Instant Gratification (Wilder #2)(83)

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 * 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 f*cking 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 as hell 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.





The saga continues in Beth Williamson’s

THE REDEMPTION OF MICAH,

out now from Brava…





Two hours later, Micah sat in the parlor and listened to the sounds from the bathing room upstairs. Miracle was singing at the top of her lungs while Candice hummed along. There was splashing, giggles and fun going on, yet he didn’t join them. He couldn’t.

He ran his hands down his face and looked around at the opulent furniture left behind when Madeline moved to Denver. The room reminded him of his mother’s house and how they’d lived their lives in oblivious ignorance. Taking whatever they wanted without ever giving back.

Perhaps having Eppie but losing her inch by inch was his penance for such a childhood. Or perhaps it was punishment for his other multitudinous sins. No matter, it was his life and he’d come to accept it, but he couldn’t enjoy it. Miracle was everything sweet and good in his life, and he treasured her beyond words. Just thinking about her soft hugs made his throat tighten.

God, he loved that little girl more than life.