The Seer: Chronicles of the Fallen, Book 2

by Brenda Huber

  “Niklas, you didn’t answer me earlier. Did you use one of these spells to heal yourself?” A worrisome thought dug in and tendrils of unease spread. “You know, maybe that’s not such a good idea, using those scrolls. Maybe that’s what’s affecting your vision, some aftereffects of whatever healing spell you—”

  “That’s not it.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Because I didn’t use a spell to heal myself.” A muscle ticked in his jaw, and he turned away.

  Her throat went dry.

  “How did you get over your illness so quickly?” Unbidden, memories of that night in the park assailed her. “Those monsters in the park tore into that poor woman. They drank her blood.”

  Her stomach flipped over. Slowly, she lifted her hand and covered her mouth, eyes wide.

  “No!” Turning to face her, he glowered. “I’m not like them. I don’t drink blood. And I don’t prey on the innocent.”

  “I didn’t say—”

  “You didn’t have to,” he snapped, clearly offended. “It’s written all over your face.”

  “Then explain it to me,” she demanded. Frustration poured over the room in waves.

  “My kind are often called soul-feeders, tá’hiri.” The moment the words left his mouth, he looked as if he wished he could recall them.

  “I don’t understand. What does ‘soul-feeder’ mean?”

  “Different demons draw sustenance in different ways,” he explained, thrusting his hands into his pockets.

  “Sustenance? But you eat human food. Well, not humans as food, but food humans eat,” she rambled. “I fed you. Soup. I fed you soup.” Oh God, she was just making this worse.

  “We eat more for satisfaction—and to keep our human bodies strong—than for actual sustenance. But we need more nourishment than your human food can provide.” He watched her closely. She could tell he was gauging her reaction. “I and others of my kind are known as soul-feeders. We siphon the life essence from humans. I prefer to take mine from criminals and degenerates that would otherwise escape earthly punishment for their crimes.”

  Siphon? She frowned, waiting for him to go on.

  “Their souls, Carly. I drain their souls from their bodies.”

  “And what happens to the human you drain?”

  He gave her a hard stare.

  Appalled, she took an involuntary step back. But he was the one who flinched, reacting as if she’d slapped him. He was silent, obviously waiting for her to speak, to denounce him in some way. To question him as she was normally inclined to do.

  She walked to a straight-backed chair and sank into it. Words failed her. Utterly. She could only stare at the place on the floor where he’d formed the circle with the stones earlier. The place where he’d performed his magical woo-woo thingy with the words from the scroll and the unexplained mist. His chalk symbol had disappeared. When had that happened? No one had wiped it away.

  Niklas stood there, silent and stoic. Waiting.

  Some part of her felt as if she should say something. Bridge the yawning chasm that grew between them. But words failed her. Thought failed her. She could only sit there, stunned and speechless, trying desperately to wrap her head around all he’d said. Here he was, this man/demon before her, calmly telling her he was a killer. He’d been so gentle with her. He’d taken care of her. And she’d taken care of him. Had she saved him so he could murder humans? Did that make her an accomplice? Guilty by association?

  An accessory after the fact? Or rather before?

  He siphoned the life essence from humans to stay alive. She couldn’t assimilate all this. She just couldn’t.

  After what seemed an eternity, Niklas muttered something about taking a shower. He disappeared into the bathroom and closed the door behind him with a soft click. Carly looked up, staring blindly at the door.

  Confused, she spun her mother’s ring. How could her life have come to this? Demons and angels. Spells and protective talismans. Rituals and sacrifices. Vampire-like creatures.

  Soul-feeders.

  The surreal impossibility of the situation overwhelmed her. Oh, she’d fallen down Alice’s rabbit hole, all right. Straight into a nightmare that was not inhabited by talking animals and card-shaped soldiers, but by entities who were—beneath the thin veneer of attractive humanity—pagan, primeval monsters that reveled in torture and dealt in death.

  She couldn’t get her bearings. It was all she could do not to hyperventilate.

