Midnight's Master

by Cynthia Eden

  She’d forgotten about the pain when he touched her, and only thought of him.

  Holly slipped around him. She paced toward her couch. The bed she’d longed for now seemed very far away. Glancing back over her shoulder, she found his gaze on her. Hooded. Watchful. “Niol…” Her brows lifted. “Why are you here?”

  “You were…hurt.” Stilted. Almost uncertain, and he wasn’t a guy given to uncertainty.

  So he’d broken into her house? “How did you know my security code?” She’d thought she was safe here. On the good side of town. With respectable neighbors. A state-of-the-art alarm—

  “I know a lot of things about you.” Assessing now, his gaze drifted over her. His nostrils flared, just a bit. “How’s the wrist?”

  “How’s the—” Her mouth snapped closed. And how had he known that? Her shirt had long sleeves and completely covered both wrists.

  She’d twisted her right wrist when she fell—a futile attempt to break her fall—but other than sporting a really lovely purple and black bruise pattern that looked like a tattoo bracelet, she was…“I’m fine. Bruises, cuts, but no major damage, okay?”

  One gliding step forward. “You won’t be fine next time.”

  She turned around to fully face him. “What do you know?” Next time. She didn’t want to think she’d ever tangle with a two-ton vehicle again.

  “Come on, Holly, do you really think this was just some random accident?”

  For a moment, the image of the van flashed before her eyes. She saw the gleaming hood, the tinted windows—and the van, aiming right for her. Swerving, not to miss her, but to hit her. “No,” her voice was soft. “I don’t.”

  “You were working the case.” Not a question. “Following up on that dead kid.” A rumble rolled from his throat. Animalistic. Dark. “I told you to drop this—”

  “I told you I was doing my job, with or without your help.” Her hands fisted on her hips and she ignored the twinge that shot from her right wrist. “I got the impression that you didn’t give a damn what happened to me.”

  He stalked toward her. “Oh, I care—” Niol reached for her.

  The doorbell rang. The peal echoed, breaking through Niol’s words.

  His eyes narrowed. “You expecting someone?”

  Not this late. “No.” She stepped forward.

  He grabbed her hand. “Wait.”

  The door shook as a furious fist pounded against the frame.

  Niol’s fingers tightened around her. “I’ll get it.”

  “No, don’t—”

  But he was already striding back across the room. Curling his fingers around the doorknob. Holly hurried after him, aware of a tension in her gut, one that had nothing to do with her mixed-up sexual hunger for Niol. One that felt a lot like the heavy pull of fear.

  The door frame shook again.

  Niol wrenched open the door—

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  The stunned question came from the last man she’d expected to find at her door.

  Holly pushed to Niol’s side. Police Detective Colin Gyth and his partner, Todd Brooks, stood waiting, both glaring at Niol.

  Niol didn’t bother answering Gyth. He just crossed his arms over his chest and gazed back, as calm as you please, at the detectives.

  Holly cleared her throat and tried to figure out why two of the city’s best detectives were outside her home in the middle of the night.

  Maybe Niol had tripped her alarm after all, maybe—

  “Ms. Storm.” Detective Brooks finally tore his stare from Niol and cast a frown of concern toward her. “Are you all right?”

  He’d been on the scene after the hit-and-run. He’d had the same worried look in his brown eyes then, too.

  Holly cleared her throat. “I’m, ah, fine. There must be some sort of—of mistake.” She reached for Niol’s hand and curled her fingers over his. The demon was gonna owe her. “My alarm just—”

  “We’re not here about an alarm.” Worry wasn’t in Colin’s crystal-blue stare. Suspicion was.

  “Oh.” Holly tried to ease her hand away from Niol and realized that she wasn’t about to escape his now steely grip. “Then just why are you here, detectives?”

  Gyth glared at Niol. “We need to talk alone, Ms. Storm—”

  Niol gave a husky laugh, then said, “Not gonna happen, shifter.”

  Shifter. Holly almost choked. Talk about not being subtle.

  Gyth’s glare burned even hotter.

  “Say whatever you need to, then get the hell out of here.” Niol lifted Holly’s hand. Kissed the top of her knuckles. “You’re interrupting.”

  Brooks swore. “Thought you’d have better taste, Storm.”

  Gyth grunted. “Yeah, well, demon…” Uh, oh, looked like the gloves were off. The shifter detective pushed back his coat, exposing the badge that was hooked to his belt and revealing the butt of his gun. “Murder has a way of interrupting things.”

  “Murder?” Holly stood straighter. “Is this about Carl? Have you found out who attacked him?”

  “We’re not here about Bronx.” From Brooks. A pause, then, “Ms. Storm, do you know why Sam Miters would have been in possession of your business card?”

  Sam. Holly’s face iced over, then prickles of heat seemed to burst from her flesh. She knew the score and the foreboding that swept over her at the cop’s question had her swaying.

  “Yes, I-I know. He’s a—” Source. Informant. Friend. Holly exhaled, aware that Niol had slanted her a quick, searching glance. She cleared her throat and met Brooks’s stare. “What’s happened to him?” But she knew, dammit, she knew even before Gyth said—

  “Why don’t you come downtown with us? We’re gonna need you to identify the body…”

  Chapter 4

  Cops weren’t exactly his friends. Never had been. Maybe because they looked at him and saw him for what he was.

