Vampire in Her Mysts (2 page)

It was all making sense. Why he'd journeyed to the
Samostan
in the first place. Why he'd been lurking just outside its outer walls.

Yuri hauled the
Kalu
to him. The sweet scent of her curled around him, enticing him, making his mouth water. He closed his eyes and dipped his chin to the space between her neck and shoulders, breathing her in. The beast within him responded, his nature sensing a way to heal. Yuri didn't fight it this time. Instead, he willed his fangs to lengthen, invited the blanket of red to drape over his vision. Yuri closed his eyes, a plan forming in some dark recess of his mind.

I need her. I need her.
Those three words repeated in a prayer-like litany in his mind. Perhaps the Goddess had not abandoned him after all. Perhaps she'd dropped one of her servants in his lap to help him. After all, he could use this girl to escape this place. He could use her to get back home.

But first he needed her blood.

Yuri threw open his eyes. His vision zeroed in on the pulse fluttering wildly in her neck. His fangs ached, itching for that first taste of what he already knew would be sweet, hot and tangy blood.

The fingers around his arm tightened.

“Please,” she breathed. The husky sound of her voice, soft and yet strong like steel and velvet woven together, shot straight to his groin. He felt alive with a lustful urge and need he'd not sated in…Goddess, probably as long as the female in his arms had been alive.

Dueling hungers began pulling at him from both sides. However, right now he could only focus on one.

“I apologize for this,” he whispered in her ear.

“For what?”

 

Ileana Tarasova gasped, her body stiffening as razor-sharp fangs pierced the sensitive flesh of her neck. She lurched forward in an instinctive attempt to escape. However, the man grabbed her to him with a surprising amount of force for someone wounded as badly as he. His arms flexed, coiling tighter around her with each panting breath she exhaled, like a constrictor keeping its prey in place.

Trapped, Ileana's attention shifted to the bite, to the blood flowing in a hot rush from her body. A swell of panic rose in her gut. Again she wriggled, trying to break free, and again his hold only strengthened. She panted out a breath, her body slouching.

Helpless
.

Goddess be damned, she was helpless to do anything other than wait for this monster to stop drinking from her. If he stopped at all. The thought would have made her angry if she didn't suddenly feel so woozy.

Light-headed, she felt her eyes flutter shut. With her sight cut off, her other senses took over. The intense warmth of his mouth on her throat intensified. The soft brush of the dark goatee framing his lips scraped against her skin. The heat of her blood as it rushed to feed him, and the wake of coolness it left in her veins. A massive shudder racked her body before she went limp in his arms.

Powerful and strong, his muscles held her upright, kept her clutched to his wide and muscular frame. Her chin slid to her chest. Ileana focused on the broad hand fanned across her abdomen just under her breasts. His fingers, elegant and manicured, palmed her flesh in a desperate grip with each pull of his sensual mouth. The curve of her backside heated, her softness molding against his hard build.

Beneath his hands, a deep burning ignited in her core. The seed of heat, no more than a tingling flicker at first. It began to flower and blossom until heat radiated outward in all directions, warming the limbs that had gone cold from blood loss. Her sex clenched and for a moment, Ileana could have sworn the flood of heat sluiced lower. Could have sworn she felt the stirrings of desire awakening inside her.

The man dislodged his teeth from her flesh with a heaving gasp. Ileana released a sigh of her own, one of both relief and strangely enough, of loss. Her neck ached and his warm mouth covered the throbbing skin, suckling and teasing before blazing a trail across her cheek toward her lips. She smelled blood on his mouth. Her sex pulsed, greedy, hungry.

In a daze, she became marginally aware of his long-fingered hands twisting her in his arms with ragdoll ease. Faced with his broad chest, she tilted her chin up. Ileana caught a brief glimpse of a much too gorgeous face and heated half-lidded eyes before he swooped again.

Only this time, he wasn't after her blood.

Lips, warm and smooth and utterly male, crushed against hers. Hot and slick, his tongue twined with hers again and again, his mouth sliding over hers in a dizzying glide. At the faint taste of her blood on his lips, the vampire within her sparked to life. Renewed energy perked in her veins and Ileana kissed him back with an urgency and hunger she'd never felt before.

Some part of her brain screamed at her to battle him. The fighter inside told her she should give him one swift kick to the balls and run. Do anything except respond the way her body responded, with warmth and eagerness and lust.

Unbidden, her body sank willingly into his embrace, into his kiss. Then she was falling down toward the ground, her stomach in her throat. Hundreds of stars winked down at her against the pitch-black sky above. Her lower back touched the earth first, followed by her shoulder blades and then her head, as the man laid her down and stretched out beside her.

