Midnight's Master. Cynthia Eden

a big guy, he could sure move fast. “What did you just say?”

      Holly licked her lips. The detective was intimidating as hell with those dark features and the glinting edge of teeth that looked a bit too sharp and—

      “She said the victim wasn’t human.” The cold, slightly mocking voice had every nerve in Holly’s body tensing. No, shit, not—

      She and Colin turned together and met the coal-black stare of Niol Lapen. It was just after dusk, and the dark shadows gathered around him, wrapping over the tall, muscled length of his body.

      He strolled toward them, power evident in his every rippling move. His face, a face that Holly figured most women would find attractive—not her, of course, but most women—showed no hint of emotion. But then, she’d rarely known Niol to bother much with emotions.

      Midnight-black hair swept back from his high forehead. The guy really had perfect features, aesthetically speaking anyway. High cheeks, square jaw, long, straight nose, and lips that were—

      Not for me. Holly jerked her gaze back up to his black eyes and away from the lips that she was not the least bit interested in. She needed to focus on his eyes—because it was the eyes that told the true nature of the man. Or, in Niol’s case, the true nature of the demon.

      Because Niol Lapen was a demon. Probably the strongest and most dangerous demon she’d ever met, and she wasn’t going to forget that fact.

      Or the fact that she was pretty sure he’d killed a man the last time they’d met.

      His gaze swept past her. Holly followed his stare and saw that the body had been covered with a sheet. About time.

      “How did you get here so fast, Ms. Storm?” Niol’s voice, harder now, dark and demanding.

      Her eyebrows shot up. Just what was the demon implying? “I was covering a story two blocks over. I followed the sirens.” Okay, probably not her classiest moment, but she’d landed an exclusive.

      And stumbled onto a scene that would give her nightmares for a week.

      Not now. She couldn’t let this get personal now.

      But dammit, why him? He’d been a good guy, harmless. He hadn’t deserved terror and death in a dirty alley, behind a strip club for God’s sake.

      “Fuck that.” Colin stepped toward Niol. “You knew the victim?”

      “Um.” Neither agreement not denial.

      Colin’s hands clenched. “Don’t play with me, Niol. If you’d seen the way the poor bastard was slashed—”

      “I did.”

      Colin stiffened. “You didn’t—”

      Niol laughed, a rough, dry sound, and his gaze returned to Holly. “I didn’t kill him. One of her kind did.”

      What? Her kind? What was he—

      “Come with me. Now.” Colin pointed at her. “And as for you, Ms. Storm, stay away from my crime scene.”

      Niol’s gaze raked over her, for just the briefest moment, darting from her head to her strappy black shoes, and Holly shivered. Dangerous.

      But, dammit, sexy.

      Focus. “You can’t just shut out the press, you know, detective. The public has a right to know—”

      Niol shook his head. “Still playing that song, Holly?” Holly, not Ms. Storm any longer. And his voice was different too. Husky. Rough. The voice a man would use in bed. Goose bumps rose on her uncovered arms.

      “I don’t know—”

      “You knew he was a demon.” His lips twisted and those soulless black eyes bored into her. “He was one of your sources, wasn’t he?”

      No way was she going to answer that question, even if the dark demon before her was right. Carl Bronx had been one of her sources. She’d talked with him more than a dozen times. He’d been young, a little over twenty-one, with a ready smile and a dimple in his chin.

      No. She would not think about him. Thinking about him and realizing that sweet Carl was the guy who’d gotten sliced to bits, well, that had almost caused her on-camera breakdown.

      Niol stepped toward her and brushed the back of his hand over her chilled arm. “You’re not as hard as you pretend to be,” he whispered. “Pity.” His breath stirred the hair near her cheek.

      Holly blinked back the tears that stupidly filled her eyes because even though the sheet was over him, in her mind, she could still see Carl’s bloody body.

      Niol shook his head. “You’re out of your league. Go home, Holly. Back to your safe world.” He stepped back. “Leave the demons and the death to me.”

      The guy couldn’t have given her a more clear dismissal.

      Holly watched Niol turn and stride with Colin toward a patrol car.

      Oh, yeah, that had been a rather nice “Fuck off.”

      Unfortunately for the demon, she wasn’t the fucking-off type.

      “Didn’t get the story, huh?” Ben asked, coming to stand at her side.

      Holly didn’t take her gaze off the strong lines of Niol’s body. He leaned against the blue-and-white patrol car, his arms loose at his sides. “Not yet.”

      “The cops will release a statement later, no big deal—”

      “It is.” Carl had been important. One of the good guys—uh, demons. He hadn’t deserved an ending like this. Hell, no one deserved a death like this.

      Carl had trusted her with his secrets.

      She wasn’t going to slink away from his case. Sure, she knew the routine—don’t let the stories get personal. Every reporter’s mantra.

      But it was too late. This kill, it was personal.

      She wasn’t about to back off.

      Niol and Colin were talking, lips moving fast, but the words were far too soft for her to hear. After a moment, Niol inclined his head and marched away from the detective. Colin looked furious, his face tight and his body stiff.

      Holly knew she wasn’t going to be getting any help from the cop.

      Niol headed toward the waiting shadows.

      But the demon…

      He was a whole other story.

      Her breath hitched as a spike of excitement had her blood heating.

      “Holly…” Ben’s voice was high-pitched—a sure sign the man was getting worried. “What are you thinking?”

      “I’m thinking I’m getting this story.” She tossed him a hard smile, one that she knew showed a lot of teeth. “One way or another.” Even if she had to walk into the devil’s den.

      Actually, that idea didn’t sound bad at all.

      Time to go into the darkness and see what secrets she could find.

      After all, she was a reporter—a reporter who always got her story.

      The pretty redhead walked into his hell as if she owned the place.

      Chin up, slim shoulders back, one hand cocked on her hip. Oh, yeah, serious attitude.

      But, as he watched her, Niol Lapen couldn’t help but wonder…when he got closer to the lady, would he see fear lurking in her too-green eyes?

      Because he knew that she’d been afraid of him before. The last time she’d crossed the threshold into the bar that some thought of as Paradise and others knew as hell, there had been fear in Holly Storm’s gaze.

      Not that she’d let the fear stop her.

      And he’d