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

Nicholas is interrupted when Nadia tells us to set the table. Sasha tries to help, but the stern nurse literally swats her hand, so she stays still.

She also bluntly informs her that redoing her stitches would be bothersome.

We sit down for dinner, and although I didn’t expect much, Nadia actually went all out with traditional dishes I haven’t had in ages.

My mother never cooked—at least, not for me. And the woman who raised me isn’t Russian.

Sasha stares at the food as Nicholas says a little prayer before we dig in. Nadia tells her to eat specific dishes, something about nutritional value and amount of salt.

Sasha slowly lifts a spoonful of soup to her lips. The moment she tastes the food, a tear slides down her cheek.

I lean over and whisper, “What’s wrong?”

It’s then she realizes she’s crying and wipes at her eyes with her sleeve. “Nothing…it’s just…this reminds me of home and Mama’s cooking.”

“Do you like it?” Nadia asks in a softer tone.

“I love it. Thank you for letting me relive this feeling.” Sasha drinks her soup, stopping now and again as if needing to catch her breath.

I place a hand on her back, stroking it, but she shows no reaction. She’s either gotten into the role, or she’s too engrossed in the food to notice.

The rest of the evening has a homey feel and Nadia scolds Sasha whenever she tries to move or exert herself.

Nicholas takes another look at her, and Nadia gives her painkillers before we all bid each other goodnight.

As soon as we reach the room, Sasha lies on the bed, obviously exhausted. But since she’s a stubborn being, she did everything she could to hide her condition from the old couple.

I go to wash up in the adjoining bathroom, then remove the old reading glasses I borrowed from Nicholas under the pretext that I’m nearsighted. Thing is, glasses make me look less threatening, so I always have them on while off duty.

When I return to the room, I find Sasha lying on her back, the robe scattered at her side and her eyes are closed.

Looks like she gave up the battle and fell asleep. I sit on the bed and start to pull the covers from her hold.

The bright color of her eyes meet mine as she grips them tightly. “W-what are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m going to sleep.”

“Aren’t you supposed to sleep on the floor or something?”

“Why would I do that when there’s a bed?” I forcibly pull the covers back and lie down, palm under my head, then I close my eyes.

“Then…” She inches to the edge of the mattress. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Without opening my eyes, I roll onto my side and throw my arm over her middle. “You’ll do no such thing. It’s cold and uncomfortable on the floor.”

Her body goes still beneath mine, but it’s a careful type. A behavior like injured animals would exhibit when they’re under stress.

“Kirill…”

“Yes?” I ask nonchalantly, pretending not to feel the squeeze in my chest at hearing her call my name.

“Nadia said you seemed to have taken a long journey to get me here. It must’ve been so hard in the middle of all the snow and with the enemy at your back. I was as good as dead, so why didn’t you leave me behind?”

I open my eyes to be greeted by her molten ones. They’re more green than brown now, bright, innocent, and…breakable. “You were still breathing.”

“But I was unresponsive and bleeding—”

“As long as you were still breathing, I wouldn’t leave you behind. That’s not how I operate.”

“Even if you were in danger because of me?”

“Even then.”

She gulps, the delicate veins in her throat bobbing up and down. “Thank you. I think I stayed alive because I knew I had you.”

Her face shines with that bright innocence again. This isn’t only a display of gratefulness—it’s something much more.





12





SASHA





The sound of the howling wind reverberates around me, but it doesn’t feel cold.

In fact, it’s warm.

So warm that I bury my face in the pillow and moan softly at the welcoming embrace. In an instant, it feels as if I’m back to happier times in my life.

Times when Mama would hug me to sleep, Papa would kiss my forehead, and Anton would tease me about being a baby.

Times I took for granted, oblivious to the bleak reality fate had prepared for me.

So I burrow further into the warmness of the pillow, inhaling deeply and engraving every detail to memory.

Then I pause when I notice something hard against my head. In fact, the firm surface is glued to my whole body. A pillow isn’t supposed to feel like steel.

Slowly, I open my eyes. The moment I understand the situation, a wordless gasp spills from my lips.

Turns out, the pillow isn’t a pillow, after all, and I am, in fact, cocooned in Kirill’s arms.

I tilt my chin up to catch a glimpse of his sleeping face. The hard lines of his jaw are shadowed by the early morning light slipping through the window.

The storm is still blazing outside, but it’s not dark, or maybe not as dark as anyone would expect.

His lashes are quite thick, and so are his brows. I have an undeniable compulsion pushing me to touch them, just to see how they feel.