The Seer: Chronicles of the Fallen, Book 2

by Brenda Huber

  The ache was too much. He couldn’t bear it. He’d been alone far too long. She was here now. With him now. And he wasn’t going to let her go. Shimmering them directly inside the bathroom adjoining his room—now hers—he pressed his lips to her temple and murmured, “Shhh. It’s going to be all right now. You’re safe.” She trembled in his arms, shaking her head, and he amended, “We’re both safe. Both of us. Let me help you. Let me take care of you now.”

  Niklas turned the water in the shower on. He held her, petted her, whispering nonsensical sounds as the steam built.

  She was so cold she trembled with it. Chilled from the inside out. “We need to get you out of—” No, reminding her she was covered in demon blood probably wasn’t a good idea. “We need to get you into the shower, Carly. You’re starting to go into shock.”

  Pulling her into the huge, tiled shower, he soothed her with words and hands. Once he had her tucked safely beneath the warm spray of water, he vanished her shirt and jeans. When he’d conjured the crimson undergarments earlier, he hadn’t been able to stop himself from imagining her—fantasizing about her—in them. At the time, the erotic pictures his mind had produced had tortured him. But the red lace and cotton looked so garish now. Blood coated her pale skin. He’d never put her in red again.

  Water sluiced over her, rinsing the blood away, pooling at their feet in a pink puddle on the white tile. His shirt and jeans clung to him uncomfortably. Glancing down, he noticed for the first time that his own clothing was stained red too.

  He vanished his shirt, boots and socks, and briefly considered getting rid of the jeans as well. Then he glanced back at Carly, standing beneath the spray, wearing nothing more than panties and a stained bra. She shook, looking bedraggled. Overwhelmed. Her eyes were huge, her skin so, so pale.

  Shock. She was in shock, he reminded himself. Now was not the time for desire and seduction.

  Yet, desire her he did.

  No, best not to push his control too far.

  Conjuring a clean pair of jeans—jeans that quickly became soaked and uncomfortable—he reached for the bar of Ivory lying on the ledge. He quickly built up a thick lather in a washcloth and set the bar of soap aside. She might well be mad when she realized he’d stripped her and showered her, but he needed to do what he could to wash the horrors of the night away for her.

  For them both.

  Then again, maybe she wouldn’t be too upset. He’d given up on guessing her reactions. She continued to surprise him.

  “I’m going to wash you now, sweetheart. But I need to remove the rest of your clothes. Is that all right?”

  She didn’t move, didn’t speak. Didn’t so much as blink.

  Bracing himself, he vanished her bra and panties. It was worse than he’d imagined, the raging lust clamoring through his body. A violent jolt ratcheted his system so tightly he thought he’d explode. She was perfection. Nothing else could compare.

  But she wasn’t anywhere ready for passion. She was nearly catatonic, sweet Christ. Hot on the heels of lust, an unexpected wave of tenderness rolled through him, going a long way toward steadying his hand. With gentle strokes, he eased the washcloth over her. Wiping away the blood, leaving rich lather in its wake. Her skin was so soft, so silky smooth. He traced her collarbone, washing her arm from shoulder to wrist. He cleaned each finger, scrubbing her nails, buffing her palms before rinsing the soap away. Then, unable to help himself, he pressed quiet kisses to each fingertip. He repeated the process with the other arm.

  And Carly stood still beneath his tender ministrations, pliant as a half-sleeping child.

  He worked his way down her torso, torturing himself with the weight and perfection of her breasts, the soft skin of her stomach, the gentle flare of her hips, the alluring mound of her womanhood. His throat wasteland dry now, he knelt before her. Water slid over her body, splashing on him. He built lather in the washcloth again and eased it along the mile or so of her trim legs. He lifted her foot and braced it on his knee.

  When the washcloth passed over the arch of her foot, she shivered and jerked. She dropped her hand onto his shoulder. Response at last. But he didn’t dare look up at her—didn’t dare risk lingering upon her nakedness for too long. It might be more than his frayed control could handle.

