The Seer: Chronicles of the Fallen, Book 2

by Brenda Huber

  “A puzzle?” Xander glanced between them. “Or a clue?”

  “I guess we’ll find out, huh?” Turning to Niklas, Sebastian grinned. “Well, lovebirds. Do you need me to beat you on the backs and congratulate you?”

  Carly chose that moment to resume her pounding and cursing, stomping on the floor for good measure. “I think”—Niklas glanced at the ceiling, wincing—“wishing me luck might be more appropriate.”

  Laughing his head off, Sebastian shimmered from the room.

  As soon as he was gone, Xander pushed his chair back from the table, but he didn’t rise. Tilting his head to the side, he pressed, “When she dies?”

  Xander saw far too much.

  Lifting his chin, Niklas drew a deep breath. “What would you do if something happened to Kyanna?”

  Xander’s lips compressed. But he didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

  They were of a like mind. When their mates died, they would leave this world behind. The only difference was Xander, having committed the ultimate sacrifice and been given the forgiveness he’d sought for so long, now had a soul. Or rather part of a soul…the soul he shared with Kyanna. Two halves of one whole. When he died, he would follow his love into Heaven’s waiting arms.

  When Niklas died? There would be no Heavenly hereafter, no following his love.

  He would find Oblivion and nothing more.

  “Are you going after Gideon?” he asked, pained by the thought of eventually being separated from Carly and having no way to fight it.

  Xander gave a terse shake of his head.

  “Do I need to go after Gideon?”

  Brooding, Xander finally shook his head.

  “You think he’ll come back on his own,” Niklas surmised.

  Xander nodded.

  “Then I guess I’ll hang here, try to smoke Ronové out.” He pushed his hands deep in his pockets. “With any luck, Glasya or Gusion will tip their hand.”

  Xander glanced to the ceiling. He offered a slight nod, and a groove formed in his cheek. As close to a congratulations and a smile as Xander would get. And then he, too, shimmered away.

  Squaring his shoulders, Niklas decided to take his time and walk up the stairs rather than shimmer into the room. He’d never dealt with a furious woman. Incoherent, occasionally. Terrified, usually.

  Fury would be a new experience for him.

  Her fist hurt. Her toe throbbed. Her palm stung. And her throat was raw from screaming. Damn him. How could he do this to her? She wasn’t some naughty child to be put in a time out. She was an adult woman, capable of contributing to their missions. Hadn’t she been the one to keep track of the comings and goings at the nest after Xander and Gideon had left her there? She hadn’t cowered in the corner and blubbered. She might have felt like it, but she hadn’t. She was responsible for her own actions and her own choices. If she wanted to take afternoon tea in the middle of a freakin’ nest with Lucifer and all his cronies, then she damned well could.

  A creak on the stairs warned her of his imminent arrival. Seething, she reflexively scanned the room. He wanted to treat her like a child? Then, by God, she’d damned well give him what he wanted. She launched the brush the moment the door opened. The bristles bounced off his shoulder, denying her the satisfaction of having drawn first blood.

  But the act of throwing the missile, in and of itself, had been fiercely liberating. She’d never, never been one to throw things when she got angry. She’d never been one to lose her temper. Not until she’d met this infuriating, bullheaded, autocratic—

  Aim better, Carly told herself, picking up a bottle of lotion. She hurled the bottle and smiled maliciously as it slapped against his hip. The cap came off and white, creamy lotion splattered up his chest and across his neck. Lock her up, would he? A few inches to the left, and he would have been singing another tune…in a whole new octave.

  “Get out, you rotten, tyrannical jerk.”

  Rather than retreating as any wise man would, he entered the room and slammed the door behind him. “Damn it, Carly,” he snapped, ducking as a glass shattered against the wood at his back.

  “How dare you”—she flung a vase, filled with water and wildflowers, at his head—“lock me in my room! Of all the—”

  He’d ducked again, but water showered over him. More shards of glass tinkled onto the floor.

