The Seer: Chronicles of the Fallen, Book 2

by Brenda Huber

  When—not if—but when he lost her, would he even care about his immortal soul anymore? Would he revert to the demon he once was? A creature without mercy or conscience?

  No. Having found a woman like Carly, having his life touched by someone so innocent and pure, he doubted it was possible to return to what he once was. But would he care about returning to God’s grace either? Somehow, unsettling as the realization was, that goal no longer held the appeal it once had. Would he continue to save the innocent? Would he continue to take out any demons stupid enough to cross his path?

  Yes. Of course he would.

  But his priorities had subtly shifted. Without trying—probably without realizing it was even possible—she’d changed him, changed the very essence of who and what he was. He was no longer simply an Archangel cast from Heaven, looking for a way back. No longer a renegade demon escaped from Hell, doing his level best not to return there.

  He’d become a desperate male willing to do anything to protect his female.

  And with her death, he would he finally be defeated. Not by Lucifer and all his hordes. Not by his ceaseless quest for redemption. Not by temptation and weakness. Not by his other, darker side. But by the loss of this one, precious human female, and the loss of the connection he shared with her.

  Tilting her head, she rested her cheek against the top of his head. Unable to help himself, he nuzzled his face into the curve of her neck. Her fingers slipped through his hair. Tender. Soothing.

  God help him, because he knew, deep in the pit of his black soul, there would be no surviving the loss of her.

  Chapter Ten

  Carly wandered through the living room, taking in her surroundings as she made for the stairs. The kiss she’d just shared with Niklas, the precious moments she’d spent in his arms, weighed heavy on her mind. Yes, he’d made the first move, pulling her into his arms.

  There was no way to wrap it up with a pretty bow. No way to point fingers and cast blame. She’d kissed him. Plain and simple.

  And after that heart-fluttering kiss, he’d held her close, as if he couldn’t bear to be parted from her. She couldn’t find it in her to regret a second of it. No matter how badly it had complicated things.

  The place was fully furnished. In the living room, a brown plaid sofa and loveseat combo with matching recliner flanked a fieldstone fireplace with a big screen TV hanging above the mantel. The base of the lamp on the end table was fashioned from some kind of antler. The walls sported masculine, outdoorsy prints. Pictures of hunting lodges and Labrador retrievers. Lakeside cabins and ducks in flight. Shaking her head, she stopped to peer through an open door into a den of sorts.

  The masculine hunter motif had spilled into here as well, reflected in the artwork, the wallpaper and the furniture. Books filled the bookshelves along one wall—so many of them her head spun. The avid reader inside her gasped with joy. They were stacked haphazardly everywhere, both horizontal as well as vertical. Dog-eared. Tattered. Covers worn by time and use.

  Her first instinct was to check the titles. Search for something to sink into. Her second was to organize.

  She clamped down on those urges, reminding herself that she had priorities. Shower first. Food second. And then, God willing, rest. Later, provided some invading horde of demons didn’t set up camp on their front step, she’d come back and wallow to her heart’s content. Glancing around the room, she took in the heavy mahogany desk on one side of the room. A worn, navy armchair with a footrest in the opposite corner. A reading lamp.

  Everything she needed.

  Later, she reminded herself sternly. Later.

  Carly slipped inside the bedroom Niklas had indicated. A huge bed with a plain tan comforter. Matching curtains. A glossy, cherry wood dresser set. The walls were utilitarian, white, unadorned. The carpet beige. Not a drop of color to be had.

  And she found the clothing, just as he’d said she would. Spread out on the foot of the bed for her inspection. A red, cotton, V-necked T-shirt and a red, cotton-and-lace bra and panties set. Blue jean shorts. He’d even thought of strappy leather sandals with large rhinestone decorations. At least she’d thought they were rhinestones, until she got a closer look.

  Whoa! Not rhinestones.

  Shaking her head, she stepped into the bathroom. Spotless white tile. Black marble countertops. Gleaming silver fixtures. An array of soaps and shampoos, conditioners and lotions lined the counter. A stack of pristine, white, fluffy towels rested beside them.