  When she was ready—tomorrow, or the next day, perhaps—he’d spend hours kissing and tasting every delectable inch of her. But for now, he concentrated on easing one foot to the floor and lifting the other. Again she jerked.

  Her sobs had long since ceased. Her breathing shuddered in and out.

  Niklas gently grasped her hips and turned her until she faced the spray. He carefully washed his way back up her body, pausing to drop an impetuous kiss on the irresistible indentation at the small of her back. Once he’d finished washing her back, he set the washcloth aside and began working the knots from her muscles as the water rushed over her, sliding the soap away. Heavens, how he longed to let his hands roam. Let his lips follow.

  But he just couldn’t. Not now. She was too vulnerable, and it broke something inside him to see her like this.

  When she was all but boneless, he lifted the bottle of shampoo and squirted a generous amount into his palm. He carefully massaged her scalp, working the lather to the tips of her hair. After turning her again, he tilted her head back, slow and easy, and rinsed the lather from her hair.

  He grabbed the washcloth once more and made short work of lathering and washing his own face, neck, chest and arms. He moved her gently to the side, rinsed the soap off and picked up the bottle of conditioner before guiding her back beneath the water. Keeping his touch light and gentle, he eased the cream into her hair. As he tilted her head back for one last rinse, her hands finally came up between them. He glanced at her face. Her expression stunned him.

  He’d been so focused on taking this one step at a time, deliberately thinking of the shower in a cold, clinical light, that he’d missed all those little hints that she was coming out of her stupor.

  Without a word, she skimmed her hands up over his chest, sliding through the rich lather. Sensual. Seductive beyond anything he’d ever experienced. Her splayed fingers sank into his wet hair, and she cupped his scalp, pulling his head down. She gave a small murmur before sealing her lips over his. His jaw went lax. Her questing tongue, hot and so incredibly sweet, swept past his lips and plunged inside. He was stunned by her aggression. Blood surged to his groin, painfully. His eyes flew wide open, only to flutter closed when she angled her head to the side and deepened the kiss with voracious intent. His hands settled on the curve of her hips. He’d intended to push her away, keep her at arm’s length at the very least.

  He shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be giving in to the furnace of desire searing the blood in his veins. But just then, with her lips moving so wantonly beneath his—with her body slipping and sliding along his—he couldn’t quite remember why.

  All he knew was that he wanted her more than he wanted his next breath.

  His grip on her hips tightened. His hold on control slipped.

  Her body—her very naked, very slippery body—pushed against his. Dear God, the feel of her wet breasts sliding against his chest. He shuddered. Groaned.

  She shoved him back until tile pressed against his skin. The smooth surface abraded the burns on his flesh, but she was a fireball in his arms, demanding and so very vibrant. Bells and whistles began going off in his head, but the texture of her bare skin, the rough tangle of her tongue against his, drove thoughts of self-restraint from his befuddled brain.

  She brought her knee up and hooked it over his hip. His fingers found their way to her thigh, gripping, sliding, squeezing, lifting her higher still. His hand pushed along the length of her silken thigh. His palm claimed her bottom, his fingers closed possessively, squeezing, kneading. The heat of her, so close, oh sweet Mary.

  In a heartbeat, he grabbed control
of the kiss. Greedy. Refusing to be denied. But Carly wasn’t about to meekly surrender. She fought back, gripping his hair in her small fists, mashing her mouth to his, waging a silent, sensual war for domination. Blood rushed in his ears. His heart slammed in violent rhythm. His knees actually shook.

  But he was bigger. And she’d stirred something dark and dangerous deep inside him. Something he’d only experienced when in demonic form. Something he’d never before tried to contain. Twisting, he shoved her up against the shower wall. Upon impact, her breath left her in a whoosh and a soft grunt. But just that fast, her lips were back, demanding, her tongue thrusting, tangling. His hips surged against her, grinding, pumping. She lifted both legs, locked them around his waist. Another split second and he would have conjured the rest of his clothing gone and sunk his shaft deep inside her scalding heat, but her nails raked across his back, across the burns and blisters from Gusion’s plasma ball.

