Midnight's Master. Cynthia Eden

And even better to be a level-ten, and the baddest asshole in the room.

      He stalked forward. Enjoyed for a moment the way the crowd jumped away from him.

      The vampire began to shake. Perfect.

      Niol stopped a foot before the fallen André. “First,” he growled, “don’t ever, ever fucking tell me what to do in my bar again.”

      A fast nod.

      “Second…” His hands clenched into fists as he fought to rein in the magic blasting through him. The power…oh, but it was tempting. And so easy to use.

      Too easy.

      One more thought, just one, focused and hard, and he could have the vamp dead at his feet.

      “Use too much, you’ll lose yourself.” An old warning. One that had come too late for him. He’d been twenty-five before he met another demon who even came close to him in power and that guy’s warning—well, it had been long overdue.

      Niol knew he’d been one of the Lost for years.

      The first time he’d killed, he’d been Lost.

      “Second,” he repeated, his voice cold, clear, and cutting like a knife in the quiet. “If you think I give a damn about the vampires coming to my place…” His mouth hitched into a half-grin, but Niol knew no amusement would show in the darkness of his eyes. “Then you’re dead wrong, vampire.”

      “S-sorry, Niol, I—”

      He laughed. Then turned his back on the cringing vampire. “Thomas.” The guard he always kept close. “Throw that vamp’s ass out.”

      When Thomas stepped forward, the squeal of a guitar ripped through the bar. And the dancing and the drinking and the mating games of the Other began with a fierce rumble of sound.

      Niol’s gaze searched for his prey and he found Holly watching him. All eyes and red hair and lips that begged for his mouth. He strode toward her, conscious of covert stares still on them. He could show no weakness. Never could.

      I’m not weak.

      He was the strongest demon in Atlanta. He sure wasn’t going to give the paranormals any cause to start doubting his power.

      His kind turned on the weak.

      When he stopped before her, the scent of lavender flooded his nostrils.

      She looked up at him. The human was small, to him anyway, barely reaching his shoulders so that he towered over her.

      She was the weak one. All of her kind were.

      Humans. So easy to wound. To kill.

      He lifted his hand. Stroked her cheek. Damn, but she was soft. Leaning close, Niol told her, “Sweetheart, I warned you before about coming to my Paradise.”

      There was no doubt others overheard his words. With so many shifters skulking around the joint, a whisper would have been overheard. Shifters and their annoyingly superior senses.

      “Wh-what do you mean?” The question came, husky and soft. Ah, but he liked her voice. He could all too easily imagine that voice, whispering to him as they lay amid a tangle of sheets.

      Or maybe screaming in his ear as she came.

      He cupped her chin in his hand. A nice chin. Softly rounded. And those lips…the bottom was fuller than the top. Just a bit. So red. Her mouth was slightly parted, open.

      Waiting.

      She stepped back, shaking her head. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, Niol—”

      He stared down at her. “Yes, you do.” He caught her arms, wrapping his fingers around her and jerking Holly against him. “I told you, the last time you came into my bar…”

      Her eyes widened. “Niol…”

      Oh, yeah, he liked the way she said his name. She breathed it, tasted it.

      His lips lowered toward hers. “If you want to walk in Paradise, baby, then you’re gonna have to play with the devil.”

      “No, I—”

      He kissed her. Hard. Deep. Niol drove his tongue right past those plump lips and took her mouth the way the beast inside him demanded.

      She tasted like wine, and the more he sampled, the more he wanted.

      His hold on her tightened. Her breasts crushed against him, and the tight peaks of her nipples stabbed into his chest.

      His cock twitched, full and heavy with arousal—hell, he’d been hard since the moment Holly strolled into the bar.

      His tongue met hers. Thrust. Took. When she moaned low in her throat, he pulled her closer against him.

      Her mouth widened, letting him inside even more. Ah, yes, that was just what he—

      She wrenched her head away from his. Her breath panted. Her mouth glistened.

      He wanted more. Niol licked his lips, tasted her.

      How long would it take to get her out of the dress? He bet he could take her into his office, have her naked and moaning in less than two minutes.

      “Take your hands off me.” Bright spots of color stained her ivory cheeks. She swallowed. Once, twice. “I’m here to talk to you about Carl and—”

      He dropped his hands. Too many ears and eyes in this place. “If you’re not here to fuck, Holly, then don’t waste my time.”

      Her mouth dropped open. “What?”

      He almost smiled. Almost.

      But he had an image to maintain.

      And, because of the little reporter, an aching hard-on.

      “Humans who come into Paradise know the rules. They either come to play,”—and the blond human in the booth to the left looked like she was having one hell of a time playing with her vampire—“or they come to be prey.” Simple enough.

      Green eyes narrowed. “A man is dead, Niol. I want your help!”

      He raised his hand. Snapped his fingers.

      Her head jerked. “You didn’t just—”

      Thomas, who’d returned from his little errand with the vamp, marched to his side. “Boss?”

      Niol did let his lips curve now. It was just too much fun. Ah, but the reporter’s cheeks were such a lovely red. “Thomas, do me a favor…” A brief pause. He could feel the eyes and ears on him. He glanced toward Holly, allowed himself one last look at that tempting body, then ordered, “Throw her pretty ass out.”

      Chapter 2

      She’d had worse nights. Not many, thankfully, but a few.

      Holly glared at the back of the building, because, of course, she hadn’t been escorted out the front of Paradise Found. No, while the vamp had at least been thrown out the front of the bar, the NBA reject had tossed her out the back door and into the alley with the stench from hell.

      “Get lost, lady,” the bouncer ordered, pointing one thick finger toward the waiting darkness. “You won’t be warned again.” His face—scary, downright ugly—tightened.

      Oh, right, because being thrown out like garbage was some kind of warning. “Tell Niol this isn’t over!” She shouted, even as the jerk began to swing the door closed. “I’m not going to disappear! I’m not—”

      The door slammed shut.

      “Talking to anyone,” she finished, then snarled in disgust.

      Dammit. Why couldn’t Niol cut her some slack? The black-eyed bastard owed her. Hadn’t she kept her mouth shut about what she’d seen him do?

      She spun around, and her gaze