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Vampire In Her Mysts
Meagan Hatfield
Bounty hunters had wounded and abandoned him in the Mysts, a dark haven for the supernatural.But vampire Yuri Feodorovna thinks he has found the key to survival when he sees Ileana Tarasova, a beautiful servant of the Goddess. Yuri is filled with desire at the sight of her tantalizing body. . . though it is a desire with a dangerous undercurrent of hunger.He cannot resist his need to feed and possess Ileana, just as she cannot help the way her body responds with eagerness and lust at his touch. . . But will Yuri still want Ileana when he learns her deadly secret?




Vampire In Her Mysts

Meagan Hatfield





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Bounty hunters had wounded and abandoned him in the Mysts, a dark haven for the supernatural. But vampire Yuri Feodorovna thinks he has found the key to survival when he sees Ileana Tarasova, a beautiful servant of the Goddess.
Yuri is filled with desire at the sight of her tantalizing body…though it is a desire with a dangerous undercurrent of hunger. He cannot resist his need to feed and possess Ileana, just as she cannot help the way her body responds with eagerness and lust at his touch…

But will Yuri still want Ileana when he learns her deadly secret?

Chapter One
“Where am I?”
Yuri Feodorovna forced his eyes open, his keen vampire senses instantly tasting damp earth and blood in the night air. He lifted his head off the ground. An unbearable ache pulsed through his veins and a fine layer of sweat coated his body. Both sensations were something he usually experienced after a battle.
Pressing a palm into the velvety earth, he pushed himself up to sit.
“Ahh,” he gasped at the spear of agony jabbing through his rib cage. He covered his tender side with his hand, wholly unsurprised to see his palm covered in red when he lifted it toward his face.
“That’s my blood,” he groaned, letting his head collapse against the tree behind him. “That’s…a lot of my blood.”
What in Fatum’s veil happened?
Clutching his waist with one hand, he used the other to push himself up. Standing sent a fresh wave of dizziness through him that threatened to pull him to the ground. Blood seeped between his fingers and streamed down his pant leg. Yuri bit down on his jaw at the current of pain streaming through him. The tip of his fang nicked his lip and the coppery taste of blood flooded his mouth.
“Dammit,” he said on a growl, spitting the mouthful on the grass. As if being ginsu’d across the abdomen by some wannabe samurai blood hunter last night hadn’t been bad enough.
Yuri stopped. An icy cold hand grabbed his heart, as memories of the past few hours came together…the fighting, the clanking of swords and slicing of flesh. In particular, the tattoos embedded across his adversary’s forearms seared into Yuri’s brain. They identified the sword-wielding vampire who attacked him as a vanator. A vampire blood hunter.
Yuri knew those tattoos well.
He should.
He’d worn the same ones for more than a century.
One mystery solved. A vanator had done this to him, he thought, inhaling an uneasy breath. Too bad owning that little bit of knowledge didn’t make him feel any better. He could think of a dozen other beings he’d prefer trying to kill him rather than a vanator.
Before Yuri’s brother Nikolai took over the Mysts, vanators were known as blood hunters—trained killers who assassinated their own from within. Blood hunters took out those vampires deemed not to be following the auld ways. Kings, queens, Dark Council members, corrupt politicians and aristocracy—no one had been safe from the vanators and everyone in their realm respected them and their missions.
Yet now, they’d become little more than bounty hunters. Duty-bound by an undying blood oath to Nikolai, a false ruler and the brother Yuri had been covertly fighting against for the past decade. Ruthless, brutal, the vanators relentlessly stalked their mark. They would not stop until they succeeded in delivering their target, dead or alive, and collecting their bounty.
Now they hunted him…and in the Mysts, of all places.
The holy vampire lands beyond the Fatum, Earth and every supernatural realm in between, the Mysts were a perpetual dark haven where day was never truly day and vampires could roam freely. For that reason alone, this place had always been dangerous territory for any vampire to enter.
Well, it had been pure and utter madness for him to come here.
Yuri dropped his chin to his chest and closed his eyes. Exhaustion warred with the need to act, to take out his opponents before they could regroup and strike again. He stumbled to the lake, pushing aside the marsh grass and shrubs. Collapsing at the edge, he sank to his knees. Cold water leached into his clothes, sending a chill up his already blood-drained body. He groaned, a tired and weak sound that made him cringe.
Dipping his arm in the pool, Yuri washed the blood away. The caked-on redness seeped into the lake, revealing the tattoos forever embedded on the underside of both forearms from elbow to wrist, marking him vanator to anyone with the gift of sight.