  Definitely handy.

  A girl could get used to this kind of pampering. Now all she needed was a fruit basket and a mint on her pillow.

  Mints, hmm.

  Those little chocolate Andes mints sounded good right about now. A handful of them sprinkled over chocolate ice cream had always been her one weakness. Well, until she’d met a certain sexy demon. She’d mentioned her weakness to Niklas down in the kitchen earlier when her stomach had growled. Her weakness for ice cream with Andes mints, that was. Not her weakness for him.

  Though she was pretty sure he’d probably already picked up on that one himself. Shower first, then she’d remind Niklas that she needed something to eat.

  Finally relaxing for the first time in days, she selected shampoo, conditioner and soap. After setting the bottles on the ledge inside the shower, she frowned and picked up a large black bottle that was already there. Carly turned it in her hands and examined the label. Flipping the lid open, she sniffed.

  Niklas.

  Did this bedroom belong to him? That would certainly explain the Spartan décor and drab colors. No, not drab colors, she corrected herself. Calming colors. Soothing, neutral colors. Colors that wouldn’t overwhelm his senses considering his special gift.

  She took another sniff of his shower gel.

  Warmth, need trickled in through her nostrils and saturated her body. Disconcerted, she set the bottle aside and stripped down, dropped her clothes into a ball beside the door, and stepped beneath the steaming spray, chiding herself. He was a demon, one who had been working ceaselessly to regain entrance to Heaven. An affair with her would hardly be on his to-do list.

  And it shouldn’t be on hers either.

  But the memory of the kiss they’d shared buffeted her. Had it been merely an offer of comfort that had gotten out of hand? Had she read more into it than he’d intended?

  A short while later, showered and refreshed, lathered in sweet-smelling lotion, Carly stepped from the bathroom. Her wet hair clung to her cheeks and neck, dripping onto her bare shoulders. Guessing Niklas would be growing impatient, she scrambled to dress. The last thing she needed was for him to come searching for her. The towel she wore offered little in the way of resistance, to either of them.

  She found Niklas sitting in the living room watching the news in Spanish. He’d also showered and was wearing a fresh pair of jeans. No shirt. She stepped closer, ready to tease him over his seeming preference to go shirtless. Until she caught sight of his burns.

  Gasping, she hurried to his side. “Criminy, Niklas! Why didn’t you say something?”

  “I’ll heal,” he remarked, his attention torn between her and the news broadcaster. The announcer’s face blinked off—though his voice continued to drone on as grisly picture of a small village filled the screen. Rough wooden structures—now burned-out shells—smoked, charred black by fire.

  Turning from the disturbing images, Carly examined the burns on Niklas’s skin close up, horrified at the sheer damage his flesh had sustained. Stepping around him, she gasped again, staring at his back.

  “Oh, Niklas. You should have told me. These should have been cleaned and treated before I worried about a shower.”

  Without waiting for a reply, she hurried back upstairs to the bathroom and rummaged for a first aid kit. Nothing. She hesitated for a moment, and then dashed into one of the other bedrooms and darted into its adjoining b
ath, feeling no guilt at all in her ruthless search. It was for Niklas, she justified. A few moments later, she returned, arms loaded with supplies. He watched her, impassive, motionless. She spread her supplies out on the glass-topped coffee table and sorted until she found burn salve.

  Taking a seat on the sofa beside him, she briskly ordered, “Turn.”

  “This isn’t necessary. The burns will heal quickly now that I’ve taken the…ah, the medicine.”

  “Medicine? You mean the green stuff I mixed for you? It wasn’t some homeopathic remedy,” she stated flatly. “That was more black magic woo-woo stuff, wasn’t it?”

  “I figured taking a ‘don’t ask don’t tell’ approach was safer.”

  Her lips thinned. “Turn,” she insisted. “Humor me.”

