her room for lunch two days ago. It was around the time when Kirill leaves the clinic and goes back to his room in the mansion. I was on pins and needles hoping to see him. Although I paced the hallway with Karina for a whole ten minutes, not only did he not leave his room, but Viktor also showed up and kicked me out, then said, “The house and its premises are forbidden. You only have access to the weapon vault's immediate surroundings. Are we clear?”

It didn’t matter how much Karina protested. The titan was on a mission and was only satisfied when I left. It was either that or cause Karina needless stress.

However, on my way out of the mansion, I caught a glimpse of Kirill at the top of the stairs. I swear I felt his eyes on me, but when I looked up, he turned and walked away.

My heart and soul have been bruised ever since he came up with this torture method. It’s worse than if he’d hit me or let the others physically torture me.

I could handle that. His indifference, however, is proving to be my undoing.

Maksim keeps telling me that it’s just a phase and he’ll get over it.

But how can he get over it if he refuses to see my face, let alone talk to me?

How am I supposed to clear the air between us and make amends if he won’t listen to what I have to say? Over the past two weeks, I’ve thought of many things that I want to tell him. Maybe it would be futile, but I need him to hear me out.

Just once.

So I wait until after my hours for the day are done. Usually, I go to my new room in the lonely basement that could be mistaken for solitary confinement. Then someone from the kitchen delivers my food since I’m not allowed in the other guards' quarters. After finishing dinner, I toss and turn all night or train until I’m physically exhausted and eventually pass out.

Usually, my nights are plagued with nightmares. Some of them are about Mike, but most of them are a replay of Kirill being shot and the gruesome images of his bleeding chest and unconscious face at the bottom of that hill. I wake up with tears in my eyes and a heart so heavy, it feels like it will burst.

Tonight is different, though.

During the last few days, I’ve spent time planning how to get around the security cameras and sensors installed all over my route to the mansion.

So now, it takes me minimal effort to avoid them. I have no doubt that Viktor has someone specifically watching my movements so he can stop me whenever I get too close.

Still, I spend about fifteen minutes getting to the mansion because I was basically put at the farthest point of the property while still being inside it.

I head to the back of the main building and use the bushes as camouflage. Once I reach my destination, I ensure my surroundings are clear and silently crawl to the huge tree closest to the house. Then, after one last look around me, I grab onto the trunk and climb.

I always told Kirill that this tree is a security hazard because any sniper could use it as base to attack the property, but he said it actually strengthens the security because it offers privacy.

At any rate, I’m glad he didn’t listen to me.

Once I reach the level of his balcony, I realize that the distance to the ground is actually greater than I thought. I stare down and wince at the height—about three stories. If I fall, there won’t be any happy endings.

I start to scoot across a branch that’s less sturdy than I anticipated and suppress a yelp when it breaks. Two other branches catch my fall and once I get my balance, I leap toward the balcony. My left leg hits the railing, and I nearly stumble out, but I dig my fingers into the wall and glue myself to it before I jump onto the balcony as silently as a ninja. I don’t stop to inspect my injured leg, but I do lift it off the ground to keep from putting weight on it.

The balcony door is closed, but voices speaking in Russian reach me from inside. The first is Viktor’s—gruff and unwelcoming—but the second…my heart picks up speed, and I have to tap my chest to be able to breathe properly.

It’s been so long since I listened to Kirill’s steady deep voice, and although I don’t hear the words clearly, I can’t help leaning in. I’m no different than an addict who’s finally getting a hit after nearly two weeks of deprivation.

If this plan doesn’t work, then I at least got to hear his voice. He’s alive. He’s right here.

And nothing will change that.

Whenever I close my eyes, I only see his dying face. I can’t erase it, no matter how much I try. But this…witnessing him speaking, might help keep him alive in my nightmares.