So this was the infamous playboy star football player. The man who had a pretty woman on his arm almost every night of the week—at least until Cynthia Cole had come into his life.
“I almost hit your cow,” she told him as she slipped off one of her high heels and rubbed the insole with her other foot. It didn’t stop the tingle of pleasure that was running up and down her legs. He could park his boots by her bed any day.
“Sorry about that. Bessie thinks the grass is greener on the other side of the fence.”
He pulled a rolled-up rope off the saddle horn and swatted the end of it against Bessie’s rump. The cow gave him a disgruntled look before ambling down the road.
His gaze returned to her…roaming over her…seducing her. “Are you lost?”
“On vacation.”
He easily controlled the prancing horse beneath him. “Staying nearby?”
“At the Crystal Creek Dude Ranch.”
His grin was slow. So, he did have all his teeth, and they were pearly white. She ran her tongue over her dry lips.
“My brother owns it,” he said. “I’m helping him out. It looks like we might be seeing a lot of each other. Name’s Cal—Cal Braxton.”
His thumb idly stroked the rope. For a moment, she was mesmerized as she watched the hypnotic movement.
“You know, you shouldn’t drive with the top down in this heat,” he said.
She almost laughed. It wasn’t the heat from the sun that had momentarily stolen her wits. Cal was good. Ah, yes, he knew all the moves that made a woman yearn for him to caress her naked skin. And he made those moves very well.
No hero comes close to MIDNIGHT’S MASTER, the latest from Cynthia Eden, out next month from Brava…
“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 bastard into the stage wall this time. Just a stray thought, really.
Ah, but power was a wonderful thing.
Sometimes, it was damn good to be a demon. 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 Andre. “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.
His eyes 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 eyes still on them. He could show no weakness. Never could.
I’m not weak.
He was the strongest demon in Atlanta. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to give the paranormals any cause to start doubting his power.