  Blinding pain rocketed through him. He ripped his mouth from hers and sucked in a sharp breath, gritting his teeth. The burns—burns and blisters on top of already abused flesh—were still too fresh for such rough treatment. Instinctively, he captured her wrists, forcing them against the wall on either side of her head. His chest heaved against her, great, rasping gasps for air. His blood boiled. His cock was so hard inside his pants, it was little wonder the seams hadn’t split.

  He stared at her upturned face.

  Holy Mother Mary, what am I doing?

  He couldn’t believe he was about to say this, but— “Stop.”

  She tightened her legs, squeezing him, rubbing against him. Moaned, low and deep. His throat nearly closed in response. His heart shuddered.

  “Carly, stop. Sweet Christ, you’re killing me.”

  “I don’t want to stop, Niklas. I’m so numb. Make me feel. Please, just make me—”

  With a harsh oath, he pried her legs from around his waist and jerked himself from her grasp. Taking a big step back, he left her propped against the shower wall. Her breasts rose and fell on deep gulps of air, driving him crazy.

  “No,” he barked. “You’re in shock, tá’hiri. You would regret this tomorrow.”

  “Don’t tell me what I’ll feel.” She shoved herself off the wall, but she swayed on her feet. Anger sizzled in her tone. “Did you see that blond demon? See the way he looked at me?”

  Oh, he’d seen the way Gusion had leered at her. And Niklas had nearly taken the bait, so livid had he been.

  “It was like Ronové all over again. Only worse. Just a look from him and I felt dirty. I want to feel right now, Niklas. You make me feel clean and whole—” She broke off on a sob. “I want to put it all out of my mind. They want me dead, Niklas. But I’m not dead yet. I want to feel alive.”

  She reached for him, but he caught her wrists, pushing her back. “No, damn it. You’re in shock—”

  The moment he let go of her wrists, she reached for him again. “I don’t care—”

  “I do.” Angry now himself, he captured her wrists again, squeezed, pulling their joined hands down between them like a shield. Niklas transferred possession of her wrists to one hand, shut off the water and conjured a thick white robe, one that covered her from neck to knee. “When we come together, Carly—when, not if—it won’t be because I took advantage of you.”

  “I want this—”

  “If you truly want this now, then you’ll still want it tomorrow,” he bit out. “For tonight, let me be noble.”

  Conjuring dry clothing for himself, he scooped her up and carried her to the bed. He smoothed the wet hair from her brow, ignoring the burning emotion in her deep brown eyes, and pulled the thick, soft blanket up over her to tuck her in. After dropping a tender kiss on her forehead, he stood and crossed to the door.

  One last, longing-filled glance over his shoulder assured him that she was still aroused, and mad as hell at him. Shooting a glance at the dresser and closet, he vanished half the clothing already there—spare clothing he’d left behind for those occasions when he’d been too exhausted and in too much pain to conjure clothing for himself—before filling them with a wide assortment of clothing for her. He couldn’t keep conjuring one outfit at a time. She was too independent to continue to let him dress her every day.

  And he sure as certain couldn’t spend another day visualizing each article slipping over her enthralling curves.

  Heaving a deep sigh, he pulled the door closed softly behind him. Niklas leaned against the wood, propped his forehead against the cool surface and closed his eyes. Reaching down, he readjusted the fit of his jeans around his still-swollen shaft.

  Of one thing, he had little doubt.

  Being noble was going to be the death of him.

  Pushing away from the door, he grimaced. He needed to start searching for Ronové. He couldn’t put any of this off any longer. Carly would be safe enough there in the house with the ward stones and the guard stones for a short time. Conjuring black camo pants, a black T-shirt and combat boots, Niklas centered his focus on a seedy little bar about twenty miles away that was a known hangout for his kind and shimmered himself there.

  Grim-faced, he kept his chin down, propped an elbow against the bar and scanned the crowd. Perdition—he chuckled mirthlessly at the irony of the bar’s name. He rapped on the bar to draw the barkeep’s attention, ordered a drink and then sat back.

  He didn’t have long to wait.

