The Seer: Chronicles of the Fallen, Book 2

by Brenda Huber

  In the distance, a hummingbird flitted from one flower to the next. Insects chirped. Birdsong trilled from the nearby grove, repeated some distance away. Late afternoon sunshine bathed the rolling hills in gilded tones.

  The same warm tones that used to surround Carly.

  Soft gold. Hope.

  Of all the things he’d given up, all the things he’d sacrificed over the last earthbound centuries of his life, he missed seeing that color surrounding Carly the most. She was the first thing—the only thing—he’d felt truly connected to since his fall. And that had been before the binding. But the connection he’d gotten in return through the binding ritual—this magnetic awareness, this sense of connection—he wouldn’t give it up for anything. Not even to mitigate the guilt he felt. He couldn’t have sentenced her to Oblivion, or Hell, with his binding ritual. She was too good. A blinding light.

  He couldn’t bear to think of that light tarnished or lost. Not because of him.

  In such a short bit of a time, she’d come to mean a great deal to him. He had some heavy choices ahead of him. Choices more important than what to do about the nests. Choices with far more impact on his future than how to capture Ronové.

  Through her, he could have the chance to truly live, even if only for a short time. Someday she would leave him, die as all humans did. If he allowed this connection to grow, the loss of her would be unbearable. Devastating. A blow from which he might never recover. He’d been down this road, considered these risks when they’d first arrived at the farm. He’d been too afraid to face them head on then, and he’d pushed the decision away.

  Now he faced it. Tore it apart and considered the pain, and the joy. Yes, she would die. But until that day, he could protect her, and cherish her, and—

  Did he dare?

  Did he dare not?

  What he was certain of was that he couldn’t face her until he’d made up his mind. It wasn’t fair, not to him and especially not to her, to keep her on a yo-yo, wanting her, needing her, only to lash out and push her away.

  His looked upward. Puffy, white, cotton-candy clouds hung in the sky. They didn’t appear to be going anywhere anytime soon.

  And neither did he.

  Carly woke to the scent of pasta and garlic bread. Her stomach rumbled. A soft, warm blanket shifted, slipping from her shoulder as she sat up, yawning. Odd, she didn’t remember covering up before she’d fallen asleep.

  Blinking, stretching, she glanced around the dim room. A covered, silver tray sat on one of the dressers. Pushing the blanket aside, she got up, stretched and approached the dresser. Lifting the lid, she stared down in wonder. A thick square of lasagna, oozing melted cheese and garnished with a sprig of parsley, filled one silver-rimmed plate. A small dish of green beans with tiny bits of bacon. A thick hunk of buttery garlic bread. A large mug of steaming, creamy coffee. “I thought you might be hungry when you woke up.”

  Stifling a screech, she fumbled the silver cover, catching it in the nick of time.

  “Don’t do that,” she scolded, peering into the darkened corner of the room. Niklas sat in an armchair, one that hadn’t been there before. He reclined negligently, his fingers laced over his middle, elbows braced on the padded chair arms, ankle propped on his knee.

  He peered hard at her, steady, determined.

  Unsettling.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Frowning, she replaced the cover on the tray. “You didn’t have to…”

  “Conjure,” he supplied.

  “Conjure a meal for me. I’m perfectly capable of cooking for myself. And for you too.” A tiny frown creased her brow. There was something…off about him.

  Toying with the ring he’d given her, she wandered back to the bed, perched on the edge. One corner of his mouth rose slowly as he watched the nervous movement of her hands.

  The tray vanished from the dresser and reappeared in the center of the bed. “Please, eat.”

  She glowered suspiciously, drawing a breath. There was something different about the way he was looking at her. Something different in the way he was acting. If anything, he was being even more solicitous than normal. Charming, even.

  He said no more, simply waited her out.

  She tried to relax, but it was no use with him looking at her like that. So serious. So possessive. Gah, her imagination was running away with her. Maybe she was more tired than she’d thought. Maybe she really was having wild hallucinations after all. Giving a small shrug, she scooted back on the bed. As far as hallucinations went, she could do far worse than a sexy man who devoured her with his eyes and a platter full of aromatic, mouthwatering food. She crossed her legs and pulled the tray in front of her. The silver cover disappeared.

  Arching a brow, she stared pointedly at him.

  “Sorry,” he said, shooting her guilty smile.

  Carly dug into the meal. She was hungrier than she’d thought. Once the first hunger pangs wore off, though, she grew uncomfortable beneath his unwavering attention. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

  He seemed to weigh his words. “I’m not really hungry anymore.”

  What did that mean? Had he already eaten then? And then another thought occurred to her, making her faintly sick to her stomach. Had he gone somewhere while she slept? Had he drained the soul from some criminal, as he’d done before? Had he—

  Niklas leaned forward, a frown flashing across his brow. “What’s wrong? Is there something else you’d rather have?”

  “No.” She gently set the spoon down and pushed the tray aside. “I’m fine,” she lied. “I’m just full.”

  His lips pursed, but he didn’t challenge her. The tray disappeared.

  Handy.