  “You deliberately put yourself in harm’s way—”

  A hefty collection of works by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle met the center of his chest with a gratifying thud. Niklas sucked in a sharp breath, instinctively catching the book.

  “I was trying to help.” She scoured the room for anything else light enough to throw but heavy enough to bruise. She grabbed a tennis shoe off the floor, wound up like a major league pitcher and let ’er rip. “I’m not a child, damn you!” Carly shouted as the shoe clipped his ear. “I will not be treated like one.”

  Snagging the shoe’s mate, she stood, chest heaving, her face pulsing with heat. He was gone.

  That sneaky, despotic, arrogant, son of a—

  Tempered steel wrapped around her from behind, pinning her arms to her chest, caging her. Struggling, she cursed him, calling him every dirty name she could think of. Niklas tucked his chin into the curve of her shoulder, pressed his cheek to the side of her neck and held on for the ride.

  At last, when she was exhausted from trying to throw him off, when she’d depleted the anemic parameters of her cache of vulgar vocabulary, she stilled. Just to be defiant, though, she held herself stiffly, refusing to melt into him the way her body begged.

  “You scared me half to death, tá’hiri,” he whispered against the side of her neck, pushing the side of his forehead to the edge of her jaw. “I was so afraid I’d be too late. I couldn’t lose you like that. I just couldn’t.”

  His quiet, agonized words accomplished what no amount of brute force could. It defused her anger. Slowly, muscle by muscle, she relaxed into him. She turned in his arms and slid her palms up his chest to frame his face between her hands.

  Staring deep into his ice-blue eyes, she tried to explain. “They needed to go. There was something very important happening at the nest, and they didn’t want to leave me here alone and break their word to you. I didn’t mean to scare you. I—” She broke off, eyes widening when she realized how close she’d come to telling him her feelings.

  But she wouldn’t lay that kind of burden on his shoulders. He was meant for greater things.

  “You what?” He searched her face, frowning.

  “I-I overheard two of the demons talking. They said I’m supposed to be taken alive.” She swallowed, adding, “They said that just because I wasn’t supposed to be killed, that it didn’t mean they couldn’t have a little fun with me before they turned me over.”

  “I won’t let them get to you again, tá’hiri.” He brushed the hair from her brow, tracing the lines of her face with his steady gaze. “Swear to me you will never, never take these guard stones off again.”

  “I won’t take them off again. I promise,” she vowed, smoothing her fingertips along his cheek. How it was going to kill her to let him go. “Niklas—”

  His lips sealed over hers. The kiss was filled with desperate need. A need so jagged, so deep and consuming, she couldn’t defend against it. Her fingers tugged at the waist of his T-shirt, eager to feel his velvet skin once more. Lifting his arms, he let her draw his shirt up and over his head. His lips only left hers for the barest of moments before returning to ravish her senseless. And, although he could have vanished her clothing in a heartbeat, he took his time physically stripping each article away. Slowly. Methodically. Fingers stroking, lips and tongue sampling every inch he unveiled. Seducing her with every touch.

  Her nimble fingers coasted over his ridged stomach, skimmed over his hips, glided down the outside of his thighs. His jeans pooled around his ankl
es, and she couldn’t resist taking him in hand. Every steely inch of his length was rock hard and velvety smooth. With a stifled groan, he kicked off his pants, swept her up in his arms and turned to the bed, impatient now. But when he laid her down and bent over her, she planted her heels and pushed against his shoulder, toppling him onto his back. Tongue tangling with his, she straddled his waist, rolling with him.

  The engorged length of his erection throbbed, pulsing against her, fueling the fire in her blood. He arched his hips, rotated them, transparently doing his damnedest to slip inside her. But she moved with him, tantalizingly out of reach, prolonging his torture as she denied him entrance. His fingers dug into her hips as he battled to guide her. She gripped his shoulders, savoring the raw strength of him.