  She had to leave. Not just the apartment, but the whole town. Yes, she needed to go. Now. She’d stop home long enough to pack a bag, and then she’d leave it all behind. With Uncle Jason gone—and likely her job as well—she had nothing to tie her there, not any longer.

  She’d go somewhere else. She’d start over. Somewhere far, far away. Away from all this killing. Away from this dark magic she had no way of understanding, no way of fighting. Away from the irrational attraction she felt for Niklas.

  Away from all this madness.

  With a growing sense of desperation, she glanced at the bathroom door. The muted sound of running water whispered from within.

  Carly slipped from the apartment.

  “We’ve located the woman’s abode, my lord. And we have learned who she is.”

  The minion was nearly prostrate with fear, as well he should be. For Ronové’s sake, it was a good thing Stolas was hellbound. And it was a good thing Ronové had sent this fool in his place.

  Two Earth days.

  Stolas was not a patient demon. Drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair, he reminded himself for the fifth time he could not kill this whelp, not until he had all the information first.

  “She lives in Ridgefield, not far from the site selected for the summoning. Her name is Carly Nicole Danner. She is a twenty-six-year-old paralegal. Single. Her last remaining relative, her uncle, died of cancer last year. She—”

  “I don’t care about any of that,” Stolas snarled. Idiot! “Have you eliminated her?”

  The demon’s already bowed head dipped lower. “Not yet, my lord.”

  “What?” He exploded from his chair. Fury boiled in his veins, crackled in the putrid air around him. “What do you mean, you haven’t killed her?”

  “The Danner woman has not returned to her abode since the night of the—” Wisely, the minion chose not to speak further of the failed summoning. “She has not returned to her place of employment either. It seems the Seer has taken her into hiding.”

  Stolas paced across the hall, stopping here and there, examining a trinket, adjusting the placement of a trophy. And yet, inside he seethed. Tsking, he dusted a piece of ash from the head of a marble bust. Yet another reason he’d come to hate his gilded cage. The ash was pervasive.

  He slowly made his way to an ancient broadsword hanging in a place of honor upon his wall as he considered the ramifications of this latest development. Why had Niklas taken the female with him? He’d already saved her. Why not just send her on her way?

  Did she know something that the Seer might deem useful? Had she witnessed more than Ronové had claimed? Had she heard Ronové invoke his name? Could she somehow link him to Ronové, thereby threatening his plans? He lifted the sword from its brackets and ran his fingers over the ornate carvings on the sheath.

  Did Niklas plan to use her somehow to get back into Lucifer’s good graces? Use her as evidence of betrayal by Lucifer’s own grandson?

  “M-my lord,” the demon stuttered. “We’ve stationed a small legion throughout the town, covering every point in which she might surface. The moment she comes out in the open, we’ll take her out. My master also wished me to tell you Dimiezlo is within reach of his goal.”

  He coldly regarded the demon kneeling on his floor. His hands tightened on the hilt and the sheath. “And what do you know of Dimiezlo’s goals?”

>   The minion’s brow puckered. He blinked rapidly. “I-I know n-nothing, my lord. It is not m-my p-place to ask questions.”

  Such a pity this minion had been given to Ronové. Such a waste.

  “Do you have further instruction for my master? A m-message you wish delivered, perhaps?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do.” The blade made not a whisper of sound as he withdrew it from its sheath, and little more than a gentle hiss as it swiftly arced through the air.

  The demon’s severed head bounced and rolled, leaving a trail of sizzling, black blood across his floor. Stolas dropped the sword and sheath onto the table, and strode toward his bedchamber.

  “Clean up this mess,” he barked over his shoulder at the Charocté hovering in the corner. “And send the head to Ronové.”

  Chapter Eight

  Carly took the bus across town, thanking the powers that be that she’d had enough spare change in her pockets to swing the fare. The whole way, she’d been a jumble of nerves, glancing over her shoulder, flinching at the slightest sound. Familiar, smiling faces greeted her. Niklas’s warning rang in her ears.