  “Gideon should be here shortly.” He leaned back, lacing his fingers again. “The others are coming as well.”

  “Others?” The thought of a house full of demons was disconcerting, to say the least.

  “There have been some new developments. We’ve discovered a nest about thirty miles from here.”

  “A nest?” She frowned. Why did that sound ominous, like a slithering pit filled with poisonous snakes?

  “A nest is a den, if you will. A gathering of earthbound demons. It’s pretty uncommon for demons to cohabitate. Too volatile, usually. Most demons kill each other off before a nest can successfully be established.”

  “Then why—”

  “We don’t know yet, but we’ve reason to believe there are ties between the nest here and the one Sebastian’s been tracking in South America.”

  “Why is Sebastian tracking a nest?”

  “It’s what we do, tá’hiri. When a nest flagrantly attacks human settlements, when they begin slaughtering humans with little or no regard for consequences, we step in. We track them down. We eliminate them.”

  She recalled then the newsreel he’d been watching earlier. Before they’d almost—

  “Why do you think the nests are tied together?” She reached back and drew the blanket around her, suddenly chilled. A strange, almost tender expression softened his features. “Niklas?”

  He let a long breath seep out slowly. “Two of the same individuals have been seen shimmering into both locations. Gusion—he has ties to some of the highest ranking royalty of Demonarchy. And now we’ve discovered Glasya is also involved. He’s particularly dangerous. He can, for lack of a better word, manipulate the hearts and minds of friends and foes, causing love or hatred between them as he wills it. I’ve also received word from Asher, a Hunter I’ve gotten reliable information from in the past, that the scrolls have been located. We can’t lose another of the relics. The Sword of Kathnesh has already been stolen, its Guardian killed.”

  “The Sword of Kathnesh?”

  “It’s demon lore. The only way to kill an upper level demon is by beheading. The Sword of Kathnesh is rumored to b
e the only blade that can take Lucifer’s head. It’s reported to be made of Quïnï, a composite of cursed metals infused with Ralsha poison. A very rare material, rare but extremely lethal. But no demon is powerful enough to stand against Lucifer alone, even with the sword. He must possess the four Sacred Relics.”

  “If these relics are so dangerous, why didn’t Lucifer have them destroyed?”

  “They were created in secret and hidden away before he could order them destroyed, or before he could destroy them himself. The lore tells of sacred Guardians who, by right of birth, hide the ancient relics away and protect them with their lives.”

  “So there’s the sword, which the other team already has. What are the other relics?”

  “The Arc Stone, which will make its bearer impervious to physical harm. We’ve already recovered the stone, thanks to Xander. And then there are the Scrolls of Prévnar. Printed on the scrolls, supposedly, is an incantation powerful enough, compelling enough to make the one who reads it aloud resistant to Lucifer’s control, and wise to any deceptions Lucifer might throw his way.”

  “And the fourth relic?”

  Niklas drew his palm along the side of his face, and then dropped his hands into his lap. “The Prophesy says it’s a person. A being. The child of demon and angel and man, all three. A hybrid species.”

  “I didn’t realize that angels were allowed to…” She trailed off, cleared her throat. “You know.”

  “They aren’t. Not since the Great Battle. That’s why this prophecy seemed so unlikely. We’ve recently found out just how wrong we were about that.”

  Carly sat for a long moment, considering his words, and the intent behind them. He was giving her a lot of information. And she wasn’t having to pull teeth for every greedy little bit. “Why are you telling me all this?”

  “You have a right to know.”

  And this is your way of showing me that you trust me, she silently added. Maybe there was hope after all. He stood, held his hand out to her.

  “I could use some fresh air. Come with me.”

  Carly glanced out the window. She’d learned to fear the shadows. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  “I’ll keep you safe.” A warm, languid smile spread over his face, stealing her breath. “Trust me.”

  Chapter Twelve

  She watched that slow smile curve his lips and fought the urge to melt into a puddle. Or throw herself at him. Surely, Lucifer must have given Niklas the wrong title. With a smile that devastating, not to mention the way he kissed, Niklas should have been the Demon of Temptation.

  Standing, she slipped her hand into his and let him take the lead. She expected him to drop her hand as soon as they left the room. Or surely as soon as they left the house. But he held on, showing no signs of relinquishing her hand any time soon. It was hard not to be affected by his touch.

  Cool night air kissed her skin. She barely had time to shiver. In the blink of an eye, her shorts and T-shirt were gone, replaced with jeans and a thick sweatshirt. Sneakers and thick socks in lieu of sandals.

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  He gently squeezed her hand in reply.

  They wandered down the back steps. Moonlight cast a silver glow over the yard. Crisp, clean air filled her lungs. And, as scents often do, they brought back memories. Bittersweet. Precious.

  “I grew up on a farm much like this one,” she began, aware that—though he did not look directly at her—she now had his undivided attention. The pain of remembering was sharp. But so was the pride. “My parents owned a farm. We had an old hound dog named Beauford. My dad used to cuss that dog for being lazy and useless.” She smiled over the memory. “But Beauford stuck to my dad’s heels like glue, and Dad always had a treat in his pocket.”

