Читать книгу Midnight's Master - Cynthia Eden - Страница 8

So she’d struck out with the demon. Not the biggest surprise in the world.

The next day, Holly stood on a street corner in what was so not the best part of the city. She’d hoped to score big by forming a partnership with one of the most respected—okay, feared—demons in Atlanta. Sure would have helped out her investigation. But since Niol had made it abundantly clear he only wanted her for sex, he wasn’t an option.

Although the thought of sex with Niol had been playing through her mind and her dreams for weeks.

Dammit. Sexy. Scary. She’d really never been attracted to bad boys. Not her type. Her ex-fiancé was a professor at Mellrune University. She liked smart men. The sophisticated guys.

The guys who made her feel safe.

Or, they did until, like Zack, they started screwing around on her with students.

Asshole.

What a jerk he’d—

“You shouldn’t be here.”

The husky words, coming from right behind her, made Holly jump.

She turned and came face-to-face with a man, the top of his head and most of his body covered by a long cloak. His face, whiter than the snow she saw too rarely, was swollen, his lips blood red.

“Sam.” She exhaled in relief. “Thanks for meeting me. I need to ask—”

But he shook his head. “You don’t need to ask me a damn thing.” His gaze jerked to the left, then to the right. “What you need to do is lose my number.”

Her mouth dropped. “What? Sam, we have an arrangement—”

“Not anymore.” He huffed out a breath and a plume of smoke appeared before him. The icy blast was continuing. The station weather guy had told her it would stay cold for at least the next five days. Having the inside scoop really didn’t help her much, though.

Holly pulled her coat closer to her body.

“Forget me, Storm. Forget my name, forget anything I ever told you.”

Not what she needed to hear right then. Anger began to warm her. “He got to you, didn’t he?”

Sam’s thick lips trembled. “Who? Who?”

She blinked. Okay, the guy had always been a little intense.

But she’d discovered that most demons were.

“Niol.” Damn. If he wouldn’t help her, the least he could do was stay out of her way. “He told you not to talk to me, didn’t he?” Sam had been giving her info about the demon world for the last four weeks. Ever since she’d found him passed out against the wall of a basement when she’d been doing her meth lab investigation piece.

High as hell, he hadn’t been able to control his glamour. His eyes had flashed night black at her, and she’d known the truth about him.

She’d been helping him to get straight. Helping him to kick his addiction because she knew just how dangerous such an addiction could be. She had the personal experience and the memory of her brother’s screams to remind her.

“Niol’s involved? Fuck, I’m out of here.” He turned to go.

“No!” Holly grabbed his arm. “Wait! If Niol didn’t tell you to stonewall me, then who—”

But he shook her off. “Watch your pretty ass, Storm. Hell’s coming to town.” Then he was gone, running across the street and disappearing into the cracks that passed for alleys.

Her shoulders slumped. Strike freaking two.

Now what?

She walked into the street, rubbing the back of her neck where she could feel the muscles tightening. This part of town was deserted—always was. One day, the city officials would take over, change things, and—

The roar of an engine reached her ears.

Her head shot up.

And she saw a white van flying straight toward her.

Aw, hell.

Holly scrambled back.

Too late.

The van’s wheels turned—came straight for her. Aimed for her.

Christ!

She couldn’t move fast enough. Her high heel slipped beneath her, twisting and cracking. She couldn’t—

The van clipped her, catching her right hip and sending Holly hurtling back into the air. She hit the cement, hard, and exhaust burned her nostrils.

Her vision grayed. The last thing she saw before the full, sweet darkness swept over her was the back of the van, speeding away and leaving her broken in the street.

“Jesus, Holly, what the hell happened to you?”

Holly glanced up and grimaced at Ben as she dumped her purse on the station floor. “A van.” She’d been in the ER for the last four hours. Been checked by three doctors, and they’d all wanted to keep her there in the lovely confines of Reed In-firmary for a much longer stay.

But, other than the bleeding, the bruises, and the general fury that she had going on, she was fine and did not need to stay overnight in a hospital.