  Heaving a sigh, he did as she asked, presenting her with his back. Carly gaped. Her anger over the use of potentially dangerous, evil magic was forgotten. In the short time it had taken her to retrieve the first aid kit, the blisters had already disappeared. While his skin was still an angry, raw red, it no longer looked quite so ghastly. She gingerly spread the salve over his wounds nonetheless.

  “Why did you have to burn the bodies in the park, when the demons in my house exploded and turned to ash?”

  He held himself rigid beneath her ministrations, and her heart went out to him.

  The pain these burns must be causing—

  “The earthbound legion in the park, they were possessions, Carly. Demon-possessed humans,” he answered in controlled, even tones. “The ones in your house were demons sent straight from the bowels of Hell. True demons capable of shimmering, hurling plasma balls, and all the rest. Disposal methods are different depending on the…ah, circumstances.”

  “Why did we stop at so many churches when you were shimmering us here?” Careful to keep her touch light, she smoothed the ointment over his abused skin. Though his muscles were rigid, his skin twitched with every stroke of her fingers. It bothered her that he was in such obvious pain.

  “You ask too many questions,” Niklas snapped, and it became clear he hadn’t liked that particular question at all.

  “My questions haven’t bothered you before, unless you’re uncomfortable with the answer. Do you realize we popped—shimmered,” she corrected before he could, “to seven different churches? But we never went inside a single one?”

  He was silent so long she didn’t think he would respond. She’d finished with his back and moved around to tend the wound on his shoulder.

  “I need to call Xander. I haven’t been able to get through to Sebastian or Gideon, and the others need to know—”

  “You can change the subject, but here’s something to think about,” she interrupted, losing patience as she tossed the tube of ointment into the plastic case. “You ask an awful lot, but you give precious little in return.”

  “Just drop it—”

  “No! You expect too much, Niklas.”

  He immediately bristled. Glancing down, he stared pointedly at the burns marring his flesh. “I think I’ve more than—”

  “I’m not trying to belittle what you have given. I appreciate your protection. But I’m talking about all the rest. You’ve dumped all this on me, demons and angels. And I’ve rolled with the punches. Magic crystals and grimoires and mystical rituals. Demon battles in my damned kitchen, for God’s sake!”

  That brought waves of anger and sadness deeper than she’d thought possible. Pictures. Souvenirs. Memories. All gone. Her last connections to her parents and her uncle.

  “I’ve taken it all in stride. Pretty damned well, if you ask me.” She jabbed a finger at him. “I haven’t wigged out yet. Yet, being the operative word there. You expect me to trust you. And I do, despite what common sense might dictate. But you won’t trust me.” Frustrated, she sat back on her heels and stared up at him, her hand resting on his knee. Softly, she pleaded, “Why?”

  Why wouldn’t he talk about the churches?

  Why wouldn’t he trust her?

  He stared down at her. Silent. Giving nothing away.

  “Fine. Keep your damned secrets.” Heaving a disgusted sigh, she shook her head and pushed to her feet. Angry now—hurt for reasons she didn’t care to examine—she threw the rest of the supplies back in the kit and slammed the lid closed. As she turned away, he grabbed her wrist.

  “If you were a demon,” he burst out, “would you risk entering God’s house? Would you deliberately provoke His wrath?” He released her and turned to the fireplace. “I miss the tranquility. The gentle, easy silence. I miss sitting and looking upon his altar. I miss the scent of incense and beeswax candles. I miss contact with Him.”

  He was quiet for a moment, though he continued to hold her wrist in a loose grip. She could easily have broken his hold, but the despair, the utter loneliness etched in every line of his expression held her motionless. She just couldn’t bring herself to turn her back on him.

  “I do trust you, tá’hiri. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have brought you here,” he said quietly. “I would never have bound us together. Though I’ve probably damned you now as well. It was a selfish thing to do. I had no right to do it.”

  “Then why did you?”

  He stared at her so long, she gave up hope that he might answer. “I could tell you it was the only way I could think of to keep you alive.”

  “Was it?”

  Guilt was written all over his face now. “Maybe.”

  “Then why do you say it was a selfish thing to do?”

