by Brenda Huber
Not even the fires of Hell will keep this demon from his mate.
Chronicles of the Fallen, Book 2
All whisper his name in fear, for The Seer was the right hand of Lucifer, the Collector of Souls. Condemned by Heaven, a fugitive from Hell, Niklas’s only hope for salvation lies in protecting the innocent from demons bent on ravaging mankind
After uncovering a plot to overthrow Lucifer, Niklas and his compatriots scramble to retrieve crucial Sacred Relics before the plot’s mastermind gets to them. For if Lucifer falls, so too shall fall the barriers between Earth and Hell.
Carly Danner’s life is turned upside down when she stumbles upon a demon summoning, plunging her into a dangerous realm of temptation and forbidden love. Left with no choice, she must trust the most unlikely of protectors, a darkly sensual demon with a fearsome reputation.
As the tangled web of desire and betrayal draws her deeper, Carly walks a blurred line between good and evil. And Niklas must decide if redemption is worth losing the woman who stole his heart.
Warning: Contains a demon willing to put the world at risk for the love of one woman, and an innocent human who would sell her soul to save the demon she can’t live without. And so continues the journey of six fallen demons and the women who capture their hearts.
The Seer
Brenda Huber
Dedication
I would like to dedicate this book to my circle of friends: Angie Kintzle, Kris Ostwald, Kim Meyer, Amber Wolter, Kim Sass…you all are my rocks, my sympathetic ears, my comic relief and my partners in crime. Thank you for always being there…and always being as crazy as I am.
You believe that there is one God. Good! Even the demons believe that—and shudder.
—James 2:19
“Nietzsche once said, ‘If you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.’…I am the abyss.”
—Niklas
Chapter One
The scent of smoke and sulfur tickled her nose. Flinching, Carly turned her head in a vain attempt to evade the acrid smell. Her head throbbed. Her mouth was dry. No, something dry was in her mouth.
A gag? Why am I gagged?
Splaying her fingers, she gripped the rough bark pressing against her back. Rope, thin but unforgiving, bit into her flesh just below her breasts and across her stomach, binding her wrists tight enough to threaten her circulation. Woozy, she struggled to focus. Wiggling her wrists and squirming gained her no freedom.
What happened to me?
Oh, her head hurt.
This was bad. Really bad.
Why was it so difficult to focus?
Slowly, she forced her eyes open. Flames—blurry at first, then brighter—leaped before her. The heat of the fire warmed her bare legs, licked invitingly at her chest, neck and face, despite the chill of foreboding settling into her bones. Bodies swayed and gyrated. Dark shadows danced across a brilliant orange and yellow canvas. A twisted, impossible form came into view. Goat legs, horns, a slithering forked tongue, furry yet humanlike upper body. And the monster, the one she’d heard the others call “Master”.
It all came back in a jolt of sudden recognition and awareness.
She’d been walking home, taking the same route past the park that she’d taken a hundred other times. They’d come at her from every direction, melting from the shadows like the boogeymen of nightmares. She’d run. She’d thought she’d escaped.
But she hadn’t. They’d only been toying with her, letting her exhaust herself before they moved in for the bag and tag. There was a large gap in her memory that was more than a little unsettling. But her current circumstances took precedence over what may or may not have happened after they’d knocked her out.
She’d been gagged and trussed to a tree, a sacrificial lamb waiting to be slaughtered. And the creatures dancing around her defied explanation. When they’d burst from the trees, she’d assumed—as any sane person would—that they were wearing costumes. Elaborate, grotesque costumes.
Now she could see they weren’t costumes at all.
“No,” she tried to scream. The putrid gag prevented anything but muted garble from escaping. “Let me go,” she mumbled, struggling against her bonds with renewed purpose. But the more she fought, the more the ropes bit into her flesh.
