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

I hear it before I feel it. His fist connects with my face, sending it flying sideways. Blood splatters on the wall, my lips feel twice their size, and my nose is instantly clogged.

Still, I laugh, like a maniac. The sound is so forceful and unruly that they all pause to watch me. “So macho and big but also so small. Maybe we should see your dick, Matvey.”

“You fucking—” He raises his fist again and I stare him square in the eye.

I’m taunting and provoking him on purpose. If he’s preoccupied with beating me to a pulp, seeing my nonexistent balls will be the last thing on his mind.

“What’s going on here?”

All movements halt at the booming, commanding voice. If anything, it seems as if the world pauses for a fraction of a second as the newcomer strides in our direction.

My state of alertness slowly withers but then heightens again at the sight of him.

He’s tall and muscular, but not as glaringly buff as the soldiers surrounding me. He has the type of physical profile that would fit an agile spy or a member of the Special Forces. In fact, judging by his black long-sleeved shirt and cargo pants, he’s probably special ops.

They have their own camp, but during this period, they’re our guests for special joint training.

My gaze lifts to his face, and I’m struck by his features. They’re dark, sharp, and, most importantly, blank. It’s like I’m staring into a nonexistent entity that’s only projecting itself onto the physical world.

He’s good-looking in a clean-cut, mystic way. The one thing that strikes me the most is that his external appearance reveals nothing of what’s lurking inside him.

And the worst part is that he looks oddly familiar. His presence feels like an encounter that’s hidden behind unresolved feelings and untouched memories.

Where have I seen him before?

Gravity pulls me down as the soldiers let go of me, and the asshole Matvey even grabs me by the shoulder as if we’re best buddies before they all line up and salute. “Captain.”

He’s a captain? Also, how come these tools know him and I don’t?

His black boots stop right in front of us, and he stares at me. I stand still and salute, feeling like a novice.

Get it together, me. I’m usually the most disciplined when it comes to military codes of conduct.

The captain strolls parallel to us, not offering the usual ‘at ease’ most higher-ups do after the salute. So we all remain in the same position, staring ahead and so stiff that I feel the ache in my joints.

That may also have to do with my busted lip and clogged nose, though.

The captain’s movements are unhurried. If anything, they follow a methodical rhythm as he stops in front of each soldier to study his face.

I feel the stiffening of the one beside me before it’s my turn to earn the same treatment. I continue staring into the distance, but he lowers his head, and his light blue eyes slam into mine. They’re icy and so fair that they resemble an arctic wolf’s.

Not only are they unnerving to look at, but I also feel myself trembling under their scrutiny.

What the hell?

I shake myself out of my daze and try to keep staring ahead. The key word being try. It’s impossible to ignore his presence when he’s so close; I’m forced to inhale him with every intake of air.

He smells fresh and clean, which is a rare occurrence in the training camp.

“I’m asking for the second and final time. What happened here?” His controlled words float over my skin, and the command in them bounces against my chest. His Russian is different from these guys’ and anyone in the army.

Everyone speaks in a colloquial manner, but his words are more elevated, almost similar to how I was brought up.

My lips tremble, wanting to let it all out, but Matvey steps forward. “We were just joking among each other, sir.”

Joking, my ass.

I must break my salute stance because the captain pushes further into my space, which makes me immediately go back into the correct position.

Jeez.

I forgot he was right in my face.

No, not forgot. That would be impossible to do. More like, I was taken aback by Matvey's audacity.

“Does joking include a bloody nose and lips, soldier?” He’s asking Matvey, but he’s still looking at me.

“Sometimes, yes, sir,” Matvey replies confidently like the lowlife he is.

“Very well.” The captain finally pushes back, but before I can breathe properly, he swings his fist and punches Matvey across the face so hard, he reels back from the power of it.

A collective gasp echoes in the hall as Matvey’s nose runs with blood and drips on the ground.

The captain lowers his hand, letting it nonchalantly hang at his side. “Then let’s say I’m joking with you, soldier. I will also be reporting the five of you to your direct superior for insubordination so he can teach you that this institution doesn’t tolerate these types of games.”

Then, he turns around and leaves with long, even strides that steal my attention.

Matvey clutches his nose and curses, and the others fawn over him, trying to make the bleeding stop.

I don’t wait to take the fallout of their anger and be trapped by them again. So, without allowing myself to overthink the situation, I follow the captain.

Maybe, just maybe, I’ve finally found someone to teach me how not to be a weakling.