Seer

by Raven Dark

  Seer

  Saving Setora Book 4

  Raven Dark

  Petra J. Knox

  Praise for Saving Setora

  "The softest woman requires the hardest men to survive. Dark, gritty, and perfectly filthy--modern MC meets Mad Max in this amazing RH tale. You will lust, you will crave, and you will scream for more!"

  ~Addison Cain, USA Today bestselling author

  "So incredibly well-written. Compelling. Suspenseful. I was holding my breath as I was reading. But be warned, the authors aren't joking. This is definitely a DARK romance. If you like sweet, this is not the book. But if you like dark romance, you won't be able to put this one down."

  ~ Nia Mars, author

  “…leaves you on the edge of your seat the whole way through. The characters are so detailed and the plot is so mysterious that you’ll be dying for more by the end of it.”

  ~Christina, Amazon Customer

  Seer (Saving Setora: Book Four)

  Copyright © 2018 Raven Dark and Petra J. Knox, all rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Please purchase only authorized editions of this book, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrightable materials.

  Cover by Raven Dark

  Editing by Jenifer Knox

  Proofread by Susy Strom Hoefer

  Cover and interior images courtesy of DepositPhotos

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Note to Readers

  1. A Leader Leads

  2. The New Normal

  3. A New Duty

  4. The Way Others Live

  5. Three For Seven

  6. Conquered

  7. Epiphany

  8. Men Being Men

  9. Out of the Woods

  10. Maker’s Rain

  11. “A Storm is Coming.”

  12. A Fortress Within

  13. A Meeting of Minds

  14. Lord Falnar’s Harem

  15. Beast

  16. Fugue

  17. Talks

  18. Confessions

  19. Suspect

  Acknowledgments

  Connect with Raven Dark

  Connect with Petra J. Knox

  Dedication

  To my beloved. The Maker’s highest Angel, and the Light of my life.

  Raven

  This one’s for my boys. Thank you for being patient, thank you for being the best.

  Petra

  Note to Readers

  This book has dark elements and scenes that may be triggering for some readers. The world and the characters about whom you read herein are not sweet, friendly people. The hell in which they live is a dark, desolate place, lawless and without mercy. It will either build them up or kill them.

  Welcome to Setora’s world.

  Enter at your own risk.

  Chapter 1

  A Leader Leads

  When you’re a leader, there is a thing that happens to your mind when the world goes to shit.

  Sometimes it’s learned, a thing you train your brain to do over time, but for true leaders—and I mean men who are born to take the highest command— taking charge is part of your being. It’s under your skin, it’s in your blood, it’s in every fucking thought you have. When the world implodes, and everything looks like it’s going to disappear, your brain flips a switch. You shut out anything that cuts too deep or hits too hard so that you run on what the Old World called autopilot. You shut down everything that’s non-essential, because if you don’t, everything falls apart.

  When I was a boy, my mother told me stories of the Old World. Stories about machines that ruled the skies and land alike, centuries ago, before the virus turned everything to chaos, she’d said. Back then, machines were manned by humans, and later were capable of operating on their own. I hadn’t thought about those stories in years, since I’d lost her. Now in the middle of this clusterfuck of chaos, I couldn’t help thinking of those machines that once buzzed and hummed overhead, long before my time. Here in this moment, instinct took over, and I became the machine.

  Giving commands. Moving quickly. One foot in front of the other. Automatic. Emotions, doubts, fear; there was no room for such dangerous things. They did not exist. I simply reacted. Setting order to a world that, without my direction, I knew would fall. My men relied on me, and I couldn’t let them down.

  When I’d seen Steel lying there by his bike, when I’d heard Pretty Boy yell and saw him shaking his best friend’s listless form, my mind nearly fractured. The knowledge that I might lose one of my Brothers, that the Four might in an instant become Three, ate at my thoughts like poison. I’d already lost two of my men to those Dregs. One of our women had been kidnapped, and everyone on this fuckery of a trip had nearly been killed.

  And now this.

  I swung off my bike and raced to where Steel lay, to where Doc was already checking him over. Doc thumbed open Steel’s eyes and checked his pulse. Worst-case scenarios spun through my mind. Life without my mountain of a Brother loomed, every bit as terrible as the thought of life without Setora had been weeks ago. And that’s when it happened.

  That’s when my mind flipped its switch.

  That’s when I became a machine, like those in my mother’s old tales, beyond feeling, beyond fear, every bit as cold as Hawk must be in battle when his Yantu training kicked in.

  I went over to Steel’s bike, still lying on its side, its engine still revving, the sound drowning out whatever Doc was saying. I shut the bike off, cutting the engine short just as it started to smoke. Ignoring the impulse to look at Steel, I knelt beside Doc, trying to read from his expression how serious the situation was.

  Doc’s face was pale, but otherwise his expression was stoic. Always the professional.

  “How bad is it, Doc?”

  He shook his head as if to say, too soon to tell. “Utar!”

  At Doc’s shout, Utar brought one of his men over.