  She tore her lips from his, only to skate kisses along his jaw, nibble at his earlobe, nip at his neck. She pushed against his shoulders and leaned back to stare at him from beneath lowered lashes. His chest rose and fell on deep gasps for air. His pulse hammered at the base of his throat. Sliding her hands across his chest, she slipped her wet cleft along his manhood, smiling sensuously at the agonized groan she forced from him. And she savored the power of his desire.

  Now this was exhilarating.

  His eyes were dilated with passion. Hungry. Fixed on her. Burning her. Following her every move. The muscle running along his jaw leaped and bunched. His grip tightened and his muscles quivered beneath her touch.

  Her gaze slid to his chest. Her hands followed. Skimming. Savoring. Mouthwatering muscles wrapped around his shoulders and ran over his arms. They flexed, bunched, and her breathing grew that much faster. That much more labored. Beads of moisture prickled along his forehead. She knew he was battling for control. She’d never witnessed this level of desperation from him before.

  And he was losing the fight.

  Intoxicating.

  How close was he to losing it completely? How little effort would it take to push him over the edge? Between her thighs, his rigid staff pulsed and throbbed. Ground against her, slipping along the drenching wet heat of her body. How long could she prolong this? His hands flexed on her hips, slid up and around, down, converging on the sensitive nub at the apex of her thighs. His thumbs found her, stroking and slicking over her, and she lost the thread of her thoughts altogether.

  Sucking in a sharp breath, she reached behind her, arching her back as she braced her hands on his thighs. One of his thumbs continued to work over her as his hot, slightly-abrasive palm pushed—none-too-gently—up over her stomach and covered her breast. He tweaked her nipple, and her head fell back. Her eyes drifted closed. Her hips began to undulate of their own accord. Her quivering core slid over him, ground against him. Throbbing for relief. Aching. Hollow.

  Niklas shifted beneath her, sitting up. His lips found her nipple as the tip of his erection came close, oh, so close, to entering her. But not quite. He pulled his hips back, wrapping his arms around her waist as he drove her insane with his mouth. And suddenly he was the one tormenting her.

  Sinking her fingers into his hair, she moaned. She didn’t care about power anymore, or about who wielded it. She only wanted him. Inside her. Now.

  The thick head of his erection pressed to her core at last, slipped just inside her slick entrance. “I need you, ma’ilc cho’ckta.”

  She didn’t know what those words meant, but the fervor with which he whispered them against her skin set her blood on fire. He feathered burning kisses up her neck. He anchored one arm around her waist and cupped the back of her head, dragging her mouth down to his. “Please, Carly,” he whispered feverishly between soul-deep kisses, “let me in. Let me love you.”

  Why did those words feel so portentous, as if he were talking about far more than this moment in time?

  In reply, she tilted her hips and took him inside her in one long, mind-blowing thrust.

  His mouth fell open, his eyes rolled back in his head. A guttural sound escaped him as his arms clutched her so tightly she could barely breathe. She watched him, savoring his reaction. He filled her, stretched her, sent her head reeling and her body spiraling into ecstasy.

  This was what she’d been born to do, she realized dimly. She’d been born to love him, love Niklas and no other. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she poured her heart into her kiss, stunning him immobile.

  He pulled back, breaking the kiss to look up at her. Wonder shone in his eyes. And still she kept moving, kept the pressure building. She couldn’t stop now, couldn’t calm the emotion boiling through her any more than she could stop breathing. She rode him breathless.

  His hands trailed down her back and over her thighs, pulling her legs around him, guiding her until she locked her ankles behind him. This new position left her vulnerable, completely at his mercy. Niklas cupped her bottom, rocking her up and down his shaft on a slower, steadier rhythm. She could still feel the power pulsing inside him, the hungry greed. But somehow, after that initial thrust, he’d managed to harness it, focus it. He suckled at the side of her throat, murmuring words in a deep, dark, layered voice—words in the ancient demonic language she’d come to recognize.