  A killer.

  Niol tightened his grip on Holly’s arm as they headed toward the morgue. The scent of death was too strong down here, stopping up his nostrils with the cloying odor.

  Holly was stiff beside him, her movements like those of a robot. She’d trembled when that shifter ass Gyth had told her about the body. One long, rolling tremble from head to toe. She’d said the poor bastard’s 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 hang
ing 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, like recognized like. He could stare right through the glamour that disguised most of his kind and find the demon beneath the skin. He knew witches felt the power surge when their kin were close. Shifters—they could smell their brethren, damn strong senses.

  But Emily Drake, a human, she could discover all their secrets in less than a few seconds’ time.

  And the fact that she was sleeping with the detective, well, that meant he had pretty much immediate access to Emily’s wonderfully interesting mind—and her powers.

  “Don’t concern yourself with Emily,” Gyth growled.

  Ah. Some real emotion from the detective. He was a possessive bastard, but most wolf shifters were. Possessive, and often psychotic.

  “Why’d you do it? Why him? Did he piss you off?”

  Niol sighed. He really didn’t have time for this crap. He needed to get Holly and get her home. Then he had to start hunting a killer. “Don’t look to me for this one.” His hands weren’t clean of blood, but, this time, the crime wasn’t his.

  “Then who?” Gyth grabbed the chair across from Niol. Twisted it around and straddled it. “That first night, you knew the kid, and I think you knew who killed him, too.”

  The detective was getting warmer, but still damn off track.

  “Tell me, Niol, tell me. What the hell is going on in this city? Why am I stumbling over dead demons? And why are you sniffing around Storm?”

  Because I want to sniff her. Sniff her, kiss her, take her. But that was none of the detective’s business.

  “Don’t look to me,” Niol said again and rose. This interrogation was over. He didn’t have to put up with this shit.

  “Then who?” A snarl.

  “The humans, shifter. This time, the killer’s one of them.” He’d bet on it.

  A human, killing demons.

  The world just wasn’t safe anymore.

  “Why’d Sam have your card?”

  Holly blinked and tried to shove the image of Sam’s ravaged face out of her mind.

  But she knew she’d be seeing that image in her nightmares for months.

  Christ. Sam. “He—he was one of my sources.” No sense lying. She rubbed her eyes. Dammit, she hurt. Her body ached, her heart felt like it had been ripped out, and she wanted to get out of the cramped interrogation room with the flickering light that made her temples throb and just go back to the safety of her house.

  “What kind of information was Sam feeding you?”

  Her fingers dug into her forehead and she didn’t look at Todd Brooks. The guy was human, like her, but he was also very heavily involved in the demon world.

  The guy’s girlfriend was a succubus, so yeah, in Holly’s book, that qualified as involved.

  “Ms. Storm?” The groan of a chair’s legs as he yanked back th
e chair next to her and sat close, crowding her.

  She hated being crowded.

  “Just what kind of information was Sam giving you?”

  Her hand dropped and she met his stare. That deceptively warm, I’ll-be-your-friend, come-on-trust-me brown stare. The good cop, to Colin Gyth’s badass. Right. Holly almost snorted. Both cops knew the game, and they’d do anything to catch their prey.

  And now they thought she was that prey. “Sam was a demon.” She didn’t glance toward the shining mirror on the right wall. She knew somebody had to be behind that glass, watching her. Holly just hoped it was someone who knew the score, and not some paper pusher who was gonna try to get her committed to Reed Infirmary’s Psych ward in the next hour. “He was teaching me about his world.” Feeding her bits of information, one tiny crumb at a time.

  He swore, then muttered, “Couldn’t you leave ’em alone? They nearly killed you before—”

  “Not they.” Her jaw was clenched and she gritted the words. “He. One man.” Not all demons were killers; she’d learned that. Just as she’d learned all humans, even those who wore badges, weren’t to be trusted.

  Just seven months ago, her cheating ex-fiancé had sure hammered that lesson home.

  Holly drew in a deep breath and tried to calm her racing heart. Todd wanted her to lose her cool. The guy thought she was involved in the murders, and, okay, she could even see where he was coming from. She’d been on the scene of the first crime, she’d known the guy was a demon—she’d known him. Carl had been one of her sources, just like Sam. Wouldn’t take a genius to connect the lines back to her.

  But she hadn’t killed them. “Sam wasn’t a bad guy, okay? He was getting clean.” She sure knew how hard that had been. She’d watched her brother fight that battle, and fail. “He was harmless, he was—”

  “Butchered.”

  Holly flinched. She didn’t need that visual. Really didn’t. I’m so sorry, Sam. Until that last meeting, they’d always gotten along so well.

  Until that last meeting…

  Her heart didn’t slow down. It sped up as realization dawned.

  Sam had been desperate to get her away from him. Because he’d known he was a target? And the hit-and-run right after she’d left him—no damn way would she buy that as a coincidence.