Blood of My Monster (Monster Trilogy #1 ) by Rina Kent

In the silence, the sound heightens to a terrifying crescendo.

Darkness expands for as far as my vision can see. Fog condenses and floats in a seamless motion, mixing with the blood and flowing beneath and above me.

A droplet of hot liquid falls on my cheek, then another follows, and another…

I cautiously lift my head, despite the claustrophobic sensation expanding in my chest.

There’s something wrong with this situation, but that doesn’t stop me from trying to gauge what’s going on.

Sure enough, in the midst of the smoky darkness, bodies hang from the sky, their eyes bulging, tongues grotesquely hanging out of their mouths, and their clothes soaked with blood.

I’d recognize each and every one of their faces, even if I were old and gray and on my deathbed.

My family.

Tears fill my eyes, and I jump up, desperately trying to reach out and free their corpses, but a strong gust of wind interrupts me.

“You’re a failure, Aleksandra!” The booming voice comes from overhead as if they’re all speaking at the same time.

“A failure.”

“Nothing but trouble.”

“You shouldn’t have been spared.”

“Why do you get to live and we don’t?”

They mix, mash, and turn into a puddle of terrifying shrieks. Their blood soaks my shirt and clings to my skin, my eyelids, and my mouth. Everywhere.

I swallow the metallic taste, nearly drowning in all the blood and yelling.

I put my hands to my ears and scream.

My eyes snap open and clash with an old ceiling. No bodies hang from there, and no blood soaks me.

My concentration is groggy, and my head pulses with pain, but I focus on my surroundings. I’m on a bed in a small room. An old fireplace stocked with wood gives the place a vintage, cozy vibe.

What am I doing here…?

I rack my brain for the last thing I did, but I still can’t put my finger on it.

We were on a mission and—

Damn. The mission!

I lunge forward and pain explodes through my upper shoulder. Holy shit.

Just when I think I’ll die from the sizzling burn, the door opens. I back up against the headboard, my senses on high alert, and reach for my calf knife. Only, I’m not wearing a boot, and…did my breasts just bounce with my movement?

I look down and…what the…? I’m dressed in a cotton nightgown with spaghetti straps and a deep V-neck that reveals half of my breasts. There’s no sign of my chest bandage.

Please tell me this is a continuation of my nightmare.

“You’re finally awake.”

I startle at the welcoming female sound and lift the blanket to cover myself. An old woman with a kind face and white hair gathered in a bun approaches me.

She’s holding a tray with thin, wrinkly hands on which some blue veins peek through.

My eyes track her every movement while simultaneously searching my surroundings for a weapon I can use to escape.

She seems oblivious to my hyperaware mode as she continues her serene approach. “My name is Nadia, and I’m the nurse who’s been taking care of you.”

A thick accent coats her words—something more rural and different from the city’s accents. She sounds like the villagers Papa and my uncles used to take us to visit during the summer.

Nadia stops by my bed, places her tray on the nightstand, and gives zero shits about my attempts to resist. Easily, she flings my good arm from beneath the sheet and hooks the blood pressure cuff to it. Then she shoves a thermometer under my armpit.

Her expression remains kind through the whole ordeal, like a patient mother who’s dealing with a petulant child. “You’re lucky the villagers led you to our house in time. My husband and I are a retired doctor and nurse, but that didn’t last too long once you showed up at our doorstep.”

“Sorry,” I whisper, feeling a sense of guilt at disturbing their peace.

Nadia merely ignores my lame attempt at an apology and removes the cuff. “Normal blood pressure, good. And instead of being sorry, focus on getting better. Scars don’t look so good on young ladies.” She fetches the thermometer from my armpit and stares at it with efficient calm. “You’re still a tad hotter than normal. I’ll inject you with another dose of antibiotics.”

“Uh, can we not do that? I’m sure it’ll be fine in a bit.”

She narrows her eyes. “When you reached our doorstep, you were dying. My husband and I didn’t go through all the trouble to save you so you’d have complications now. Besides, are you seriously afraid of a needle when you were shot by a gun?”

My shoulders hunch. It’s an irrational fear that I’ve been trying to overcome, but it’s simply not going away. And yes, I do prefer a gunshot wound over a needle.

While I’m thinking of what to tell her, Nadia has already prepared the injection.

“Wait, wait!” I slide back in the bed and wince when pain explodes in my upper shoulder. “Aren’t there any pills?”

“Injections are faster and more efficient.” She holds the needle that glistens with a transparent liquid high. “I’ll give you a painkiller after this.”

“I’m really fine. I don’t need both.” She touches my forearm and pulls. The motion isn’t even harsh, but I scream with pain.

“You were saying?” Her tone and face remain the same except for the raising of her brows.