The Seer: Chronicles of the Fallen, Book 2

by Brenda Huber

  Another long silence.

  “Not this time. I don’t want money.” Apprehension balled in Niklas’s gut. Asher’s only god was cold, hard currency. But he didn’t want gold for this? Hell and damnation. Niklas chewed the inside of his lower lip when Asher continued. “Someday, I’m gonna ask a favor from you. It’s gonna be big. And you’re gonna give me exactly what I want, no qualifications. No questions asked.”

  Dangerous as hell.

  Asher was one ruthless SOB with no loyalties to anyone save himself. A cutthroat mercenary who sold his vast array of services to the highest bidder, regardless of which side of Hell they resided on. Kidnappings, coups, theft—though never of the petty variety as only those that could pay exorbitant prices could afford him—extortion, assassinations and flat-out murder. Those morally questionable activities and more factored among Asher’s specialized talents.

  What’s more, Asher could go where Niklas and his legion could not. He could pass through nests without anyone giving it a second thought. While a return trip to Hell meant a certain, immediate and extremely painful death to Niklas and his companions, Asher could swagger straight into Lucifer’s hall on pretenses of “business” and no one would bat an eye.

  And, depending on how you chose to view it, Asher had one more point in his favor. He wasn’t squeamish. He did whatever it took—whatever it took—to get the job done.

  Asher never failed.

  Rumor had it he’d even stolen an angel right out of Heaven, wrapped her up in a bow and hand delivered her to Lucifer himself.

  Niklas had considered using Asher’s services to capture Ronové right after he’d initially saved Carly, but then discarded the idea as unnecessary. Niklas had thought he’d have plenty of time to capture Ronové himself. Now, casting a glance at the ceiling, he weighed his options as despair ate a hole in his heart. Now he just wanted it finished. It didn’t matter what marker Asher called in. If Niklas had lost Carly…well, then, he’d already lost everything. What else was there to lose?

  “Deal.”

  “Blood oath?” A white scroll appeared before him.

  “Blood oath,” Niklas vowed. He spread the scroll open and scanned the contents. Clear-cut. Precise. No loopholes. That was Asher for you. Satisfied, he pierced his thumb with his switchblade and pressed his bloodied thumbprint at the bottom of the parchment. The scroll immediately disappeared.

  “He’ll be there,” Asher said. And then the phone went dead.

  Shoving the device into his back pocket, Niklas paced the kitchen. Every now and then, sounds of movement came from overhead. Absently, Niklas rubbed at the ache in his chest.

  Memories assailed him. The time they’d shared in the meadow. The intimacy. Her expression when she’d spoken of her family. The pain and fear in her eyes when she’d talked about losing them. The same fear that had glimmered in her eyes when she’d told Niklas that they could have no future together.

  She loved him, damn it. She did. She’d admitted as much.

  She was just afraid of losing him. Afraid he’d leave her as her family had done. And she’d somehow managed to convince herself that if he stayed with her, he’d never be accepted back into God’s grace. Niklas slammed his fist into his palm, ground flesh against flesh. Gnashing his teeth, he stormed from one end of the room to the other.

  Then more memories filled his head. Her voice, crying his name in the throes of her surrender. The expression on her face in those heady moments while their bodies were joined. The soft lines of her face as she slept, head resting on his chest, sated with their lovemaking.

  No, he wouldn’t give up so easily.

  He wouldn’t let her drive him away. Much as it abraded his sense of self-awareness, she’d been right. About some things, at least. She’d been right when she’d said he hadn’t forgiven himself for the things he’d done after his fall. He wasn’t sure if he ever would, for he’d done truly atrocious things.

  But that didn’t mean he couldn’t change. That didn’t mean he couldn’t be what she needed. He wouldn’t let it end like this. He was keeping her, damn it. No more second-guessing for either of them. No more excuses. No more denial.

  He wasn’t going to let her get away. Not like this. One way or another, he would make her see she belonged to him. That they were going to be together.

  With renewed determination, he shimmered into the bedroom. Carly had drawn the drapes. She lay on her side on the bed, curled into a tiny ball. Her slight shoulders shook.

