The Monster (Steamy Shorts #13)

Chapter 1

1

NINA

“ D o 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.

The priest’s words hang in the air, echoing in the massive church. The silence is suffocating and oppressive, as if the cavernous space has drawn a collective breath and held it.

Nikolai moves closer to me, and I make a mental scan of my feelings. Fear is nowhere to be found. Instead, there’s curiosity.

He has full lips, and I wonder if it’s going to feel soft on my own. Is he about to give me a quick kiss, or will he force his tongue inside my mouth?

I shouldn’t feel excitement and anticipation thrumming in my veins, but I do. Jesus, I do. What is wrong with me? A few minutes ago, I was about to pass out from terror. And now, I’m … turned on?

Nikolai leans forward, head dropping to my level. Even at 5’6 and with four-inch heels on, he towers above me.

He brushes his lips along my cheeks, and something tugs low in my belly, but he doesn’t kiss me on the lips. Disappointment tastes bitter on my tongue, and I can’t believe I’m briefly entertaining the idea of making the first move instead.

His breath tickles my ear as he whispers, “Do not ever fear me, wife. I am your husband, and I will lay down my life for you.”

I’m still trying to process what he said when he plants a chaste kiss on my cheek and straightens back to his full height, his face devoid of expression, his eyes betraying nothing.

What have I gotten myself into?