  Carly flipped a piece of French toast in the sizzling skillet. Heat seared her cheeks every time she thought of last night and her behavior in the shower.

  How humiliating!

  And then, for him to deny her, for him to turn her away on the pretense of being noble?

  In the bright light of the morning after, she’d begun to second-guess everything. What was wrong with her? What had she done to drive him away? Never mind the fact that she’d already made up her mind to be noble herself and keep a healthy distance from him for the sake of his salvation. She wouldn’t come between him and his faith.

  But still, the cold slap in the face stung. Waking up alone this morning hadn’t helped matters. Oh, he’d filled the closet and dresser with a brand new wardrobe that would turn any woman’s head. Pants and dresses, shorts and shirts. Unmentionables by the dozens. Though she’d have to have a little talk with him about those unmentionables. While, yes, a woman liked to wear sexy silk and lace once in a while, she also needed something a little more…comfortable.

  And the shoes.

  My word, the shoes!

  But what had surprised her had been the fact that the other half of the dresser, and the other half of the closet, had been filled with male clothing. Niklas’s clothing.

  Seeing their clothing side by side like that… Well, it had done strange things to her insides. It was just so intimate. So cozy. So wonderfully pleasant. A brief respite in an otherwise crappy morning.

  Oh, yes. He’d also left a note. How could she forget the note?

  Tá’hiri,

  Back soon. Don’t leave the house.

  N

  Wonderful. She jabbed at her breakfast with a fork, her mood turning sour once again. Well, that was all well and good, wasn’t it? Don’t leave the house. He’d left her here, holed up like some escaped convict, while he got to go out, gallivanting all over God-only-knew-where.

  He’d have a conniption if she left a stingy note like that for him.

  And could anyone blame her for being a bit prickly? She’d gone for an innocent walk and somehow ended up smack in the middle of another demon battle. And then she’d thrown herself at Niklas. Shamelessly. Thoughtlessly.

  Unsuccessfully.

  He’d shot her down, of course.

  And he’d walked out. As if her offer had meant nothing. As if he’d had so many women throw themselves at him that he’d become inured.

  No, she corrected. As if he was
a demon trying to earn back his maker’s favor. A demon holding himself to a higher cause.

  And how could she be mad at him when foregoing physical intimacy was the very thing she’d already decided was the right choice?

  Carly unhappily flopped the slices of French toast onto a plate beside a couple slices of bacon and flipped the burner off.

  “That smells delicious,” a dark, sensual voice, coated with a sensual Southern accent, murmured from behind her.

  Her plate clattered to the counter as she whirled around, brandishing a spatula like a sword.

  His eyes were the first thing she noted. Amber. Striking. Hypnotic. And then his face. Smooth shaven, strong jaw. Flawless. His lips were alluring, to say the very least. His hair was a wild, tawny color. A longish, curling mass of gold, calling to mind midnight fantasies and disheveled, sexual satisfaction. His pose was relaxed, careless. He was tall. But not too tall. Muscular, but not bulky.

  Any—every—woman’s fantasy come to life.

  And the come-hither grin he sent her positively dripped seduction at its finest.

  “Niklas!” she screamed, panic ripping through her.

  Before she’d finished the last syllable of his name, he appeared in front of her—facing the intruder—brandishing a sizzling plasma ball in his hand, body tensed for combat. The intruder didn’t so much as flinch.

  Straightening, Niklas let the plasma ball evaporate in his palm. “You were supposed to be here last night,” he snapped.

  The devastatingly handsome man—demon, Carly corrected herself—the handsome demon leaned a hip against the counter, ignoring Niklas’s rebuke. He considered Niklas for a long minute before turning his amber gaze to Carly. She supposed he meant to appear respectful. But that face of his—and those eyes, fashioned of pure sin—just made the effect all the more seductive.

  “I’m sorry to’ve startled you, ma’am.” He dipped his head. His tone was circumspect.

  Realizing she still gripped the spatula, she set it aside with a trembling hand. Sooner or later she would get used to all these demons popping—shimmering, she silently corrected—shimmering in and out willy-nilly. And the seemingly inevitable demon battles. She would. Sooner or later.