Midnight Craving: Midnight Vice, Book 1 by Lolita Lopez Page A

Jace would take out the demons, Isla zeroed in on the closest vampire. Pulling fire energy into
    her palm, she leapt at the vampire’s back and slapped him with her fiery hand. An earsplitting shriek
    ricocheted off the pumpkin-colored walls as his entire head burst into flames. Bracing her hands on the
    granite countertop behind her, Isla donkey-kicked the blazing vamp in the chest, rocketing him through the
    French doors and out onto the patio to immolate.
    In a split second, another vampire hurled toward her. With his enhanced speed, the contact between
    their bodies felt like a Mac truck ramming into her shoulder. They crashed into a china hutch. Glass and
    porcelain shattered and rained down on their bodies. A sliver of wood caught the back of Isla’s hoodie and
    kept her from standing. Captured, she jerked her shoulders while fending off the razor-sharp swipes of the
    vampire’s claws. The vamp slit her left cheek. She gasped and threw her foot into his balls. Howling in
    pain, he jumped back and doubled over.
    Isla yanked away hard, the wood splitting her hoodie straight down the back. She snatched the spike-
    like piece of wood and rounded back on the vampire, slamming the makeshift spike into his heart. His jaw
    dropped as he stiffened and crumpled to the ground. Flames erupted from his chest and consumed his
    body.
    Isla shook off the remnants of her ruined hoodie and wiped the blood from her face. Jace had already
    dealt with two vampires, leaving one more for her. In a killing groove, she made quick work of dispatching
    the last bloodsucker before turning her attention to the demons tag-teaming Jace.
    Watching Jace engaged in hand-to-hand combat knocked the breath from Isla’s lungs. She’d seen him
    in action before but never like this. He was a man possessed as he swung his fist and landed jaw-crunching
    punches, the blessed iron knuckles wrapped around his fingers leaving massive dents in the faces of the
    demons. His well-practiced Savate kicks and swipes broke kneecaps. Antifreeze-tinged bile erupted from
    the wounds on the demons’ faces. The blond demon teetered on his feet, obviously not long for the count.
    Their eyes met across the kitchen. Isla read Jace’s expression and snatched a salt shaker from the
    countertop. She’d barely unscrewed and tossed aside the cap when the blond demon was kicked her way.
    Isla caught the demon by the front of his bile-stained shirt and rammed the salt shaker down his throat, his
    teeth grazing the skin right off her knuckles as she punched it down. He choked and flailed futilely as the
    salt burned his gullet like battery acid. Swinging him around, Isla clamped him against her front. She
    gripped his jaw and forced his neck back and to the right, bulging the major artery there. With a quick slash
    of her knife, she dropped him. His body convulsed and deflated, melting into the floor and disappearing
    back to hell.
    As Isla wiped the bile from the blade onto her jeans, Jace neutralized his demon by shoving an iron
    communion wafer down its throat. A sharp crack filled the air when Jace snapped the demon’s neck. For a
    moment, the only sounds in the kitchen were their heavy pants. The stink of burning flesh and sulfur
    irritated Isla’s nose. Still trying to catch her breath, she stared at Jace. He practically glowed, the aura
    surrounding him like something out of a religious painting. Splotches of demonic bile peppered his shirt
    and splattered his skin. No doubt she looked just as bad.
    From down below came footsteps and voices.
    “Wine cellar?” Jace pointed to an adjacent door.
    “Good place to hide a coffin full of dirt.”
    They cautiously approached the door. Jace switched out the rounds in his sidearm and made ready to
    enter first. Her hand steadied on the knob. They communicated silently. At his stiff nod, Isla wrenched
    open the door. He quickly descended the stone stairs, Isla just a few steps behind, her hand aflame. The
    smell of dank dirt