He twisted his arms slightly, exposing the marks forcibly inked alongside his old ones, branding him a traitor to the vanator brethren. His stomach soured. Assassin scum was more accurate. Blood hunters, true vanators were brother to no one. Masters of disguise, they frequently changed personality, occupation and appearance to the point of being chameleons. They always worked alone. And they always hunted their prey until they were either captured or dead.
And for the first time, Yuri was the prey, not the hunter.
A twig snapped in the forest behind him.
Yuri froze. Instinct had him sinking lower into the grass seconds before his brain registered the order. Eyes alert, he scanned the darkness. A thick cloud passed before the moon, shutting out what little light there’d been. Yuri breathed out a curse as night’s veil cloaked the forest around him, further concealing any would-be attacker. Careful to not make a sound, he floated his hand inches above the velvety lawn toward the dagger holstered at his thigh. Holding the weapon in his palm, Yuri fisted the hilt tight and waited.
If it was a vanator who hunted him, he wouldn’t have to wait long.
He swallowed, his grip flexing on the weapon.
The darkness not forty yards behind him suddenly parted, revealing the pale flesh of a woman’s leg. An astonishingly long, slender leg. Yuri blinked. Certain he must be hallucinating from the loss of blood. Yet he remained fixed on the spot, waiting for the apparition to show herself once more. A heartbeat later, a bright flash of red fabric swished in the night, followed by the second bare leg until the woman stepped into full view.
Although the heavy cloak she wore obscured her form, the brief glimpse of red ceremonial robes beneath it identified who she was.
AKalu.
One of the holy women from the Samostan, a women’s temple devoted to the worship of the Goddess.
Yuri regarded the girl intently, remaining alert even though she posed no real threat to him other than alerting any lurking vanators to his presence.
With feline grace, the woman walked toward the water. The pads of her feet rolled from ball to heel with the elegance of a dancer. His sight in line with her ankles, he studied their delicate structure, the dip and curve of bone and flesh. Each step slid the cloak higher up her legs, first past her knee and then her thigh. Yuri eagerly explored each inch as it became visible. The curve of her calf, sway of her knee and slender thigh, each inch more enticing than the last. For a woman devoted to prayer and books, her body was more muscular than he would have thought.
An arm reached back and up. In a deft move, the woman removed the hood, settling the fabric back on her shoulders. His gaze slid to her profile. Skin, so white and pure in the moonlight it could be translucent, glowed with the perfect luster of a pearl. In stark contrast, wave after wave of ebony hair flowed down the enticing curve of her back, resting at the dip of her hip. She looked ethereal. A goddess reminiscent of the one she worshipped.
The female bent to the water’s edge only a stone’s throw away. With the grace of a soaring hawk, her pale arm arced over the water. Yuri caught sight of her wrists, slender and elegant, before she dipped her hands, plunging them into the lake and scooping up water. A moment later, the cloak fell off, pooling to the ground around her feet.
Yuri’s heart skipped. Sweet Goddess, if he thought her magnificent before, she rendered him speechless now.
He’d heard of the alluring, borderline erotic Kalu garment, but had never seen one. Slaves to the Goddess, the Kalu’s attire reflected such. Red arm covers swathed her forearms from wrist to bicep. A narrow piece of fabric crisscrossed over her breasts and curved, wrapping once around her waist, leaving an enticing amount of flesh exposed from her rib cage to her navel. Panels, no more than ten inches wide, hung between her legs to her ankles on the front and back. Deliciously bare, her hips and thighs were concealed by only two ribbons tied in bows at her hipbones. Another slim red ribbon collared her delicate throat.
A sliver of moonlight peeked down from between the clouds, casting a hint of light upon her skin. Yuri’s eyes widened with each new inch of flesh the moonlight exposed.
Tattoos.
This beautiful creature was covered in them. They peppered her flesh, her abdomen, arms, chest and no doubt her back too if he had the opportunity to look. Suddenly, the desire to bare this female to his gaze and study her marked body besieged him.
Unlike humans, who used tattoos the way a male peacock struts its plumage, in the Mysts, each tattoo told a story about the vampire who bore it, for good or ill. Some were put on the body by right, some by force and none were taken lightly. Every mark had meaningful and thoughtful placement. They spoke volumes about those wearing them. The tattoos identified where they were born, what class or horde they belonged to, what specialties they owned, or where their affiliations lay.