  “Tá’hiri,” he called softly, lowering himself to the bed beside her. He settled his hand on her hip.

  She rolled away, scooting back against the headboard, refusing to meet his gaze. “I think”—she hiccupped, shoving a palm across her cheek—“we’ve said all that needs to be said.”

  “Not even close.” He slid closer, then stopped, frustrated when she slid farther away. At this rate, she was going to end up on the floor. Holding his palms up, he motioned his acquiescence. “Okay, I won’t come any closer. Just listen, all right?”

  “Please, please don’t do this, Niklas. Don’t make this any more difficult than it already is.”

  He conjured a box of Kleenex and offered it to her. She snatched one out, and pressed it to her nose as she accepted the box with her free hand.

  “I won’t let you go like this, tá’hiri.” He clenched his hands into fists on his lap to keep from reaching for her. And he deliberately kept his voice calm and gentle, but oh so determined. “I refuse to believe that God would be so cruel as to give you to me, only to yank you away like this.”

  “God? God didn’t—” She sputtered, gaping at him through wide, red-rimmed, swollen eyes.

  “Yes, He did,” he argued. “He works in mysterious ways, remember? I believe He gave you to me. I’m meant to protect you. To keep you safe. You are my mate. But more than that, I’m meant to cherish you. And to love you.”

  “Oh, don’t twist this around.” She sobbed, burying her face in her hands.

  “What if you are my second chance, tá’hiri? What if you’re His reward for all I’ve done, all the lives I’ve saved and all the good I’ve done since becoming earthbound? Would you deny me that?”

  That gave her pause. Hope soared, only to smash against the hard wall of her stubborn denial. Shaking her head, she mumbled against her palms, “You’re only seeing what you want to see. You’re not being fair. How can you—”

  He snatched her hands from her face and held her wrists. “Would you stop being so damn hardheaded?”

  How he wanted to shake her.

  “I won’t give you up.” He glared into her eyes, fierce. Unbending. “You are mine, and I won’t lose you—” Niklas felt a familiar chill skate up the back of his neck. Carly’s eyes went wide, and she let out a bloodcurdling scream.

  Heaving a frustrated sigh, Niklas barked over his shoulder, “Couldn’t you wait for me in the kitchen?”

  Mikhail’s response wasn’t exactly fit for polite company.

  Thankfully, Carly had ceased screaming. But her mouth continued to hang open. And she hadn’t blinked.

  “Breathe,” he reminded her, clamping down on the urge to roll his eyes.

  He lifted her chin with the back of his knuckle to close her mouth before twisting around to glare at Mikhail. “As you can see, I’m a little busy—sweet Christ, couldn’t you have at least stopped by your own room long enough to take a shower and clean up?”

  Mikhail appeared to glower at him. Forbidding. Deadly. Then again, that was Mikhail’s normal expression. Easily closing in on seven feet tall, Mikhail’s frame was packed with lean muscle. Bald. Tattooed. Heavily scarred from a battle with a nest of Ralsha Demons—acid-spitting, bat-like creatures covered with pus pockets filled with poison. His clothing was charred…and still smoking in places. Blood splattered his face, neck and chest. His right hand was liberally coated
with the viscous fluid. He looked as if he were fresh from the battle.

  Niklas sighed. At least he’d come in human form.

  Mikhail opened his mouth to reply, no doubt with another offensive, provoking comment, when Niklas’s phone began to ring. Mercenary’s “Endless Fall.”

  “Damn, that was fast.” At Mikhail’s lifted eyebrow, Niklas absently remarked, “I contracted Asher to bring Ronové in. If I’d known he’d work so quickly, I’d have contracted him way before now.”

  Carly slid off the bed and eased closer to the door. Cursing, Niklas shimmered to her side and latched on to her wrist as he flipped the phone to his ear. “Yeah?”

  “The package has been delivered. Sorry, I’m fresh out of bows.”

  “We’ll be right there.”

  Turning his focus to Mikhail, he shoved the phone into his pocket. “Asher has Ronové at the old warehouse on the outskirts of Ridgefield. Call the others and have them meet us there.”