  You won’t know when, you won’t know where, or who. It might even be someone you already know. But he will get to you... If you leave this apartment without me, you will die.

  She glanced up and down the street, feeling like a fugitive breaking in to her own home. Carly swiped up the key hidden beneath the frog-shaped flowerpot. Once inside, she went directly to the closet. After lifting a suitcase down, she hurried over, dropped it on the bed and unzipped it, then flipped the top open.

  She couldn’t handle this. She couldn’t deal with this craziness. Panic choked her. Urgency made her hands shake as she filled the suitcase. Blindly, she grabbed and stuffed, grabbed and stuffed, and all the while she waged a bitter, silent argument with herself. This was ridiculous. How could she leave? How could she stay? She had to be losing her mind. Yet she’d seen those creatures, they’d touched her.

  They. Were. Real.

  Where would she go? Her hand paused, a wadded up bra hanging from limp fingers.

  Somewhere. She’d go somewhere. Anywhere, just as long as it wasn’t Ridgefield.

  Resolved, her mind raced ahead. She had to grab the family photo album—it was all she had left. And she needed her personal documents, social security card, driver’s license, passport, though she’d never used it before. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was what she’d been waiting for. She had no more ties holding her there. No real reason to stay.

  Just monsters hunting her, waiting to torture and kill her. Waiting to steal her soul.

  And a sexy, self-proclaimed soul-feeder who set fire to her hormones.

  Criminy!

  Scotland. Spain. Jamaica. She’d keep moving. They’d never find her.

  Scrambling through the house, she collected anything she thought she might need on her mad dash to disappear. She grabbed her purse from the hall table on the way by and rushed back inside her room, arms loaded. After dumping her haul into the suitcase, she used all her weight to hold the top down as she zipped it shut.

  Hurry, hurry.

  The suitcase bounced down the stairs behind her, heavy and awkward. Her apologetic gaze skimmed over the photos still hanging in the hall. Maybe she had a few minutes. She could just grab a few—

  A solid wall of muscle suddenly appeared in her path. Screaming, she fell back on the steps. Strong hands grabbed her. Long, steely arms encircled her, crushing her against a rock-hard chest encased in a soft, white T-shirt. Niklas’s scent, citrusy shampoo and sandalwood soap and all male, overwhelmed her.

  “Sweet Christ, don’t ever do that again!” Niklas took hold of her shoulders in a painful grip, shoving her back so he could glare down at her. His hair was still dripping wet. His lips were compressed in a tight line. Fury rolled from him in waves.

  “Do you hear me? Don’t you ever do something so stupid again!” He punctuated his displeasure with a little shake. “Are you trying to serve yourself up to Ronové on a silver platter? Do you want to be tortured? He could have—”

  Once more he crushed her to him, foreign words tripped off his tongue in a rush. She didn’t understand the words, but she understood that tone. His heart pounded furiously against her ear.

  “Let me go.” She pushed at his chest, struggling out of his arms.

  He released her at last, eyeing the suitcase she retrieved with a frown. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “I-I don’t know.” A sob rose up in her throat, slipping out before she could trap it. Heaving a shaky sigh, she tried again, shoving her way around him. “I don’t know, but I’ll find somewhere. I can’t do this. I-I can’t be a part of this insanity anymore. I need to—”

  Cutting her comment off with a soft curse, Carly jerked the suitcase free when a wheel lodged against the doorframe. She sailed around the corner and made her way through the kitchen, heading for the back door. “I have to get out of here, leave town.”

  “You think that will solve your problem, Carly?” He dogged her heels. “You think Ronové’s minions are bound to this town alone? They’ll follow you. Wherever you go. Anywhere on Earth. They’ll track you down. The hunt won’t end just because you leave town. They won’t stop, not until you’re dead.”

  Staggering to a halt, she hung her head. His words beat against her like fists, leaving her bruised with realization, battered by defeat. Unchecked tears left tracks down her cheeks. She didn’t have the strength for this. Slowly, she turned to face him, letting the suitcase drop to the floor. She didn’t know what to do.

