Hotter After Midnight (Midnight 1)

“I wanted you to stay here.” With him. Where he could keep an eye on her.

Colin stalked toward her. The woman had scared a good ten years off his life. He’d heard her scream, then the phone had disconnected.

He’d thought the Night Butcher had her.

He caught her chin in his hand. Forced her to look up, to meet his stare. “I meant what I said before, Em. Don’t scare me like that again.” Because the beast had come too close to the surface. It had taken every ounce of his control to fight the change.

And when he’d gone into her house, seen that guy with his hands on her—

The change had started. His bones had begun to snap. His claws to lengthen.

It had only been when he’d taken Emily into his arms that the beast had calmed. When he kissed her, held her, he’d regained his control.

Lucky for her neighbor. Otherwise, the guy would have found out what it was like to have an angry shifter attack.

“It’s not like I did it deliberately, you know,” Emily told him, and there was a faint bite to her tone. “I didn’t go out looking for some junior ass**le to jump me.”

No, she hadn’t. But she had gone searching for a killer at the station without telling him. Which was about, oh, ten times worse in his book.

If he hadn’t glanced up as she ran from the room, Emily would have gone off alone.

And what would she have done if she’d actually managed to track the killer?

A cold fist seemed to squeeze his heart. Emily wasn’t like him. She didn’t have a shifter’s strength or a demon’s power.

She was human. Vulnerable. Weak. And right then, her vulnerability pissed him off.

“You have to be more careful.” He dropped his hand but couldn’t force himself to move back. Her scent was in the air, in his nostrils.

Emily arched a brow. “I’m not the cop. You’re the one who likes to play with danger every day, not me.” She sighed. “Damn.

Look, I don’t want to have this conversation right now, okay? I’m tired, my face hurts, and I just want to crawl into bed.” Emily turned away from him. Started to walk down the hall.

“Tell me about Serenity Woods.” He hadn’t meant to ask, not then, but the words just slipped out.

Emily stiffened. “We already talked about that.”

“Not enough we didn’t. Darla Mitchell was planning to do a story on you. On Serenity Woods. An exposé.”

She glanced back at him. “She wouldn’t have had any real proof. The story never would’ve aired.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean she had an informer who fed her details about me, sure, but that person wouldn’t have gone public.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I visited my dear mother earlier today and warned her to stop talking to reporters.” One shoulder lifted, fell. “My mom’s a bit naive. She didn’t understand what she was doing when she spoke with Darla.”

She didn’t understand she was selling out her daughter? He didn’t press on that issue. Better save it for later. “So Darla didn’t have any other evidence?”

Emily turned to fully face him. “I had my little stay at Serenity Woods more than twenty years ago. The records room burned down about five years after I was released.”

“So no staff members could come forward and talk?” The cop in him just couldn’t shut off.

“There is such a thing as patient confidentiality, you know.”

“And I know that rule doesn’t apply to orderlies or janitors or secretaries or—”

Her hand lifted. “No one would talk.”

“You sure seem damn sure of that.”

“I am.” Her lips tightened. “The humans there were made to…forget my stay.”

Alarm bells rang in his head. “And just how did that nice trick happen?”

“The psychiatrist in charge of the facility, Dr. Catcherly, he wasn’t human. He was a level-six demon, strong enough to plant suggestions in people’s minds.”

“And he made the staff forget about you.”

“Yes.” Emily swallowed, balled her hands into fists. “I wasn’t crazy, you know. I just didn’t understand what was happening to me.

I tried to tell my mother, but she didn’t believe me. She thought I was having some kind of breakdown, like my dad.”

“Your dad?”

Emily shook her head. “His obituary in the paper said that he’d died in a hunting accident.” A short, bitter laugh tumbled past her lips. “But there was no accident. He picked up a gun, put it in his mouth, and pulled the trigger.”

Jesus. That detail sure hadn’t been in her background check.

“I was seven when I found him.” She swallowed. “I’d already started seeing things by then. And when my dad killed himself, my mom just…she didn’t want to hear that I was seeing things. She didn’t want me to be…like he was.”

Her husband had eaten his gun. Her kid was talking about seeing monsters. No wonder Emily had ended up in a psych ward.

“I just wanted her to believe me,” Emily whispered, “but I guess I was asking too much.”

He reached for her hand. Tightened his fingers around hers. “I understand.”

Her gaze met his. “I know you do.”

He pulled her closer. Lifted his left hand to stroke her lips. Such soft, sweet lips.

Her mouth parted on a gentle breath.

Keeping his eyes on hers, he lowered his head, brought his mouth to hers. Tasted her.

His tongue pushed into her mouth slowly. A long, deep thrust. Her tongue met his, sliding, stroking.

His c**k tightened.

Hell, he’d been in a state of semiarousal ever since the kiss at her house. And having her in his arms again, feeling her mouth against his, her br**sts against his chest, it was more temptation than he could handle.

His hand slid down the curve of her jaw, stroked her neck.

Emily pulled back, shaking her head. “Don’t treat me like this.”

What?

“I’m not some delicate flower.”

No, but she was a delicate human.

“I don’t want gentle and easy tonight.” She jerked off her shirt, tossed it onto the floor. “I want you to take me, your way. Hard.

Fast. And deep.”

The beast snarled in agreement.

“I want you to make me forget that murdering bastard out there. That punk kid. Everything. I just want to feel you.”