  “Help me get him into the back of the transport. Quickly!”

  Utar took Steel’s shoulders while Striker, his second in command, took Steel’s feet, but when they went to lift him, Pretty Boy grabbed Steel, holding him tight in a brother’s embrace.

  For an instant, my resolve teetered. I shut that shit down.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Pretty Boy demanded. “How the fuck did this happen?”

  “Give him to me, Pretty Boy.” Doc’s voice was gentle. “Let me look at him.”

  Pretty Boy held him tighter, shaking him. “I can’t…I don’t…” His voice cracked.

  Setora moved around to his side and took his shoulders. “Master.” Her voice was soft. “Come on. Let him go.”

  He shook his head jerkily.

  “Pretty Boy—” I started, and glanced at Doc.

  Doc put his hand on Pretty Boy’s shoulder until he looked at him. I’d never seen my Brother’s eyes so full of anguish. “Pretty Boy, you have to let me look at him. You gotta let him go now.”

  Pretty Boy’s eyes widened with horror, and he clutched Steel tight. “No! Don’t you fucking take him. We can’t just give up.”

  I knelt at his other side, opposite Setora, took his shoulders and spoke slowly, trying to get through to him. “He means release him, Brother. Come on. Let Doc do his thing.” I cupped his nape and squeezed.

  Pretty Boy blinked, now seeming to realize what Doc meant, that he wasn’t giving up on him. He dropped his arms and let Utar and Striker cart Steel away, following Doc as he hurried everyone into the open back of the transport. Setora brought up the rear, hopping in last.

  I stood up and looked around, taking stock of everyone, mentally doing a headcount, and found Hawk
standing beside me. His yellow eyes echoed what roiled in my gut, the emotions I’d disconnected myself from.

  “We have to get out of here, General. If Saketh comes back with more men…”

  He didn’t need to finish. If Saketh came back with more men, we’d be sitting ducks.

  I ran my palm down my face and nodded, then turned toward the open back of the transport. “Striker.”

  Utar’s second in command climbed out of the transport and came over to us.

  “Would you ride Steel’s bike to the next camp?”

  “Of course, General.” He righted the bike, jumped on, and started it up.

  Heading for my bike while Hawk headed for his, I spoke to the group at large.

  “Let’s ride, boys. Keep your eyes open. I don’t want any more surprises.”

  Men’s voices rose in affirmation, and the two transports started up, along with our bike engines.

  Steel would be okay. He had to be. Fuck, I needed a drink.

  * * *

  The next hour passed by in a blur. By the time the sun started to peek through the trees, we’d found the perfect area to set up camp. It was secluded and dark, at opposite end of the forest, at the ass end of Zone 8, a few miles from the auction where Saketh had planned to go later that morning.

  He had no reason to go there now, having lost the slaves he’d planned to sell, and he’d have been expecting us to get as far from this area as possible. Our safest bet was to stay near the auction, close to a populated area but not too close, where, if he and his men returned, they’d be less likely to attack.

  I wanted to be at Steel’s side, kept abreast of all that went on with him. But I knew if he’d taken a turn for the worse, the transport would have stopped and someone would have come and got me.

  As soon as we stopped for camp, I had T-Man find a cluster of the largest tree trunks in which to house our crew as well as Utar’s men. The Lone Rebels piled out of the transports, and Utar situated his people up in the boles of eight trees. Our people set up camp in trunks surrounding them, creating a protective perimeter. By the time we’d arrived, Doc had stabilized Steel as much as he could. He and two of Utar’s men moved him into the biggest tree at the center of the camp, creating an infirmary. Some of the Rebels helped turn two more trees as infirmaries for Utar’s wounded, allowing Doc to check on them when he wasn’t working on Steel.

  By the time I’d walked into the hollow where Steel had been taken, Pretty Boy and Setora were already there, along with Doc and one of Utar’s men.

  Two torches had been lit by the entrance, casting the room in enough firelight to see by. Steel lay in the middle of the room across thick pelts that looked like they’d come from the hides of large, black-coated animals. Eyes closed and covered in a sheen of sweat, he looked too still, like a statue. I could barely see his chest rise and fall on shaky breaths. Doc was bent over him, washing dirt and grime from his face, checking one swollen black eye, then the other. Utar’s man, Trax, once the assistant to the Rebel’s club doctor, moved about the tree hollow, covering Steel with a blanket and replacing the bag of saline solution on an IV that snaked from Steel’s arm. Pretty Boy sat on a food crate at his Brother’s side, leaning close, head down.

  If I didn’t know any better, I’d have thought Pretty Boy was praying.

  A soft moan made me look to Steel’s other side. Setora lay curled up on more of those thick pelts, eyes closed, her breathing even in sleep. Her face looked drawn and pale, dark circles under her eyes letting me know it had been too long since she’d slept.

  She was still wearing that leash; it wound around her wrist, the other end lying on the pelt beside her. A grim smile pulled at my lips. Good thing she was asleep or one of us would be holding that thing.

