Total pages in book: 16
Estimated words: 15192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 76(@200wpm)___ 61(@250wpm)___ 51(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 15192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 76(@200wpm)___ 61(@250wpm)___ 51(@300wpm)
in Lena’s best-selling and acclaimed short story series is:
THE MONSTER by Lena Little
In Slavic mythology, there are creatures called Bies.
Horrifying demons whose name literally means “one who causes fear and terror.” They torment humans by possessing them and driving them to insanity.
As a child, my sisters would tell me the cat I adopted or the stray dog I fed were Bies.
That they would transform in my bedroom and slip inside my body to control my movements. That they would take me deep into the woods to hold me prisoner. That they would feed on my soul bit by bit until I was nothing but an empty husk of my former self.
At twenty-one years old, I still fear the dark, the shadows, and any demon lurking within. I sleep with the lights on, waking up with every creak of the floorboard or every scrape against my window.
All my life, I’ve been afraid of monsters.
And now I’m about to marry one.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
NINA
“Do you, Nina Scranton, take Nikolai Petrov as your husband, to live together in holy matrimony, to love him, honor him, comfort him, and to keep him in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?”
“I … I …”
The soft murmurs buzz around me, but the sounds seem distant, muffled by the pounding in my ears. My breath comes in shallow gasps, each harder to draw than the last.
The walls of the church close in on me, and my mind races, conjuring up all the horror stories about the man standing before me. Terror clamps down on my chest, and I clench and unclench my fists, even though it does little to shake my growing panic.
My eyes are zeroed in on the hard wall of his wide chest. Even through the layers of clothing, it’s easy to see that this man is built like a tank, at least twice bigger than me. His hands, massive and veiny, can crush my throat with a small pressure.
“Nina!”
I snap out of it at the sound of my father’s voice. Cold terror seeps through my veins. After years of living under his roof, my body instinctively reacts to his command.
I raise my gaze, expecting the worst, expecting someone fully ready to eat me alive, only to find the softest, warmest bright-blue eyes I’ve ever seen. He’s the cause of my fear, and yet, at this moment, he’s like an anchor, pulling me back from hysteria.
“Y-yes. Yes, I do,” I finally stammer.
Did I imagine that look of relief on his face?
Oh, God. His face.
I knew about Nikolai Petrov long before my father called me to his study and told me I was marrying the man everyone called The Monster.
In this part of the globe, legends are still alive. And while I scoff at the mention of Baba Yaga and Bauk, the one about The Monster sent a chill down the base of my spine.
It wasn’t because he was rumored to be massive or had the strength of a dozen men. Or had eyes so cold it could freeze you on the spot.
No. It was because his face alone could make you pee in your pants. Scarred. Demonic. Looked like the devil himself. Striking fear in the hearts of his enemies even as he stood and only watched.
And yet.
It’s not … as bad as I thought. Well, except for the two-inch scar on the left side of his mouth. It makes him look like he’s perpetually smirking. It’s jarring, yes, but it takes me all of two seconds to get over it.
And the rest of him?
Dark blonde hair slicked back, a razor-sharp jaw that could cut glass, high cheekbones, and long lashes I would kill for.
Is this it? The Monster? The one I had nightmares about?
Is something wrong with me? Am I missing something? Or are the rumors exaggerated?
Part of me is relieved, and the other part is—I want to chalk it up to temporary madness or stress getting the best of me—oddly attracted to him. What does it say about me when the one everyone fears is the first man I’ve ever felt drawn to?
The man who’s about to become my husband.
“Do you, Nikolai Petrov, take Nina Scranton as your wife, to live together in holy matrimony, to love her, honor her, comfort her, and to keep her in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?”
Nikolai doesn’t take his eyes off me as he answers, “I do.”
I must be going mad because his deep voice tugs something in me. My skin flushes hot under his scrutiny, and I curb the impulse to shift on my feet. I have never been comfortable being the subject of anyone’s attention, and this time is no exception.
His gaze catalogs everything about me, taking a long, careful scan of my face, then the rest of my body.
The priest continues speaking, and I tune him out as I stand there, tilting my head back to stare at Nikolai.
Danger comes off him in waves, but strangely, for reasons unknown to me, I feel safe around him. God knows I can’t remember the last time I felt this way.
At home, I was always on guard—from my father, my sisters, my stepmother. I didn’t know what I would wake up to or come home to. Would they “accidentally” spill water on me or steal my books or tear my clothes? I wish I could say these things stopped when my three sisters left the house and got married, but my stepmother took it upon herself to continue the tradition of making me suffer.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss!”
In a normal wedding with a normal couple, that will be met with cheers and applause. But no one claps, no one whistles. The weight of hundreds of eyes press down on me.