The creatures had resumed their dancing and chanting with frenetic vigor and ignored her. A flutter of diaphanous white caught her attention. A woman lay sprawled in the grass a few yards away, unmoving, eyes closed. The Master gave a jerk of his head and snarled something in a language she couldn’t understand. The dancers swarmed over the unconscious woman. They fell upon her like a pack of feral animals lost to a ravenous frenzy and tore her to shreds with bared teeth, slurping and suckling at the crimson flow of her blood.
Gagging, Carly scrunched her eyes closed and whipped her head to the side. But she could not strike the image from her mind so easily. That sight would haunt her for the rest of her days. Not that she expected to live much longer, all things considered.
And then she felt it. The Master’s presence in front of her. Too terrified not to look, she opened her eyes and faced him. He wasn’t human. Of that she had little doubt. He dwarfed her by a solid two and a half feet, if not more, and had to outweigh her by at least two hundred pounds. He was enormous.
The Master began chanting; his voice was unimaginably deep, layered as if multiple voices spoke in unison. The words he uttered were a jumble of syllables and grunts, but his intonation held a discernible, mesmerizing rhythm now. And more than a little smug pleasure.
At his sharp command, the frenzied creatures ceased their feeding with swift obedience. The group scuttled back, but Carly couldn’t bring herself to look at the woman—or rather what was left of her. She didn’t dare glance away from the cold, black eyes staring down at her.
The Master stretched out an enormous hand and slowly lifted a lock of Carly’s hair. He examined the shoulder-length tresses for a moment before flicking her hair away with idle indifference.
The tip of his cold, black claw skated down the side of her neck, and paused at the base of her throat where her pulse pounded erratically. He gave a deft twist of his wrist and searing pain scored her flesh. Just a scratch, but the wound burned as if splashed with rubbing alcohol. As if he had all the time in the world, the Master raised the talon in front of her face. His tongue slithered out, and he licked her blood from the claw, his expression grotesquely blissful.
Tears of terror welled, blurring her vision. But she was made of stronger stuff than that. Forcing steel into her spine, Carly blinked the tears away and thrust her chin up. This beast would feed off her fear as the others had fed off that poor woman’s flesh and blood. She’d be damned if she’d give him the satisfaction.
He lowered his razor-sharp claw and paused at the first button on her blouse. He watched her with an evil, lecherous gaze, pushing her for a response, waiting to feed on her fear. With another flick of his claw, the Master sent the small button flying. Her blouse sagged open. Another flick, another button. Slow. Torturous. But she refused to respond. Refused to react. Those cold, black eyes narrowed as he surveyed all that he’d uncovered. His breathing changed subtly, coming faster now. His interest had finally been stirred. By her rebellion or by her body, she couldn’t say. It didn’t really matter. Either way she wanted nothing to do with what she’d unintentionally sparked in him. Carly pressed her head back against the tree. A lone tear slipped past her control, sliding down her cheek.
Her flesh crawled as a thick finger slipped under t
he edge of her blouse, sliding the thin material out of the way, first one side, and then the other. Soon the pale pink lace of her bra was the only thing concealing her breasts from the Master’s lewd stare. Trembling, Carly shook her head and a whimper escaped her, a mute plea the Master ignored. His intentions were clear, and she gagged again.
Death might be better than what this monster’s lust-filled obsidian eyes promised.
That long, black talon skimmed over the curve of her breast and down her stomach, and stopped just inside the edge of the waistband of her shorts. She no longer trembled. Instead, she shook like a tree in the aftershocks of an earthquake. Her heart pounded so hard, she wondered how it hadn’t already exploded.
A bloodcurdling roar tore through the unnatural silence. A roar worthy of a feral, rabid beast. Carly jolted against her restraints and jerked her head around, looking for the source of that God-awful sound. The Master froze. His black eyes widened. His body tensed. And then he vanished, only to reappear on the other side of the bonfire, a dozen feet away, feet braced apart, arms spread as if preparing for attack. Carly gaped, not believing her own eyes.
How had he…?
Another dark roar split the night. The Master crouched in a battle stance, jerking his head around as he too searched the shadows. His otherworldly eyes narrowed and he surveyed his minions, as if counting how many obstacles stood between him and whatever it was that had made that horrendous sound. What could make this monstrous beast react like a cornered rabbit?