  Mikhail’s frosty gaze swept to Carly, then fell to where Niklas held her wrist firmly manacled in his hand. One eyebrow slowly arched. He let out a long, slow breath. And then he disappeared.

  “Wh-who was that?”

  “Mikhail.”

  “War, right?” Her voice shook, and Niklas could have kicked Mikhail for his tactless entrance.

  “War,” he confirmed.

  Drawing an unsteady breath, she tugged at her wrist. He refused to relinquish it. Pulling her around to face him, he anchored a hand on her waist. She opened her mouth to protest, but he quickly sealed his lips over hers.

  But she was ready for this tactic and jerked her head back before he could sweep her away on a rising tide of passion.

  “Niklas, that’s not going to change my mind,” she warned, shoving at his chest. But he was undaunted. He released her wrist, sank his fingers into her hair, and cupped the back of her head, holding her still for his ruthless invasion.

  Her mouth clamped tight. He nibbled. He teased. He feathered kisses across her lips, coaxing them to soften, tempting them to open. The moment she acquiesced, he swept his tongue inside her mouth and poured every ounce of emotion boiling inside him into his kiss.

  Before long, she clung to him, kissing him back with equal fervor. Soon, they were both breathless and needy. One heartbeat away from falling back into bed.

  Reluctant, Niklas drew back. Cupping her cheeks, he stared deep into her beguiling eyes, pleased to see his kiss had left her bemused. “This isn’t over, Carly. We aren’t over.” He couldn’t resist one last, intense brush of his lips against hers. “I. Will. Not. Lose. You.”

  Carly rubbed trembling hands up and down her arms. That had gone wrong. All wrong. And now, somehow, he’d managed to shake her resolve. And who could blame her? She couldn’t think straight when he kissed her like that.

  What if you are my second chance, tá’hiri? What if you’re His reward for all I’ve done, all the lives I’ve saved and all the good I’ve done since becoming earthbound? Would you deny me that?

  She tried to tell herself that he’d only said those things to get his way. But it was difficult to ignore his arguments, especially when they gave her exactly what she wanted as well.

  Damn it. He didn’t fight fair.

  And now here she was, more confused than ever. What if he was right?

  She wrenched the door open, tromped down the stairs and made a beeline for the kitchen. Tea. She needed a nice, strong cup of tea and a good book. That always settled her. She’d read for a while, let her brain clear out—and her blood cool—and then she’d be better able to consider the situation.

  In short order, she curled up on the sofa with a suspense novel and a cup of herbal tea. It didn’t take long to realize her usual escape just wasn’t going to cut it. Already on chapter three, she couldn’t remember anything she’d already read. She closed the book with a huff and picked up her tea.

  Ugh, too sweet.

  She must not have been paying attention to how much sugar she’d dumped in.

  Dissatisfied, restless, she set the cup aside as well and pushed to her feet. Prowling around the living room, she debated whether it would be a good idea to go for a walk. She ought to be safe enough. After all, there were numerous ward stones scattered throughout the grounds. And they’d already captured Ronové.

  Surely, it must be safe. Niklas hadn’t left a babysitter with her this time. Did she dare risk it?

  Making up her mind, she strode toward the kitchen, her goal the back door. She made it halfway across the room when the air in the corner distorted. She paused, thinking perhaps Niklas had changed his mind about having someone stay with her. Hopefully, he’d sent Sebastian. She wasn’t in the mood to put up with Xander and his sullen stares and uncomfortable silences. And Mikhail was just too damn scary.

  Maybe Gideon had come back—

  The tall, blond rock star from the woods solidified.

  Gusion!

  His expression was distinctly pained, and he looked a bit green around the gills. But he was there, inside the farmhouse. Fierce. Determined.

  Carly’s eyes went wide as he smiled grimly and took a step toward her. She raced across the living room, anxious to put as much space between them as she could, as she scanned the room for something to defend herself with. Her eyes lit on the teacup. She hurled the still steaming cup at his head. Hot liquid splashed over him, and he howled. The lamp soon followed the cup, as did the book and the end table. She didn’t waste her breath screaming. Instead, she pivoted to run.