  When I’d come in, Doc lifted his head and nodded to me. He went to a basin sitting on a crate and washed his hands while I joined him.

  “Report, Doc,” I said quietly.

  “Honestly, I’m not sure what’s wrong with him, General. He’s stable, and I didn’t find any serious wounds on him. Some bruises, a couple of black eyes, all from the fight but nothing life-threatening. I’m concerned about a couple of things, though. His eyes are a little yellow, he’s dehydrated, and his pulse is slow and thready. But I don’t know why he’s unconscious. His head is fine. He’s just in a deep sleep.”

  “Is there anything we can do for him? What does he need?”

  “Right now, we just monitor him and see if his body heals on its own. I’m giving him fluids intravenously. He needs rest. We just have to wait and see. But as soon as he’s awake and coherent, we need to make sure he stays hydrated. And feed him. Steel’s a big guy, and he hasn’t eaten much or slept enough. This could be just malnourishment or extreme fatigue.”

  I nodded, but before I could say anything, Pretty Boy spoke up.

  “That doesn’t make any sense, man. He hasn’t been acting right since the Dregs let off those acrin bombs.”

  “None of us have been acting right since that attack,” I said. “We all need food and rest before all of us get sick and start dropping like flies.”

  “I agree. Pretty Boy, Trax—” Doc nodded to the man assisting him—“let’s get out of here. You both need about a week of sleep.”

  “No, I’m good.” Pretty Boy stood up. “I’m not leaving him—”

  “No arguments, Pretty Boy,” I warned.

  “Doc’s orders,” Trax said, patting him on the back. “Come on.”

  “I’ll come back and check on him later,” Doc said gently. “Let’s go now.”

  Pretty Boy shook his head at me, at Doc. “Fuck sleep. I need a drink.”

  But at least he followed Doc and Trax out of the tree toward the campfire.

  At the entrance to the hollow, Doc turned to me and stepped back in. “You could use some sleep too, General,” he said pointedly.

  “Sleep’ll come later. When I know Steel’s all right.”

  Doc gave me a look that said he wished he could order me to rest the way he had with Pretty Boy. Every MC operated under the understanding that the club’s doctor could only override the General in medical concerns when the General wasn’t of sound mind and body.

  He dropped his arms. “It was worth a try. Oh, by the way.” He nodded to Setora. “I gave her something for sleep. It was the only way to shut her down. She’s as stubborn as you are.”

  He left before I could reply.

  I sighed and lowered myself onto the crate where Pretty Boy had been sitting. Thank the Maker Doc had given Setora something for sleep. She needed rest as badly as the others, but I knew her well enough to know her worry over Steel wouldn’t have let her drop off without help.

  I sat with Steel a while longer, watching his huge chest rise and fall unevenly. If he hadn’t been injured in the fight beyond his black eyes, why was he unconscious? Was he sick? I hadn’t admitted it at the time, but Pretty Boy had been right—it didn’t make sense. There was more going on with Steel than just heat exhaustion or lack of food. Well, Doc would figure it out. He always did.

  With another sigh, I stood and went over to the extra pelts piled near Setora and grabbed a few more, glancing at the fur.

  These definitely hadn’t been ours. The Rebels and my men had salvaged everything we could from the Dregs’ camp before leaving, so these pelts must have been taken along with everything else. Harvested from what looked like a manator—large furred creatures that roamed the wilderness up north where the Dregs operated their mines—some of the furs had white stripes or were gussied up with ugly gold strips and glittering tassels. They were gaudy, but at least they were thick and warm. We’d lost over half of our belongings in the first Dreg attack, and these would serve us well when we reached Delta, further up north where the air was a lot cooler.

  Setora muttered in her sleep and shivered. I went over to her and covered her with a pelt, then sat beside her, folding another over for a pillow for myself. I was about to lay down next to her, but Crash
hobbled into the hollow on his cane. I looked up at him. His leg was still bandaged and held straight with a splint, but there was no blood on the bandages anymore, and his leg no longer looked swollen.

  Fuck, he looked like shit. His skin was pale, and his face clothes were grubby with dirt and ash. He looked as whipped as the rest of us, but his eyes gave me pause.

  When he’d talked about this trip in the days leading up to our departure, he’d been excited, his eyes alight with anticipation and a hunger for adventure I’d so often seen in myself. He’d talked as if the ride would be some grand excursion, one that would offer him the chance to prove himself to his Brothers, to me, to his club.

  To his red-headed mouth-piece of a woman.

  Now his eyes were harder, more world-weary. In two days, he looked like he’d aged five years, that wide-eyed innocence seeming like it had belonged to someone else.

  He’d left the Grotto a cook, a man low on the totem pole relegated to the kitchens, a prospect-level chef I once thought might never earn his patch. In two days, he’d become a man worthy of bearing a full Legion member’s cut. A cut once worn by his fallen Brother, Latch, earned twice over in two battles, either of which could have taken his life. He’d changed so much. Too much, too fast. We all had.