The air blurred, distorted. Another monster appeared not three feet from her, wavering into reality, like a desert mirage taking form. This monster was more frightening than the first, if that were possible.
Short, thick, slightly curved, black horns sprouted from either side of his head. Wicked, black claws tipped each finger, and vicious fangs—longer and thicker than the Master’s—gleamed in the firelight. His skin was jet black, from the top of his bare head to the waist of his ragged, tight jeans. His shoulders were massive, his arms and thighs bulged with raw strength.
Defined ridges of muscle roped across his stomach, disappearing into the narrow waistband of his jeans. Red runes glowed upon his flesh—strange symbols she’d not seen before—as if lit from within, pulsing with a life of their own.
Tied as she was with her arms behind her, Carly plastered herself to the tree, eyes wide. Fear choked her silent as she struggled to make herself smaller, praying this new threat wouldn’t notice her.
The newcomer glanced down at the ravaged body near the bonfire. His nostrils flared, his brow crushed together in a harsh scowl. Then his gaze slid to Carly.
She swore, in that sliver of time, her heart stopped dead. Simply ceased to beat.
His eyes arrested her. They were brittle chips of ice blue, pure as a cloudless summer sky. His unwanted attention raked over her, pausing for a moment on her exposed, heaving chest. A low, appreciative growl rumbled in his throat, like the deep snarl of a lion. Sparks of interest flared in the icy depths as he devoured her with his stare.
But then the Master moved, shifted to the side as if he intended to flee. The newcomer’s eyes changed, burning fiercely as he turned to the Master and then to the minions cowering around the fire. Throwing his head back, taking her by surprise, the newcomer let out a savage roar. Balls of pulsing yellow liquid-like energy suddenly danced above his palms as he faced off against the Master. Challenging. Lethal.
The Master’s followers scattered in a crazed flurry. Some scurried to their overlord, seeking protection. Others fled into the night. A brave few rushed forth to face the newcomer. The Master turned upon those who fled or sought his protection, cutting them down with great sweeps of his massive arm and lethal slashes of his deadly claws.
The Master’s loyal minions shrieked as they hurled themselves at the dark newcomer. He took two of them out with glowing orbs of pulsing yellow plasma. Screaming, they fell to the ground, engulfed in flames. He stepped over one writhing figure with casual disregard, batting others aside like nuisance insects.
The sight of him as he crashed through the bonfire, unscathed, left Carly in an odd state of shock. He looked like a nightmare called forth from the bowels of Hell. Something born of brimstone and hellfire. A whirlwind of sparks shot into the dark sky as he left a trail of branches and thick, burning logs in his wake. Carly watched, helpless, as the two monsters faced off, head to head. Roars and bellows rent the night. Massive fists pulverized flesh. Blood sprayed. Though they rolled through the fire, the blistering heat didn’t appear to affect either of them. Claws slashed, fangs snapped, blood ran.
Carly gaped in horror, tugging frantically at her restraints. Her wrists burned where the ropes cut her skin, and still she struggled, beyond desperate to slip away while the two were locked in battle.
The dark fiend landed a particularly vicious blow, sending the Master flying through the air. He crashed into a huge tree, snapping it in half. Chunks of bark and massive splinters exploded into the air around them.
And then the Master was gone, vanishing before her eyes.
The dark fiend slammed his fist into an enormous boulder, cracking it right down the middle. A frustrated snarl tore from deep in his chest. Carly scanned the small clearing. Not a single one of the Master’s followers had survived.
She remained to face the beast alone, tied to a tree. Unable to run. Helpless.
And then he turned to her. He was every bit as terrifying as the Master. His focus dipped to her chest, lingered, heated as he closed the distance between them. And he purred that lion’s growl again. Lifting a huge hand, he cradled the side of her head with unexpected tenderness, his gaze probing.