  They walked in silence as they drifted across the yard and down the hill. The grass in the meadow swirled around them, knee-high. The night was surreal. Maybe that was why it was so easy to open up and share this piece of herself with him.

  Then again, maybe it was Niklas himself.

  She hadn’t let herself think about those things in a long time. But now she let those memories come, telling Niklas of her life before her parents’ deaths. How easily it all came back to her now. Funny how time had a way of sharpening some memories, dulling others.

  Eventually, he asked, “You don’t have any brothers or sisters?”

  “No, I was an only child.”

  “But you were happy.” Statement, not question.

  “I was happy.” She drew a deep breath. “Even after the accident…after my parents were gone, my uncle made sure I was happy. I mean, obviously I grieved for my parents, but he did the best he could to make sure I knew I was still loved. He worked hard to give me a normal life. I never wanted for anything. But more than that, he was always there, rooting for me, cheering me on. I had a normal, well-adjusted life. Friends. A solid education.

  “But Uncle Jason had a lot to deal with,” Carly said. “Shortly after I went to live with him, he found out that he had cancer. He underwent chemo. It was a long, difficult treatment, but the cancer went into remission. He’d buried his parents, his sister and brother-in-law. And he beat the cancer. Held it back for so long. Uncle Jason was a survivor.”

  Drawing a deep breath, she bent to snap the stem of a drooping daisy. Swirling it between her fingers, she stared ahead, over the rolling meadow bathed in shadow and moonlight.

  “We eventually had to sell the farm. It was just too much for him to handle alone, and renting the land out wasn’t practical anymore,” she pushed on. “It was a hard decision, but we made it together.”

  “That’s a big decision to have to face at any age.”

  “Uncle Jason didn’t want to take my inheritance away from me. My dad was a third generation farmer on that land. I know if I’d told him I wanted to keep it, he’d have found a way. But I didn’t want to be a farmer, and neither did he.” She offered him a rueful smile. “Uncle Jason always encouraged me to do what made me happy. ‘Life was too short to make miserable choices,’ he used to say. ‘Do it right the first time. Then you don’t have to live with regrets.’”

  “It sounds like he was an amazing man.”

  “He was the strongest man I know.”

  “You miss him.”

  “Every day.” No two words had ever been spoken with more emotion. She battled the tears back, swallowed the lump in her throat.

  “You’ve lost so much. Your parents. Your uncle. The home you once believed your birthright. How do you carry on and not just cave beneath the weight?”

  He was clearly curious. He honestly wanted to understand.

  Carly took a moment, chewed on the edge of her lip as she considered his question. No words could adequately describe the holes that were left in you after the death of a loved one.

  The ache of not being able to share the comfort of mundane events of everyday life. Or the frantic need to relate some extraordinary bit of news, only to realize that person wasn’t there to pick up the phone. That nearly paralyzing, desperate obsession to see them, hold them, talk with them, just one more time.

  Or, worse still, how did you describe that stunning moment—when your throat burns with unshed tears and you just can’t breathe past the tightness in your chest—when you truly, completely realized “just one more time” will never happen?

  Time softened the edges of the pain, but the holes never really went away.

  “I carry on,” she finally offered, her voice hoarse, “because that’s what they would want me to do. I carry on because there’s nothing else to do. Uncle Jason was a survivor. I could do nothing else, be nothing less than that. For him. For my parents. For me.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m used to seeing other’s emotions through the swirl of color in their aura. Those emotions have never bothered me before. I’ve alw
ays been able to easily read human intention, human motivation by that swirl of colors. But your emotions were such a blur. I must admit, I had trouble processing it all.”

  “So you said.” She glanced sideways at him, her lips twisted in a rueful smile. “No more headaches caused by yours truly, right? At least this connection between us has one perk.” She shoved her free hand deep in her pocket while she studied the flow and ebb of the tall grass as it swayed around them.

  Niklas stopped, tugging her around to face him. He traced the curve of her cheek. “I’d never before considered such a connection with anyone. I’ve never felt the need. But with you—” He broke off, shaking his head.

  She stared at him for what felt like forever. When she didn’t think he would go on, when she started to turn away, he captured her chin in a gentle but firm grasp. “With you,” he finally said, a determined glint in his pale blue eyes, “I will never regret the connection, however unsettling it might be at times not knowing what you’re thinking or how you’re feeling.”

  Without warning, his lips lowered to hers. Soft. Sweet. Brief.

  Pulling back, he slipped his fingers through her hair, brushing it away from her face. “The connection we share has come to mean a great deal to me. Knowing I’ll always be able to find you. Always be able to keep you safe.” He shook his head. “It gives me…peace.”

  She parted her lips to speak, but then couldn’t find the words. She had no right to lay any kind of claim on him. No right to let herself soften toward him.

  Curiosity got the better of her, as it usually did. All this talk of her uncle and her parents got her thinking.

  “Tell me what it was like, Heaven. Do you miss it—wait, strike that. Obviously, you miss it or you wouldn’t be trying so hard to go back. How long, after you fell, did it take for you to decide you wanted to return?”

  “Hmm, that’s not an easy answer.”