  In a heartbeat, he was in front of her, his arms closing gently around her this time. Drawing her carefully, tenderly into a soothing embrace.

  “Shhh,” he murmured against the top of her head. “Shhh, tá’hiri. It’s okay.” He smoothed a hand through her hair. Comforting.

  “No,” she sobbed. Her arms hung limp at her sides. “Don’t you understand? It’s never going to be okay again.”

  He cupped her head with one hand, pressing her cheek to his chest. A warm, hard hand eased up and down her back. Slowly, her arms crept around his waist, and she leaned into him, accepting his comfort. But she couldn’t seem to stop crying. Her nose was starting to get drippy too. She gave in to the urge to sniffle.

  “Here.” Anchoring an arm around her, he leaned slightly to the side and snatched a tissue from a box on the baker’s rack beside them.

  With her forehead pressed to his chest and his arms loosely encircling her, she dabbed at her puffy eyes, blew her nose. She hated crying. Her nose always got red and her face went all splotchy. Definitely not attractive. She tossed the tissue in the small trash can at the end of the counter and turned her head to rest her cheek against his chest again.

  “Better?” His hands had begun rubbing slow circles over her shoulder blades, up her neck.

  Nodding, drained, she plucked absently at his tear-drenched T-shirt.

  “You will survive this, tá’hiri. I promise you.” Niklas hooked a knuckle beneath her chin, lifting her face. “You are the strongest human I’ve ever met. If anyone can survive this, you can. But you’re not alone. I won’t let you be alone. You took care of me. You didn’t have to, but you did. Now let me take care of you.”

  “I don’t want your gratitude—”

  “Gratitude has nothing to do with what I feel for you, God help me,” he growled.

  Without warning, he lowered his head, capturing her lips in a soft caress. His palm slid up to cup her cheek. His mouth moved back and forth across hers, light, insistent, coaxing a response from her. Her palms slid up over his chest, stretching upward until she cupped the back of his neck, sinking her fingers deep in his dark hair. Soft. Warm. And his body was so hard. With a murmur, she melted against him.

  Innocently, hungrily, she accepted his kiss, wanting—needing—
more. As if somehow sensing her acceptance, his tongue swept over her lower lip, slipping inside, tangling seductively with her own. Slow, but so incredibly sensual. His hand moved from her cheek around to clasp the back of her neck in a firm grip. The arm wrapped around her waist shifted, slid, until he cradled the curve of her bottom in his hand. The hard ridge of his erection pressed against her stomach.

  With an involuntary moan, she arched into him, instinctively rubbing herself against him. Sparks ignited deep in her core. Gripping him tighter, she tilted her head, drawing him in deeper. Greedy. Insatiable. She let it all go. All the fantastic claims. All the unbelievable things she’d seen with her own two eyes. All of it. The only thing that existed was Niklas. Here in her arms. Solid. Real.

  And just as hungry for her as she was for him.

  With a harsh growl, chest heaving, Niklas suddenly set her away from him and quickly yanked his hands from her as if burned. He closed his eyes and dropped his chin to his chest. She gingerly touched her fingertips to her mouth, her eyes huge. It had never occurred to her that he—a demon—would or could possess such depths of passion and tenderness.

  Or such control.

  More control, apparently, than she possessed.

  “We need to leave here.” He sounded uneven. The glacier blue of his eyes glowed brightly in the dim room.

  Okay, they weren’t going to discuss what just happened.

  That was perfectly fine with her. She wouldn’t know what to say anyway.

  “I just need to grab my suitcase—wait.” Frowning, she tilted her head. “How did you find me? This house is still listed under my uncle’s name. And the phone is unlisted.”

  “I used no phone book.”

  “Then how—”

  “We don’t have time for this.”

  “Make time,” she snapped, planting her fists on her hips. Her head was still spinning from his kiss, but she wouldn’t be denied. He was going to start being upfront with her, one hundred percent, right here, right now. No more holding back what he thought might upset her. “I’m not taking another step until you explain how you found me.”