His blue eyes wide, he began, “Babe, there is no way you can go on the air looking—”

She growled and Ben very wisely decided to shut up.

Holly pointed to the production assistant who was staring at her ripped skirt. “You.” His eyes bulged. “Hook me up with a microphone.” She glanced back at Ben. “Because I’m going live.”

“No, Mac said Susan’s doing the story about the restaurant food poisoning—”

Another growl. Then she stormed past him. She caught the eye of the cameraman working the evening news show. The assistant hurried behind her, struggling to attach a microphone.

Holly didn’t bother sitting at the second “desk”—the backup that waited just beyond the main anchors. She stood, wanting the camera to catch all of her.

In the background, she heard Mac talking, heard the clear order of “switch to Holly in five, four…”

“What the hell?” Susan Patrick’s snarl. The blonde shoved her way toward the camera, glaring at Holly. “I’m on the air—”

“Hold your story, Sue. The burgers can wait.” Mac pointed to Holly. “She’s our lead.”

Mac always knew when a good story was close. When a reporter had dried blood on her clothes, it meant a very good story was close.

“…three, two, one…”

The camera lens fixed on her. Holly lifted her bruised chin. She could still taste her own blood on her tongue. “I’m Holly Storm, coming to you live tonight with a plea for your help.”

Niol stilled in front of the television. The glass of water he’d been lifting to his mouth froze.

Holly stared back at him. A long, angry red scratch slid down her cheek. The camera slowly pulled back, and Niol caught sight of her full body. The ripped clothes. The blood.

A slow fury began to burn within him.

“Earlier today, I was the victim of a hit-and-run.”

The glass shattered.

“A white van, no plates, hit me on Biltmore Street just before twelve today.”

Niol shook his hand, sending water and glass shards flying.

“If anyone out there has information about this crime, call the police station—”

Niol grabbed the remote. Muted the sound. Stared at Holly.

So weak.

Biltmore Street. Home of hookers, drug dealers, and gang-bangers. What the hell had Holly been doing there?

And what would he have done if she’d died there?

Fuck.

He reached across his desk. Picked up his phone. His call was answered on the second ring.

“I want protection.” He didn’t bother identifying himself. Not necessary.

A swift inhalation of air. “For yourself, sir?”

He almost laughed. Almost, but he could still see the bruises on Holly’s skin. “For Holly Storm.”

Niol had said that he’d leave her, that she’d be on her own.

It looked like Holly wasn’t the only liar in town.

Someone would fucking pay for hurting her.

Sam Miters had been clean for exactly four weeks, two days, and sixteen hours.

At first, he’d been counting the minutes. When little Holly Storm had held his hand in that shithole and watched him vomit his guts out, he’d counted the minutes then.

The early days were a blur. He remembered coming to a few times and seeing her. Looking like some kind of avenging angel—an angel with the fires of hell around her head. Beautiful Holly Storm.

She’d seen him through hell, all right. Offered him a second chance.

But she didn’t know what his life was like. Didn’t understand.

His gift…such as it was…let him see the darkness in humans. Only the darkness. He heard their painful dreams in whispers. Heard them long to kill. To torture.

He never heard the whispers from the good people in the world. He’d never so much as caught a hint of Holly’s thoughts.

It was the killers. The twisted souls lost long ago—they spoke to him.

And they would never fucking shut up.

Being clean just made their voices louder.

One voice, one deep voice, had slipped into his head a few days ago and the damn voice had kept him awake since then, shuddering with disgust.

The things the voice wanted—Sam choked, tasting bile. No, he couldn’t think of them. He’d tried to pretend the voice didn’t exist, that someone wasn’t out there, hunting—

Then that kid had turned up dead.

He rapped the back of his head into the brick wall of the alley. No, no, he couldn’t do this anymore, couldn’t—

“I can make it stop.”

His breath caught. Because, this time, the voice hadn’t come from inside him. He looked up, body shaking, and met the stare of a stranger.

The man smiled. “Chased any dragons lately, friend?”