In the same vein, if someone placed false tattoos on their bodies, claiming to be someone or something they were not, they would bring shame upon their clan, and in most cases find themselves exiled. That is, if a disgraced family member did not find and kill them first.
Yuri looked down at his inked forearm, studying his own marks. The intricate design rippled as he flexed his grip on one of the weapons of his trade. Yeah, he knew all about those tattoos. But why did she have so many? Kalu were said to be marked as such, but he couldn’t imagine so heavily. Whatever her tattoos spoke about her, Yuri had the clawing urge to read, to learn, to know.
Curious to see if his keen eyesight could make out any symbols or patterns in the darkness, Yuri glanced toward the woman again. His mouth slackened at the sight of her. The female had undone the ties around her neck and now bathed topless by the water. Even in the dim light, Yuri had no problem making out the perfect shape of her bosom. A small tattoo sat nestled in the valley of her chest. However, the flesh of her breasts remained unmarked. Crimped and tight, her nipples looked succulent, two raspberries ripe for the taking.
A hammer of lust began pounding in his veins. A dangerous undercurrent of hunger rippled through him in its wake. The need to feed, to heal, overwhelmed him. His canines throbbed, lengthening on their own volition. A haze of red blanketed his vision. Yuri pinched his eyes shut, trying to get himself under control. He swallowed, groaning at the raw slide of his throat.
A loud female gasp filled his ears.
Yuri cursed beneath his breath. He’d been discovered. If the girl ran, in the state he was in, he’d never catch her before she reached help. Goddess knew what would happen if she sounded the alarm and let the entire Mysts know he was here.
Out of options, Yuri grudgingly utilized the last resource he owned and readied to overtake the girl’s mind.
Zeroing his gaze on the female, he focused on her eyes. Heat bored into his skull and within seconds, his medji self bombarded her mind and took control.
Being one of the last psychic vampires in existence had its perks. But wounded as he was, he knew he couldn’t hold her still for long. He was already getting a sense of this woman and she did not like his mental invasion at all.
Bracing his hands, Yuri pushed up to his knees, feeling pain crawl through him anew. Weak and wounded, Yuri forced himself to appear anything but to the female as he approached her. If the vibrations he picked up from her thoughts were even remotely accurate, she was skittish as a feral cat and had claws just as sharp. Yuri held his back ramrod straight as he neared her, even though his shoulder burned in protest and the unbearable need to vomit rolled through his gut.
After two more steps, he stood in front of her. As his telepathic powers instructed, she remained motionless. Yuri wrapped his fingers around her upper arms, holding her physically as he prepared to release her mentally. But he stared into her face and hesitated.
Dewdrop-shaped eyes of a color he’d never seen before locked on his, a flicker of willful intelligence sparking in their depths. Her eyes seemed almost iridescent obsidian with flecks of color that shifted with each play of light, very unlike a vampire’s flat black eye color. Her slender arching brows matched her high cheekbones. The sultry curve of her mouth instantly recalled the palace courtesans, lush, curvy and willing.
However, her mind intrigued him most. He’d entered her psyche easily enough. She had not been expecting his attack and he’d slipped her mental defenses without difficulty. Yet, the moment he’d gained access to her thoughts, he’d felt her mentally pushing him back. Hard. It had taken all of his concentration to keep her immobile until he could reach her.
Tightening the grip on her he’d let slacken, Yuri pulled out of her thoughts and released her mind.
Like a deer sensing a lion, she instantly moved away from him, trying to run in the opposite direction. However, Yuri held her tightly. Undeterred, she swung, her elbow nearly smashing his nose. Yuri used his years of combat training to efficiently immobilize her upper arms and pin her back flush against his body. When she fought to get away once more, he flashed the dagger he still held in his hand, covering her mouth with the other. She finally quit struggling.
“Don’t make a sound,” he said, fighting to keep his voice controlled and even. “Cooperate, do as I say and I will not hurt you. Do you understand me?”
The female glanced back at him and nodded. Those eyes of hers were big and yet calm, almost assessing in their stare as if she dissected everything about him. Yuri suddenly felt thankful for the darkness. Had this one seen the extent of his wounds, she might have tried to get away again and succeeded this time. And for the next few hours, he needed her.
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.

Chapter Two
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.

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