Blood Of My Monster

Chapter 2

I have no time to focus on that when a shadow falls on me. I slowly stare up to find a very pissed Matvey hovering over me, his goons close behind him.

“You really f****d up, little fuck.” He reaches for me, and before I can get away, he lifts me up with a savage grip on my jacket.

The material tears at the top, nearly revealing my chest bandage, and I dig my nails into his hand while I grab whatever I can of my jacket to keep it in place.

For the first time, I’m glad to be wearing my combat gear over my T-shirt and, therefore, won’t be fully naked, even if he rips it.

But that would put my chest bandages into question.

His palm wraps around my neck, applying enough pressure to cut off my breathing. I wheeze, but little to no air sprinkles into my lungs.

My legs flail in midair while the other soldiers taunt, laugh, and snicker. Matvey slams my back against the wall and reaches for my pants.

“Let us see those miniscule balls.”

I thrash, scratch, and scream, but only a haunting sound escapes my lips.

Each of Matvey’s goons clutches a limb and glues it to the wall behind me, effectively stopping me from moving.

Matvey smirks when he sees the horrified expression on my face, then slowly releases my neck to dedicate his whole attention to my pants.

Please, stop it, is at the tip of my tongue, but if I say that, there’s no doubt they’ll take this further. They’ll be enticed by my begging and will be tempted to prove that I’m indeed weak.

“f**k you,” I snarl, even as my voice chokes and the last of my hopes start to shrivel and die.

Matvey’s response is a wide grin. “But you’re the one who probably likes to take it up the ass, sodomite.”

I sneer, wanting—no, needing—to poke his eyes out for being a bigoted asshole.

Matvey is every bit of the toxic masculinity that’s wrong with this place. He believes that a man should be macho and show no emotions or else he’s labeled subhuman. According to his stupid, uninformed logic, being gay is also a weakness. Which is what he and his friends have called me ever since I got here.

I’m neither a man nor gay, but I still feel the offense on behalf of everyone Matvey must’ve put through this discrimination.

Being a woman in a man's world is just as bad.

Which is part of the reason I cut my hair and joined the army as a man. My uncle helped me by bribing the physical examiner and a few other officials to keep my gender a secret and help me integrate into this institution.

If my gender is found out, I will be killed. Simple as that.

Now, if Matvey, of all people, discovers that bit of information, I’m f****d.

I push my whole body forward in one last desperate attempt to set myself free, but that only causes them to tighten their holds on my limbs.

Matvey is unbuckling my pants, and I can feel sweat covering my skin. Hyperventilation starts to set in, slowly but surely devouring my inner assertiveness.

In my twenty years of life, this is the second time I’ve felt this helpless and torn and that there was no way out.

The first was when I lost most of my family and had to run for my life.

The chain of current events plays in my mind's eye. Matvey will find out I’m a woman, he and his goons could assault me, and then they’ll either report me to the captain, or they will demand s****l favors in return for keeping my secret.

Blackmail or being kicked out of the safest place for me. Hell, I could even be thrown in jail for lying to the military institution.

“You’re an obedient little fucker, aren’t you? Bet you’re submissive and shit.” Matvey licks his lips in a suggestive way.

“Your broken d**k would testify otherwise.” I glare at him. “Guess that makes you the submissive one, motherfucker.”

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 d**k, Matvey.”

“You f*****g—” 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?