Chasing the white dragon. Sam’s breath caught. Meth. Sweet white beauty. He shook his head even as his heart seemed to jump into his throat. He swallowed, trying to ease a mouth gone bone dry. He’d been so good. Stayed clean.

For what? So that a fucking psycho could crawl into his head and he couldn’t get the bastard out?

He kept hearing the words, over and over.

Cut them. Slice them. Blood on the ground. The impure will die.

Cut them. Slice them. Blood on the ground.

“I’ve got something you might like. Something that will make you feel real good.”

He never felt good. Not even when the meth pumped in his blood.

But the voices quieted with the drug’s help. Such beautiful silence. “Wh-where is it?”

The man shook his head. “Ah, now that’s not the way it works. First, you’ve got to pay.”

Cut them.

Sam’s whole body trembled.

The man bent, reached into a black bag at his feet, and pulled out a glass pipe. A whimper slipped past Sam’s lips. He liked to use the pipe. Liked to grip the cold glass in his hands and inhale his bitch of a lady.

His gaze locked helplessly on the pipe. He licked his lips. Just once. He could take a hit this one time, stop the voice—

Slice them.

And he’d be fine. He wouldn’t get trapped by the meth again. It would just be one time.

One time.

He took a step forward, hands already up to reach for the pipe. “I-I don’t have much cash…”

Another smile, one that seemed too cold. The man’s eyes glinted like chips of ice. “I don’t want your money.”

He needed that pipe. “What?”

The pipe was shoved back into the bag. “Information. All I want from you, Sam, is information.”

Sam blinked. How did the guy know his name?

“Tell me what I want to know, and I’ll take you on a ride you’ll never forget.”

Blood on the ground.

He slammed his hands over his ears, but he could still hear the voice.

The man walked toward him, the black bag now thrown over one shoulder. He caught Sam’s hands and tugged them down. “Hurting, are you?”

A fast nod.

“I’ll make the pain stop. Just tell me what I need to know.”

Another fast nod. He would have traded anything right then.

The fucking voice had to stop.

“The reporter…Holly Storm…what did you tell her today?”

Holly. She’d helped him—

The stranger’s eyes caught his, held him in that grip of ice. “What did you tell her?”

“N-nothing.” True. “Not working…w-with her anymore.” He didn’t want her to know about the voices. Something was wrong with him, had to be, or he wouldn’t hear the killers.

Like to like. That was the way of the supernatural world.

No, no, he wasn’t a killer. He wasn’t—

“But she came to you because she wanted something, right?”

He tried to think. His mind was a blur of death, hunger, and fear.

He had to get his dragon.

Holly’s voice trickled through his mind. He’d been desperate to get away from her, wanting only to run and hide.

“What did Holly Storm say to you?”

His lips shook. “Niol!” The word burst from him. “She thought he—he knew about the kid’s death—” Hadn’t she thought that? Yeah, yeah, she’d mentioned Niol, he knew she had.

Those frozen eyes narrowed. “Did she?”

Sam’s control snapped. He grabbed the man’s shirt, balled it beneath his fingers. “Give me the drug!” He meant for his voice to be a roar. It came out like a whimper.

Cut them.

“Of course…” The man’s gaze flickered behind Sam for a moment, toward the darkened street. “Come with me.”

He would have followed him to hell.

Sam stumbled behind the man as they tracked behind the buildings. Twisting and turning, snaking into the secret parts of the city.

Then they were at a door. A black door, heavy, behind yet another building, with the scent of garbage and smoke heavy in the air.

The stranger pushed open the door. “Go inside. I’ll give you what you need…”

He ran inside. A lab—maybe there was a whole damn lab waiting for him.

A small, bare bulb hung from the ceiling, glinting, casting light over the shadows. Something crackled beneath his feet.

He glanced down. What the hell?

Looked like plastic. Spread all over the floor, all the way to that table—

Slice them.

The hair on his nape rose.

Sam swallowed. No, this wasn’t right. He turned toward the stranger and felt the hot cut of a knife against his flesh.

He fell back, a scream on his lips.

Too late, he realized he wasn’t staring at a man.

