Midnight's Master. Cynthia Eden

name, “Sam,” with a kind of wild despair.

      Then she’d gotten control of herself—fast. Probably too damn fast. Now he saw a woman with a taut body. Expressionless face. Ice-cold hands.

      He knew the name the cops had tossed out, of course. Sam Miters. Demon, level-seven. Niol made a habit of knowing all the demons in his city. Just for the sake of good business.

      Unstable as all hell and an addict—old Sam had been an accident waiting to happen.

      “You don’t need to come inside the viewing room,” Gyth said.

      Niol grunted. The detective didn’t want him inside, but he didn’t give a damn.

      Another demon had fallen on his streets. Niol wanted to see the body.

      “I-I want him with me.” Holly’s voice, cool and hollow.

      The lady was shaken. Two murders and an attempt on her own life, all within two short days. Yes, she had reason to be nervous.

      Should have listened to me. Now hell’s coming down on her.

      She looked up at him with those glittering green eyes. So green. Humans thought eyes were the window to the soul. They were wrong. As usual. Eyes lied.

      Hers were lying now. She was trying to look strong and in control, when he knew she was close to breaking apart.

      His left hand lifted and shoved open the door. “Let’s get this shit over with.” Before Holly broke.

      And why do I care?

      She was just another human.

      Just. Another. Hu—

      He heard the soft sigh of her breath. The little hitch that gave away her fear as she stepped forward.

      The body was on the table in the middle of the room. Covered by a thin, white sheet. Niol could see two feet hanging off the slab, pale toes peeking over the edge of the sheet.

      Tagged and bagged.

      A woman with coal-black hair and skin of dark cream stepped forward. Niol recognized her immediately—Dr. Nathalia Smith. The medical examiner. She’d been in the papers after the Night Butcher case.

      Smart, tough, and in the know about the Other.

      Her gaze was on Holly, not him. Gyth crowded in behind him, and that jerkoff Brooks crossed to the good doctor’s side.

      “Are you the next of kin?” Smith asked.

      Holly shook her head. “A friend.”

      Not really, as far as Niol knew. Old Sam hadn’t exactly been the friend type.

      Smith’s stare turned to him. “And you are—”

      “Forget him,” Brooks told her. “Just forget you ever saw him.”

      “Not likely.” Her eyes were locked on his and Niol saw the shock on her face. The horror in her gaze. Her dark stare wasn’t full of lies—what she felt, it was right there for him to see. And that was a stare he recognized.

      He smiled at her.

      Her jaw clenched and she gave a jerky nod. Then her hands rose to the sheet and she eased it down, exposing the—

      “God!” Holly jerked away from him and stumbled back, ramming into Gyth. “What the hell happened to him?” She covered her mouth with the back of her hand.

      Gyth caught her shoulders, wrapping his fingers around her flesh and pulling her against him.

      Niol tensed and the air thickened around him. Shifter had better back off, no one else touched her, no one—

      Gyth caught his stare, and, smart bastard, read the warning in Niol’s eyes. He lifted his hands, palms up, and stepped away from Holly.

      Niol glided toward Holly. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and—

      Comfort her?

      What the hell?

      “What happened to him?” Holly repeated, her voice stronger and her eyes helplessly returning to the body. “His face, it’s been—”

      Carved up. Cut with perfect precision. Long, slim slices.

      Smith yanked the sheet back over him. “So you can identify the victim.”

      A nod. “It’s Sam.”

      Or what was left of him.

      Niol’s nostrils twitched. He tried to shove the stench of blood and bleach out of his system as he focused on the body. There had to be something there, a scent left by the killer—

      From the corner of his eye, he saw Holly sway.

      He was on her in less than a second. Grabbing her, pulling her tightly against his chest.

      And she fit, dammit. Her body matched his perfectly, and she felt right.

      Even when she shuddered. “I’ve got to get out of here.”

      Unlike him, she wasn’t used to dead bodies. Not enough dead bodies at her crime scenes.

      If she intended to keep working the case, though, she’d get used to them. Fast.

      He pushed her toward the door. They’d seen the body. Holly had completed the whole good-citizen routine. No sense wasting more time.

      The door flew open with the force of Holly’s shove. She stumbled ahead of him. Poor human. She’d had one hell of day. Hit-and-run. Dead body.

      Him.

      The light shone on the tiled floor. “Thanks, Niol,” she muttered and some of the real Holly stared back at him from her green eyes. “I never thought I’d say this but I needed you in—”

      “Not so fast, Ms. Storm.” The shifter’s voice. Quiet. Hard.

      Niol glanced back at him. He had questions for the shifter, questions he’d rather not ask in front of a reporter.

      Because while he wanted Holly like hell on fire—and he sure knew about hell—Niol didn’t trust her.

      He didn’t trust anyone.

      And that was why he was still alive.

      Well, one of the reasons.

      The human, Brooks, stepped out beside Gyth. “We’re gonna need to see you for a while in Interrogation.” A pause. “Both of you.”

      Fuck.

      They separated them. Stupid human manipulation. As if being apart would make them turn on each other. Spill secrets.

      They had no secrets to spill.

      The shifter stayed with him. Locked eyes on him and just stared.

      Niol stared back.

      After ten minutes, the cop spoke. “You killin’ your own kind again, demon?”

      A shrug. He was sprawled in the chair, legs out in front of him, shoulders slumped.

      Where was Holly? She’d handle herself; he knew she’d be fine. Once she shook off the horror of that dead body, Holly Storm would snap back to action.

      But he wanted her close by. The better to watch and protect.

      “Sam Miters was a demon, wasn’t he?” Gyth’s arms were crossed over his chest. Niol figured the guy was supposed to be intimidating, but he was just annoying.

      Niol raised his brows. “Did the Monster Doctor tell you that?” The Monster Doctor, Dr. Emily Drake, the psychologist in town who treated all the Other with their myriad of problems. She could tell a paranormal with just one look. The lady could even recognize the power of the dead ones.

      Handy little trick. One he’d like to have.

      As it stood in the paranormal world, generally,