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

Then she’s out.

That little—

I’m about to give the psycho a piece of my mind when Kirill steps in front of me and, as if sensing my thoughts, he shakes his head. “She’s mentally unwell. Don’t mind her.”

“Did you forget the part where she was trying to kill you? If she’s mentally unwell, maybe she should be admitted to a psych ward.”

“She’s not violent…except for the incident just now.”

“No shit.”

I inspect the cut on his arm, and my hands get soaked with blood. It’s a huge gash that slashes through some of his tattoos. “This will definitely need stitches. If you could remove me so easily, you could’ve blocked her attack, too.”

“I could’ve, huh?”

“You totally could, but you chose not to. Why?”

“She needed to get that one in, or her anger wouldn’t have subsided.”

“You’re really…weird.”

“Makes two of us.”

I clear my throat. “Is there a doctor in this place? There must be with all the houses and departments. Can’t you ask him to look at this—”

My words are cut off when a warm finger traces the pale skin near the pulse point of my throat. He’s stroking the injury, I realize. “Next time, when something like this happens, do not, under any circumstances, put your life in jeopardy for me.”

I try to swallow, but it’s stuck, just like my breathing. “Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do as a bodyguard?”

“No. There are always better solutions that don’t include being a martyr.”

“I…wasn’t trying to be one.”

“Really, now?”

My lips part, and my train of thought flies out the window because his finger has moved up. He’s fully exploring my throat now, tracing, touching, and leaving an inferno of goosebumps in his wake.

I can’t for the life of me focus on anything other than his sensually dark touch. The feel of his skin on mine is forbidden yet so addictive. So raw. So…wrong.

“You were ready to allow yourself to be stabbed in the same shoulder that’s injured because you were playing the martyr. That business won’t happen again, am I understood?”

“No.”

“No?” The edge in his voice would send anyone running, including me, but I have to put my foot down about this.

“I don’t understand how Viktor and the others claim to be your guards while allowing your so-called family members to attack you. Whatever the reason, I’m not like them. You hired me to be your bodyguard, and I intend to do my job to the fullest.”

“Sasha…” It’s a warning laced with an unspoken threat. His icy eyes shimmer with the hint of danger that’s part of who he is.

He’s a cold, emotionless man who doesn’t seem to care about the danger he brought on himself the moment he stepped foot in his house.

No wonder he chose freezing Russia over this.

He might be emotionless, but I’m not. Kirill has saved my life more than once, and I’m simply not going to stand by when his own life is in danger.

“Yes, sir?”

“Drop the innocent tone, and don’t fuck with me.” His hand flexes on my throat.

I have this weird sensation that I’m caught in the web of a lethal spider. No, maybe I’m trapped in the lion’s den.

“What did I tell you before I agreed to bring you with me?”

“My life is yours.” I speak without difficulty, but I can feel his hand on my throat with every word.

“That’s right. It’s mine.” He digs his thumb into my pulse point. “So when I tell you not to throw it away, you fucking listen.”

“I won’t. If you’re not in danger.”

I can see the shadow falling over his features, and I’m not sure if he’ll snap my neck or squeeze it to death.

For a moment, he goes for the second. His grip tightens, and I’m robbed of oxygen in a swift movement.

But then he lets go as fast as he grabbed me. “Go.”

“How about your wound?” I realize I’m speaking breathily, almost too much so.

“Are you a doctor now?”

“No, but I can get you one.”

He narrows his eyes for a fraction of a second before they revert back to normal.

“Let me try to stop the bleeding first. Do you have a first aid kit somewhere?”

He nods down the hall and starts walking that way without paying me any attention. I end up following anyway because his wound is dripping on the hallway carpet and definitely ruining it.

Once we reach the last door, he pushes it open and slips inside, then switches on the light.

A large room with an en-suite bathroom comes into view. There’s a black leather seating area and a king-size bed on a high platform, but otherwise, it’s too sterile-looking.

Kirill sits on the bed and juts his chin to the side. “It’s in the bathroom. Make it quick.”

I nod and rush inside, then fetch the kit and come back. My feet falter when I find him unbuttoning his shirt, slowly revealing the hard ridges of his muscles before throwing it to the side.

There’s no doubt that Kirill’s physique was sculpted by a god. He’s not too bulky, nor too lean, but he has a perfect eight-pack and wide shoulders that fit his height.