It wasn't until he loomed over her that she saw the panic in his eyes, the self-loathing and remorse evident in his haunted gaze. She identified with the look immediately. It was the same one she'd become accustomed to seeing in the mirror.

Ileana shut her eyes.

Don't look. Don't feel
.

Shaking her head, she tried to heed the mottos repeating in her mind. Yet she couldn't find the will to obey them. Cold, damp earth kissed her skin, sending trembles along her body. Something warm wrapped around her, lulling her to sleep. Ileana blinked rapidly, trying to stay awake. Trying to complete what she had set out here to do, to not let her guard down. But whatever effect his bite had on her, it still gripped her hard. Finally, she gave in and closed her eyes. Only for a moment, she told herself.

Ileana rocked her head to the side and then the other. A dull ache pulsed in her neck. Absentmindedly, she lifted her fingers to the hurt. Hot and sticky, her blood coated the tips of her fingers. She jolted upright, her hands instantly circling her armbands, ensuring they remained in place. Certain they did, she let out a sigh and tried to think through the sleepiness hovering over her.

She'd only closed her eyes for a moment. Hadn't she? How long had she been…

“You're awake.”

Ileana gasped, spinning toward the male voice. It was the man who bit her. He sat on his haunches across from a low-embered fire. The soft light illuminated both his striking looks and his inherent lethalness.

“I am sorry for before, about feeding from you,” he said, dropping his gaze to the stick he poked into the blaze. It hissed in reply, dozens of red sparks feathering into the sky like magical fireflies. “My wounds were too severe. I had no other choice.”

Ileana glanced down at his side and back up, noting he did indeed looked completely healed. Again she clutched her neck, fingering the tender wound. Her other hand palmed her throbbing forehead. Closing her eyes, she massaged them both. Tried to wake up her senses, stoke her anger as this man did the fire. Ever since he bit her, it seemed the clawing drive for revenge that had driven her since childhood had seeped from body. The fact she'd lost her anger now of all possible times, made a slight boil surge in her blood.

Thank the Goddess.

“I swear on my beloved sister's grave,” he continued. “I will return you to the
Samostan
as soon as possible.”

Ileana's brow furrowed. “Why not return me now?”

The man paused, a question in his eyes. “My name is Yuri. What is yours?”

“You didn't answer my question, Yuri.”

A shadow passed over his already dark features. “I need you.”

“You
need
me?” she repeated, balking.

Yuri closed his eyes, obviously warring with what he had to do and what he had to say. “I need you to open the doorway to the outerworlds, so I may return home to mine.”

At his admission, Ileana recoiled both internally and physically. The utter gall of what he asked her, or more to the point,
informed her
she had to do for him, astounded her. Unfortunately it did not surprise her. Everyone in the
Mysts
knew the blood of a
Kalu
served as a key to the outerworlds door should all other routes be closed. It figured a Feodorovna like him would put such a theory to test.

“You really are a monster,” she said beneath her breath.

“What did you say?”

“And should I refuse to open a vein to set you free from the
Mysts
,” she said in a voice loud enough for him to hear. “What will you do then? Will you kill me?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it. Had she not been so full of self-righteousness, she might have feared the glint of anger burning behind his heated gaze.

“No, that's right,” she said instead. “You won't have to bother dirtying your hands with such a task. You controlled my mind before. It stands to reason you could simply do it again. So, I guess that makes me your prisoner,
Yuri
,” she said, placing her hands on her barely clad hips. “Now, what shall be your first task for me?”

An intense, dangerous glint sparkled in his eyes.

In one fluid motion, he stood and walked over to her. The sculpted quad muscles of his thighs rolled and bunched beneath his tailored pants. His arm muscles bulged in such a way she knew he clenched his fists alongside him as he walked. When he stood not two feet before her, she realized his fangs hung over his soft lips, sharp and aggressive. The wound in her neck twinged, remembering them embedded in her flesh.

Ileana shivered and wondered what he wanted, what he might do to her. She realized he could do anything he wanted and she would be powerless to stop him.

“Stand up,” he ordered, his tone incensed. “And turn around,
Ileana
.”

 

Unaccustomed to a female, any female, driving him to such a maddening brink of lust, frustration and vexation, Yuri fought to keep it together as the female did as he'd bade and stood before him. He didn't not know this woman, did not know the answers to the thousand little niggling questions whispering in his mind about her.

Though she looked the part of a young
Kalu
, every honed instinct in his body told him this was no simpering, Goddess-worshipping nun before him. So at her challenge, he decided to do what he'd been dying to do since spying her beside the lake. Yes, he could read her mind. In fact, he just had in order to discover her name, since she was being so stubborn. But right now, he wasn't interested in reading her thoughts. He only wanted to read her body.

