Vampire In Her Mysts. Meagan Hatfield

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      “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.

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