  But he was already there. A brutal hand clamped onto her shoulder and spun her around, right into a huge fist. Searing pain exploded along her jaw. And then her world went dark.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Niklas shimmered inside the warehouse. Mikhail materialized at his side a spare moment later. Dust motes floated in the air around them. Anemic shafts of light filtered down from broken, dingy windows some twenty feet up along the west wall. Spotlighted in one of those beams of light—bound to an old, metal chair bolted to the floor—was a beaten and battered Ronové.

  Once again, Niklas marveled at how quickly Asher had accomplished a task that would have put most other demons on the wrong side of Oblivion.

  Asher lounged against a wall a short distance away, muscular tattooed arms and chunky biker boots crossed, a distinctly bored expression on his strong face. A face, Niklas was sure, that many a female had fallen victim to, tossing her virtue carelessly at his feet for nothing more than a smoldering glance or one of Asher’s infamous, irreverent grins. He’d cut his hair since the last time Niklas has seen him—of course, that had been some thirty years ago—his customary ponytail having been replaced by a close-cropped military cut. He sported a trimmed goatee now as well. His mocha-colored skin glistened with a fine sheen of sweat. His dark brown eyes were remote. Chilly. A long gash on his forearm looked new, but was healing rapidly, as was a charred burn on his thigh.

  Though he’d assumed an air of lazy indolence, everything—from his broad shoulders to his narrow hips, from his toned physique to his military-grade, black fatigues—everything about him screamed predatory mercenary ready to spring into action at the drop of a hat.

  Niklas glanced at Ronové again. Something suddenly struck him as odd. Ronové seemed to have been captured and frozen in the middle of transforming, trapped somewhere between human and demon form. Overall, he’d retained the shape of a man, and yet his horns, fangs, and claws were visible. Niklas hadn’t realized that was even possible.

  “How are you containing him?” Niklas asked as he and Mikhail approached Asher. “And how are you keeping him in human form? Or rather, semihuman?”

  Asher pushed away from the wall and tossed a small glint of silver across the distance. Instinctively, Niklas caught the projectile. He turned his hand over and examined the small skeleton key.

  �
�Don’t take the cuffs off unless you’re planning on letting him loose.” Asher fingered the long pink strip of scar tissue—a freshly healed cut—over his right eyebrow. He shot a narrow-eyed glare in Ronové’s direction. “I’d just kill the SOB and have it over with if I were you though.”

  “Binding cuffs?” He’d heard rumors of such things, but he’d assumed they were nothing more than myth. He, of all people, should have known better than to assume myth did not equal reality. Niklas dropped the key into his pocket.

  Asher gave a brief nod. “They’re unbreakable and restrict his abilities. While he has them on, he won’t be able to shimmer, create plasma balls or transform.”

  “How’d you—” His puzzled gaze flicked to the still unconscious Ronové.

  Asher just smiled. Wholly evil. Wholly unrepentant.

  “Uh-huh,” Niklas murmured. “What’s he dosed with?”

  The sooner they brought him back to consciousness, the sooner he’d get his answers. Certain venoms affected a demon’s system like poison, while others worked as a sedative. With a guy like Asher, you never knew what to expect.

  “Nothing,” Asher gloated. Holding his hands up, he flexed his fists, and examined his scraped and swollen knuckles. “If I wasn’t such a greedy demon, I might have said this job was on the house. I rather enjoyed myself.”

  “Still could,” Niklas remarked absently, his attention already on the demon cuffed to the chair. By the time Niklas was through with him, he’d be spilling every secret and tidbit of info rattling around in that primitive, useless brain of his.

  “I didn’t enjoy myself that much.”

  Though he was anxious to begin questioning Ronové, Niklas couldn’t help but admire Asher’s efficiency, not to mention his work ethic. “I know Xander mentioned this to you before, but I’m suddenly feeling the need to extend another invitation. Anytime you want to join our ranks—”

  Asher held a hand up. “Appreciate the offer, but I work better alone.”

  “All the same, consider it a standing offer.”

  Asher dipped his chin once. “Don’t forget our agreement.”