“Don’t worry, Sam, I’ll make the voices stop.” The knife, coated red with his blood, rose again. “I’ll make them stop…forever.”

“No!” Sam lurched forward to fight the bastard.

The knife came at him again.

When Holly stepped inside her house hours later, she was tired, sore, and desperate for bed.

She kicked the door shut behind her, flipped on the lights—

And found Niol standing in her living room.

“Ah!” She stumbled back, slamming her elbows into the wooden door.

He raised a brow.

Holly glared and fought to suck in a deep breath. She really, really hadn’t needed this shit tonight. “What the…” another deep breath, “hell are you doing in my home?” Her gaze shot to the left and she glared at her damn ineffective security system. A system that was even now beeping because she hadn’t punched in her code.

Niol didn’t speak, but he walked toward her. A tall, dark, threat.

She swallowed and met his black gaze.

He kept coming toward her. Her breath hitched.

You know what he’s done.

A killer.

But he saved me.

Surely he hadn’t come to her house to—

He stopped before her. Close enough to touch. He leaned forward. Put one hand beside her head, palm flat against the door. The other hand rose—

And his fingers punched in her security code.

The beeping ceased.

Holly exhaled. Nice. “Breaking and entering…that’s against the law, Niol.”

He shrugged. Then he took hold of her chin, lifting her face toward the light. Toward him. His mouth tightened and he said, “You look like hell, love.”

Just the compliment she needed.

“And you look like a criminal who has just broken into my home.” A sexy criminal, yeah, dressed in black as he was—as he always was. Tight black shirt. Low-slung jeans. Tousled hair that looked like a woman’s fingers had just raked through it, and they probably had.

Another shrug. “I needed to see you.” He inched ever closer, so close that his chest brushed hers. “I watched you on the news tonight.”

A lick of what was not excitement curled in her belly.

The black stare drifted over her face. “You looked like hell then, too.”

Her breath shot out on a growl. “A demon criminal who knows how to compliment. Just what I was dreaming of—”

He kissed her. Drove his tongue past her lips and tasted her. The muscled length of his body pushed against her, his legs nudging hers apart. The length of his cock, long and heavy with arousal, pressed through his jeans, and the feel of his erection had her gasping into his mouth.

Gasping not with horror, as she probably should have been.

But with pleasure.

Dammit, she wanted him. Jerk, criminal—she wanted him.

Her fingers locked around his shoulders. Holly needed him closer. She wanted to feel every hard inch of his flesh against hers.

The kiss became harder, deeper. The man kissed oh so well. He knew just how to move his mouth, how to slide his tongue, and how to demand a response that she was only too ready to give.

The fingers that held her chin slid down her throat. Over the pulse that raced too fast. Callused fingertips, rough, but gentle on her.

She hadn’t expected gentleness from him.

Then again, she hadn’t expected to want the demon so much, either.

When his mouth lifted from hers, she had to bite back the cry of protest that rose within her.

His eyes, still so mysteriously dark, now glinted with an undeniable hunger. “Decided you wanted to play, did you?”

Heat burned in her cheeks at his words, but she never looked away from his stare. Her nipples were tight, rubbing against his chest, and, with his enhanced demon senses, she suspected the guy could even…smell…her arousal.

No need to play the innocent. She hadn’t been innocent for years. “You know I want you, Niol.” Hell, most women did. The guy spelled sex and danger. A wild combination, one designed to push a girl to the edge of reason.

The adrenaline thrill of the darkness. The sensual thrill of the man.

Right, like she was the first girl to fall prey to him.

Not the first, and, dammit, not the last, she’d bet.

The hands she’d curled around his shoulders slid down to his chest and pushed. “But I know better than to take everything I want.”

He didn’t move for a beat of time, ignoring the press of her fingers. Standing there, trapped within his embrace, with the heat of his body all around her, Holly realized just how strong Niol was.

And how helpless he could make a woman.

She licked her lips, tasted him—a rich flavor of man and sex—and waited.

The right side of his mouth hitched into what really wasn’t a smile and he stepped back, taking his warmth with him.

Holly became aware of the aches and pains in her body then.

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…”