  Moving so quickly she wasn’t sure if he’d flipped them over or simply shimmered them, Niklas pressed her back into the pillows. His muscular back flexed beneath her fingers. His hips rolled. Deep, powerful. Sublime. Fiercely controlled.

  Lines of strain etched his face as he peered down at her. His teeth were clenched. He held his body in strict check. His gaze was so serious, peering straight through to her soul. Oh, he was a sight to behold.

  And then he began to move with determined purpose. She was lost. The words slipped out despite her resolve. Words she knew better than to say. Carly was helpless, boneless. Mindless with need. The first crest of her orgasm peaked, shattering her. Sealing his mouth over hers, he swallowed her screams and followed her over the edge.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Once his heart was no longer in danger of exploding, he lifted his head from her shoulder. “What did you say?”

  She sprawled beneath him, unmoving, eyes closed. Only the rapid rise and fall of her chest indicated she was still in the land of the living.

  “Carly,” he demanded, pushing up on his elbows. He held her head between his hands, willing her to meet his gaze. He wouldn’t let the fact that he was still buried inside her, and still hard enough to take advantage of the situation, distract him. Hope, golden and warm, flooded his chest, making it difficult to draw sufficient breath. Had he heard her correctly?

  Had it only been wishful thinking on his part? He had to know.

  “What did you just say?”

  “Wh-what?” She pried her eyes open and peered up woozily at him. And then, it was as if understanding dawned. Her eyes slowly widened as her mouth fell open. She blinked, quickly trying to turn her head, trying to squirm away. “I didn’t…I don’t know what you’re—”

  “Oh, no you don’t,” he growled, capturing her chin, forcing her to look at him. “You said you love me.”

  She looked panicked, and vaguely ill.

  “Tá’hiri, say it again. Please.” Why he needed to hear it so badly he didn’t know. He knew she had feelings for him. He’d already made up his mind that he was going to keep her. But to know that she loved him as he loved her?

  His heart did wild cartwheels.

  She stared up at him, lips adamantly pressed closed, her expression filled with consternation, for so long that he nearly gave up hope.

  “All right, damn it,” she snapped ungraciously. “I fell in love with you, okay? I love you.” She pushed futilely at his shoulders, but he wasn’t about to budge. “I slipped, all right? Now just forget it.”

  “Slipped?” Baffled, he stared at the bewitching, bewildering minx. He’d never forget the sound of those three words coming from her precious lips, not if he lived a thousand years more.

  “
Yes,” she hissed. “But it doesn’t matter anyway.”

  “Doesn’t matter?” Shaking his head, he frowned at her now, pinning her hands to the mattress when she tried to shove him off and shamelessly using his body to hold her in place. “How can you say it doesn’t matter? It makes all the difference in the world.”

  “Well, it shouldn’t.” She closed her eyes but a tear slipped out.

  “Tá’hiri—”

  “No.” She scowled up at him. “I know there’s no future between us. But I won’t regret being with you, Niklas. Do you hear me? The one thing I learned in this life is to never live with regrets. To tell the ones you love that you love them. Oh, I tried not to love you. Lord help me, did I try.” And oh, was she mad about that. It was written all over her precious face. “But it was just no damned use. You wormed your way into my heart, and I haven’t been able to pull you back out. So okay. I love you. There, I said it. Now don’t go complicating things.”

  He could feel his expression melting. “Ma’ilc cho’ckta. I love you too. I want—”

  Eyes wide, she jerked her hand free and clamped her hand over his lips. “Don’t say that!”

  “Why not?” Niklas mumbled.

  “Because you can’t.”

  “I can, and I do,” he argued, shaking her hand off when she tried to muffle his declaration again.

  “No. You. Can’t,” she insisted frantically. “You’ve worked too long and too hard to give up now.”

  Give up? Not her too. “I haven’t given up anything.”

  “I refuse to stand between you and Heaven. Between you and God.” Shoving angrily at his shoulder, she finally succeeded in making him move.

  He rolled from her, dropped back against the pillows and pressed his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose. Carly scrambled from the bed and darted for the dresser.