“Do not be afraid, tá’hiri,” he growled around those huge fangs. His voice was deep and layered as well, the words tripping from his tongue as if the language were foreign and unwieldy. The timbre of his voice stole through her, soothed her, lulling her into compliance despite all common sense.
“It is best that you sleep now,” he commanded. “Do not fear. I will keep you safe.”
Carly blinked against the hypnotic pull of those odd, pale blue eyes. And then out of nowhere, a huge fist clipped her chin. Fear abandoned her. Terror had no hold upon her. Not anymore. Darkness swam over her vision. Her eyes slid closed, and she sagged against her bonds.
Chapter Two
Niklas sat on the edge of the scarred coffee table and stared at the unconscious woman on his sofa. Lost in thought, he lifted a towel to his head and rubbed the moisture from his hair. He’d worried she might wake up before he was through with his shower, but it looked as if he’d hurried for nothing. She hadn’t moved a muscle since he’d laid her on the couch.
He grimaced when he spied the bruise forming on the ridge of her jaw. She was far more delicate than he’d thought. Unable to resist the temptation, he trailed his fingers from her temple to her jaw and down the length of her throat. Warm. Soft. Creamy perfection. He gritted his teeth as rivers of lust surged through his blood and jerked his hand back as if he’d been burned. Best not to touch her anymore. He didn’t dare stretch his already tenuous control.
The air around her pulsated a soft, peaceful white. She wasn’t ready to wake yet. Probably just as well. He needed a few moments to marshal his wayward thoughts. He’d had several unexpected surprises tonight. Not the least of them her.
Or rather, his reaction to her.
Sighing, he pinched his thumb and forefinger on the bridge of his nose. A dull throb persisted just behind his eyes and at the base of his skull, as it always did whenever he went demonic. He would deal with the headache. He’d rather fight in demonic form. Though it constantly—painfully—regenerated, his human body sustained damage too easily.
He just couldn’t maintain demonic form for very long. The allure of staying demonic—the appeal of giving in to sinful depravation—was too powerful. He’d tossed back a few Tylenol on the
way out of the bathroom. He’d count himself lucky if the pills took the jagged edges off the migraine he had tonight. Usually, a good day’s sleep would cure him, but he didn’t have time for that luxury now.
He had traps to set, demons to kill.
And now a woman to protect.
The woman in question drew a deep breath, shifting. He opened his eyes to gauge her aura. Still white. She shifted again, restless, and the gape in her shirt sagged open. Groaning, he forced himself to look away, but he found himself drawn back to her creamy flesh time and time again.
Pressing a fist to his aching forehead, he held himself in rigid check. He would not do this. He wouldn’t listen to that dark, layered voice of sin echoing in the back of his mind. He would not give in. He’d fought too hard, come too far to fall back to his old ways now.
His body continued to respond to her, despite his best efforts to curb his desire. That fact alone left him shaken to the core. He needed to get his mind off her. Now. He glanced around the tiny apartment, taking in the full-size bed in the corner—the sheet and blankets were a jumbled mess, one corner trailing onto the floor. The single, balled-up pillow made the bed look all the more desolate. He’d grown used to the isolation. Used to sleeping alone. He’d been sleeping alone for almost two hundred earthbound years now. Denying himself the pleasures of the flesh had been one of the more difficult aspects of his penance. But he’d managed.
Of course, he’d never chanced upon a woman this beautiful before. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something about her drew him like a moth to a flame. Was it only skin deep? Or had it been the way she’d resisted the fear and raised her stubborn little chin in defiance of Ronové? Whatever it was, he couldn’t shake it.
Seeking a safer train of thought, he surveyed the kitchenette. A small, dented, dorm-size fridge hummed softly in the opposite corner, near the single-basin sink. It was, he knew, nearly empty. He only kept it stocked with essentials for times like this, when his head was already throbbing too much and his concentration was too jumbled for him to conjure anything else. He’d just have to wait ’til she woke up, and then—somehow—he’d manage to call forth whatever she requested. Provided his head hadn’t rolled from his body by then.