  “Because I wanted the connection to you,” he blurted. As if finally realizing what he’d admitted, he released her and stepped back. “Sometimes I wonder what the point in all of this is, this working for forgiveness. The things I’ve done…” He shook his head, a deep groove forming between his brows. “I’ll never be able to make up for them.”

  His soft, hopeless words, and his unwilling admission, cooled her temper as little else could. Dropping to her knees before him, she ignored his impatient, embarrassed withdrawal and clasped his face between her hands. Forcing him to look at her, she stared long and hard into his glacier-blue eyes.

  “You are a demon, Niklas,” she said matter-of-factly. “But you are not evil.” One hand slipped down to his chest to cover his heart. “Not anymore. Not here. Not where it matters.”

  He opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off before he could utter a sound. “No, you listen for a change.” With her hand still resting upon his chest, she held the pendant on her necklace up. “This pendant? It’s supposed to protect me from evil, right? If that’s so, if they truly work as you believe they will, then how could you be this close to me? How could you touch me if you were truly evil? I refuse to believe it, Niklas.” Before he could repudiate her claim, she took his hand, pressed it to her chest, over her own heart. “I would feel it here.”

  Shocked by her own boldness, she let go of him. But his hand lingered on her chest. He stroked her collarbone, holding her trapped with that simple touch, barely able to breathe. His stare whispered over her lips, as substantial as a physical caress. And then his attention dipped, followed the lazy strokes of his fingertips.

  Without warning, he wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and her lips were crushed beneath his. No gentle kiss, this. This was urgent. This was possession.

  This demanded absolute submission.

  His lips moved over hers, determined, tolerating nothing but surrender. Heat roared through her. Wave after wave of desire hit her, hard and fast. His hair, like damp silk, tangled around her fingers. His scalp was so warm.

  She pressed closer. Couldn’t get close enough. His hand slipped down until his hot palm cradled her breast. His thumb rubbed back and forth over her nipple, tormenting her with sensation. Moaning, she gripped him tighter. His tongue plunged into her mouth, over and over, sweeping against hers, drawing hers into h
is mouth. Suckling. Dueling. He changed the angle of the kiss. Deepening it until it spun out of control.

  His arm snaked around her waist and he lifted her onto his lap, supporting her, pulling her closer. Frantic. Desperate. Need built. Hunger roared. Control snapped. Desire shattered his restraint. He gripped her knee, guiding it up and around his hip. Taking his lead, she straddled him, pinning his hips between her thighs. Writhing against him, Carly ground her aching core along the rigid arousal straining the confines of his jeans. Her body was no longer her own. Her will had been hijacked by raw, greedy lust.

  His skin was so hot. Everywhere she touched, everywhere her fingertips skated. Every decadent inch of his naked flesh. His teeth snagged on her lower lip, gently nipping and tugging. And then his kisses, so incredibly possessive, branded the side of her throat. Searing. Torrid.

  He splayed his hands and slid them up over her back. Niklas rolled his hips against her, increasing the friction. His ragged breath seared her skin. Oh, it felt delicious. He swirled his tongue over her neck, licking, suckling, lapping, dragging a delirious groan from her as she shivered.

  Fast. This was happening too fast, but she couldn’t control it, couldn’t slow it down. Didn’t want to. She’d been hollow. Empty inside. And he could fill her. Not just the ache in the most feminine part of her, but that other void deep inside her heart as well. The void that made her feel all alone, even in a room full of other people.

  Hot, calloused palms swept against her skin. Her bare skin. Her shirt was suddenly gone. And her bra. Vanished into thin air. The startling realization hit her, made her surface from the dizzying desire long enough to question it. But then his hot mouth cruised along the slope of her collarbone, and she forgot all about clothing. He hooked his hands around her shoulders, pulling her back, holding her slightly off balance, supporting her weight on his forearms as he bent over her. Tongue swirling, he drew her nipple into his mouth.

  Fire coursed through her veins. Need, as she’d never imagined existed. Too much. Her need. But his also.