The female stood still, her eyes looking up at him, her forehead barely level with his chin. Realizing she'd yet to follow his second order, Yuri circled his finger, motioning for her to turn. Although those intoxicating eyes of hers flashed defiantly, she kept them leveled on him and slowly spun.

Yuri's gaze instantly drew to a large back piece commanding her skin from the neck down to both shoulders. An elaborate weaving design encircled a skull, so faint it appeared to be superimposed on her skin. A chill, like death breathing down his neck, wafted over him. Ignoring it, Yuri closed the distance between them.

The body heat emitting from her small frame reached out to him, curled around him. Her scent, that lovely, delicate subtle scent of sweet flowers and honey, teased his senses. Yuri's mouth watered, recalling the rich flavor of her blood sliding down his tongue and throat. He swallowed hard.

“Tell me about your marks,” he breathed, lifting his hand to the tattoo between her shoulder blades. She made a sound, a swift intake of breath, and tiny goose bumps peppered her skin. Finally, the fiery little nun with the sharp tongue had nothing to say. Yuri felt a smile tug his lips.

“This one looks old,” he coaxed, his finger sliding gently over her skin.

Old and delicate.

Her skin was like a finely milled paper he feared tearing with his calloused fingers. Ileana shifted at his touch, her elegant chin dipping to her shoulder as she glanced back at him. Although he suspected she knew which marking he spoke of without looking.

“That was my first,” she said, softly, definitively. “I was nine. My family had just been slain mere hours before I arrived at the
Samostan
, afraid, alone.”

Yuri's mouth slackened.
Slain?

“The holy women stripped me naked and scrubbed my skin until it was aching and raw. I begged them to stop, cried for my mum. No one spoke a word to me the entire time. They would only chant the holy words and pray to the Goddess for forgiveness.”

Yuri's heart tightened with each word, her suffering, her pain more sharp and real to him than the damp night air coating his lungs.

“I remember being relieved when they finally stopped,” she said on a disbelieving laugh. “The respite however was brief. I had no idea who they were. What they were doing. No idea such women or such a place existed. Four of them pinned me down while a fifth marked my skin. Forever letting anyone know my family had been branded traitors and murdered. This one,” she said, gesturing to the tattoo across the back of her neck, fanning out like wings on her shoulders. “It declares my life debt to pay back their sin.”

Yuri cursed under his breath, the barbaric image of those vile women torturing a scared innocent scorching in his brain. He had heard of such a practice, but had never witnessed it firsthand. Then again, he gathered not many men ever had.

In that moment, Yuri felt the significance of her sharing her story. Her trust. Although it didn't make any sense, he wanted to thank her for telling him, apologize for the hurt she suffered at so tender an age, and murder the ones who'd marked her. Yuri had marks of his own. He'd received his first as a teenager, and he knew the pain. But to be so young and endure such a process made him despise the practice.

“I vowed that night to never become like them. To never forget the horror, the pain,” she said, her voice softening. “To never believe the lies about my family.”

Ileana shifted her hips and then her shoulders in an enticing wave. The thin ribbon of fabric draped over her shoulder slid to the grass beside her feet, baring her back. Yuri's throat dried. His palms burned to touch her. Not sexually, but for comfort. So much pain, so many trials. A life, written out like a play all over her body, and Yuri took his time reading every act. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Pale skin painted with pictures, images and stories of her life. Hair the color of midnight, so thick and lush his hands would get lost in it.

Yuri leaned closer, breathing her in. Gods, she even smelled soft. Overcome, entranced, she drew him in. He closed his eyes and leaned nearer still. Until his lips almost brushed the downy skin of her tattoo.

Too close.

His hands flattened on her back, clutching her to him in a desperate grip. A breathy sigh passed her lips and Yuri could have sworn she melted back into his touch. Unable to restrain himself, he pressed his mouth full on her warm flesh. This time he was rewarded with a rich, husky moan. The vibration moved through his entire being, like ripples breaking a lake's glassy surface. It rumbled his foundation until it cracked, releasing a need, a desire he had not felt since…

Yuri took a step back. “I'm sorry,” he murmured, the apology a lie on his tongue. He wasn't sorry. In truth, he wanted more, wanted her. Here. Now. Instead, he moved away.

Ileana spun in his arms, her black eyes open and unapologetic. A soft hand covered his cheek, a long finger running down his neck, over his hammering pulse. When she leaned into him, so close her scent, her softness invaded every pore and inch of him, a sledgehammer of lust and desire pounded through him. Her fingertip continued its lazy glide back and forth along his collarbone, outlining the very tip of the tattoo that continued down both pecs and his ribs. He sizzled in a breath at the contact and swallowed hard before looking down at the female driving him into sensory overload.

“Now,” she said. “Can I see yours?”