Midnight's Master. Cynthia Eden

his gaze on the woman who was slowly strolling across Paradise Found. She’d changed her clothes. The dressy top and the dark pants were gone. Now she wore a short dress, black, one that emphasized the pale silk of her skin, one that flashed the tempting swell of her perfect breasts and kissed the tops of her thighs.

      Um. He’d like to do that. Like to kiss and lick those long legs. He could all too easily imagine the feel of that smooth skin against his lips and tongue.

      His eyes narrowed. The lady knew how to dress. A point in her favor.

      She also knew how to find trouble. Another point for Holly.

      “Hell.” The disgust came from the bartender behind him. It was the kind of disgust Niol normally felt for reporters, but not for Holly. “What’s she doing here?” Marc demanded.

      Niol never took his gaze off Holly. Her right hand clutched a small black bag—bet she’s got some kind of recorder in there—and her high heels clicked across the floor. He could hear every move she made. The bar, his second home, was packed—a good thing. Yet his senses—damn strong senses seeing as how he was a level-ten demon—were wholly focused on her.

      If he tried, he bet he’d even be able to smell her. That light, rich scent of lavender from her lotion.

      “Want me to kick her ass out, boss?” Marc asked, and the soft clink of a glass sounded.

      A smile curved Niol’s lips. “That’s not exactly what I want to happen to the lady’s ass.” No, he had other plans for Holly…and her gorgeous ass.

      It had been too long since he’d taken a lover. At least a month. But he’d been dealing with killers and death. A guy could get distracted.

      And now there was this other bastard on the streets.

      If another demon died…

      He lifted his drink. Drained the shot glass in one quick gulp. The hot burn of the liquid slid down his throat. “Don’t worry about the reporter, Marc.” Though he was a pretty recent hire at the bar, Marc still knew the score. He also knew that cops and reporters normally weren’t too welcome in Paradise. “I’ll take care of her.” Very good care of her.

      Holly Storm. She was the newest reporter at News Flash Five. Smart. Resourceful. A real looker, too. Plump lips. Small nose. High, glass-sharp cheekbones.

      Oh, yeah, the reporter was sexy.

      She was also trouble because she knew far, far too much about his private world of demons and darkness.

      Most humans didn’t know that the monsters they feared in their dreams—the vampires, werewolves, everything that made the night go bump—were all real. Humans were too worried about their nine-to-five jobs, too busy worrying about getting robbed by the guy in line next to them at the grocery store or getting carjacked at the red light on the wrong side of town. They never stopped and actually looked at the world around them.

      Because if the humans would just jerk off their damn blinders, they’d see they had a whole hell of a lot more to fear on this Earth than they imagined, and that some nightmares could be very, very real.

      Holly had first lost her blinders months ago. For a time, she’d even planned to air her discovery on her precious news station.

      Of course, her plans had changed when he’d brought the fires of hell to her feet. Rather literally.

      At that moment, her gaze locked on his. Her eyes widened, just a bit. The taking-my-time walk became faster as she tried to hurry to him and—

      And a vampire stepped in her path.

      Niol’s fingers drummed on the bar. The undead asshole had just blocked his view. He’d give him five seconds to move, then—

      Holly stepped around the vamp, her jaw locked. Her full lips—painted red, Niol’s favorite color—pressed into a line. Ah, so the reporter wasn’t in the mood for—

      The vamp touched her. Grabbed her arm. Then jerked her up against his chest.

      Niol stilled and a hot rush of power and fury flooded through his body. Even as the floor began to tremble, he was storming across the room.

      “Holly.” His voice cut through the music and the shrill voices and the fake laughs.

      The vamp, skin drained of color, eyes sunken, craned his head toward him. “Oh, shit.” He shoved Holly aside.

      She stumbled, just a moment, on her two-inch heels. “Nice, you jerk—”

      The vampire bared his fangs at her and growled.

      Holly’s jaw dropped. Then she swayed on those heels. Niol reached out a hand and snagged her wrist, a wrist that was too thin, catching her just before she fell.

      Her stare held his.

      Oh, yeah, the fear was there. Hiding behind the “don’t-give-a-damn” mask. Fear…and a helpless curiosity.

      Humans, always so curious. Always wanting to know what lurked in the darkness around them.

      And then, when they found out—running away in fear.

      “She’s a reporter, André,” Niol murmured, and allowed his fingers to stroke over her pounding pulse. Already fast, the beat of her pulse began to race even more. “She’s not the prey you want.” Because she’s mine.

      “Reporter?” The too-sharp teeth disappeared. “Thought you didn’t let their kind in here.”

      Holly sucked in a sharp breath. She tried to yank her hand away from Niol. Tried, failed. She grunted, a sound that shouldn’t have been sexy but was, and turned her stare on the vampire. “It’s a public place, jerkoff. From the looks of things, all kinds get in here. Even the dead ones.”

      “Undead.” André sniffed.

      “Right.” She tugged her hand again. Niol tightened his hold. “Listen, buddy, you—”

      The vamp’s lips peeled back, revealing teeth no human should see, unless the human was about to become a meal.

      Reluctantly, Niol dropped Holly’s hand. Then he stepped forward, deliberately putting his body between Holly and the vamp. “Is there a problem here, André?”

      The vamp was tall—big damn deal. He was taller. And the last time he’d been afraid of a vamp…well, he’d never been afraid of the fanged freaks.

      André swallowed, and seemed to shrink a bit. “I-I just…” He licked his lips, a quick, nervous move. “Reporters can’t be here. Too risky, you know that, you know—”

      Okay, the guy’s voice was getting too high, and two panther shifters at a nearby table were starting to look nervous. “She’s not your problem. Forget her.”

      “Ah, she’s here.” Holly tapped on his back. “And getting more pissed by the minute.” Another insistent tap, right in the middle of his back.

      André’s already beady eyes narrowed. The brief flash of fear gave way to anger. “Throw her out, Niol. You want the vamps to keep comin’, you throw that bitch out.”

      The tapping stopped, and, because the vampire had raised his shrill-ass voice again, the nearby paranormals—because, generally, the folks who came in his bar were far, far from normal—stilled.

      Niol shook his head slowly. “I think you’re forgetting a few things, vamp.” He gathered the black swell of power that pulsed just beneath his skin. Felt the surge of dark magic and—

      The vamp flew across the bar, slamming into the stage with a scream. The lead guitarist swore, then jumped back, cradling his guitar with both hands like the precious baby he thought it was.

      The sudden silence was deafening.

      Niol motioned toward the bar. “Get me another drink, Marc.” He glanced at the slowly rising vampire. “Did I tell you to get up?” It barely took any effort to slam the