The Seer

By Brenda Huber

All whisper his name in fear, for Niklas was once the left hand of Lucifer, the Collector of Souls, the much-feared Seer. Condemned by Heaven, a fugitive from Hell, his only hope for salvation is protecting the innocent from others of his kind. Niklas and his legion of The Fallen must foil the plot of a mysterious mastermind bent on overthrowing Lucifer, because if Lucifer falls, so to will the barriers between Hell and Earth.



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. She must trust a darkly sensual demon with a fearsome reputation. As a 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.

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Aug 7, 2019
• ISBN: 9781509226672

Book preview

Inc.

How did I get here? She glanced around again. I don’t remember. Her focus turned inward. After work, I walked home through the park. Her forehead wrinkled in the most adorable way as she rambled disjointedly through the succession of events. I heard chanting. I followed the sound. And then I saw— She broke off, shaking her head as her words came faster and faster. I ran, and this dark shadow. And then— Eyes wide, she peered at him. "And then. Then that huge m-monster—"

He didn’t want to give her time to dig herself further into the fear. Didn’t ask to which monster she referred, Ronové or himself.

You aren’t crazy, Niklas soothed. This night and all you witnessed was real.

Now she looked at him as if he were the crazy one. She glanced to the door again. He could all but see the wheels turning in her head. Could she make it before he caught her? Would he try to stop her?

You’ve seen something you shouldn’t have this night. Something not meant for human eyes.

Uh-huh. She nodded in a placating sort of way. A weak smile pushed at her lips, thin and unconvincing.

A storm cloud of gray bled through her aura, darker, denser than before.

Heaving a sigh, he resisted the urge to roll his eyes. She might not be a screamer, but she had runner written all over her. That was just terrific. He had better things to do than chase her all over creation tonight.

Unobtrusively—at least, he imagined she thought she was doing it on the sly—her right foot slid back, angled, planted for traction.

And three, two, one…

Praise for Brenda Huber and…

THE SEER: Thrilling, dangerous and seductive… Brenda Huber has done it again with her continuation of a fantastic plot, amazing characters and sizzling passion.

~Fresh Fiction Reviews

~*~

THE SLAYER: With danger, passion, sexy demons, and a lot of action, [this book] is a new favourite of mine.

~Fresh Fiction Reviews

~*~

SHADOWS: Brenda Huber is an author to watch. The way she paints a scene is fantastic.

~Catherine Bybee, New York Times and

USA Today Bestselling Author

~*~

SHADOWS: Huber’s serial killer is truly twisted and readers will be guessing the person’s identity until the last pages of the story.

~Romantic Times

~*~

MINE: The turbulent, fast-paced plot leaves readers holding their breath while turning the page.

~Coffee Time Romance

The Seer

by

Brenda Huber

Chronicles of the Fallen, Book 2

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

The Seer

COPYRIGHT © 2019 by Brenda Huber

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: [e-mail]

Cover Art by Rae Monet, Inc. Design

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History

Previously Published by Samhain Publishing, 2015

First Black Rose Edition, 2019

Print ISBN 978-1-5092-2666-5

Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-2667-2

Chronicles of the Fallen, Book 2

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

I would like to dedicate this book

to my circle of friends:

Angie Kinzle, Kris Ostwald,

Kim Meyer, and Sandra Teachout…

you are my rocks, my shelter in any storm,

my sympathetic ears, my sanity, my comic relief,

and my partners in crime.

You are my chosen family,

and every day I am grateful for you.

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.

A monster stepped out of the shadows. A hush swept over the clearing as the dancers bowed low and backed away. Whispers of Master floated to her on the smoke scented breeze. It all came back in a jolt of sudden awareness.

She’d been walking home, taking the same route past the park that she’d taken a hundred times before. 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, surrounding 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.

Help me, 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 Master uttered something in a guttural, foreign language, and the other creatures resumed their dancing and chanting with frenetic vigor. A flutter of diaphanous white in the periphery of her vision 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 that 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 called out were a jumble of syllables and grunts, but his intonation held a discernible, mesmerizing rhythm now. And his face held more than a hint of 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 one 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 like it had been 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 terror. 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 the 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, 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. He was on a mission, and his mission was the Master.

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 as the tree toppled.

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 snarled that lion’s purr 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. She’d stirred something in him. Something dark and…primitive.

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 painkillers 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.

He turned to survey the rest of the apartment. Anywhere but the woman. The walls were a dull brown, the carpet worn and stained from decades of traffic. The room was Spartan at best, located in a rundown dive in the only seedy neighborhood in town. He could have altered the dimensions of the room, conjured anything he wanted, made the inside of this pitiful apartment as large and as opulent as the Taj Mahal. He could have taken her to his flat in Paris, but why bother? It wasn’t as if he were contemplating keeping her. Even if she was the most entrancing creature he’d ever come across. He didn’t care what she thought of him. He had a single, all-encompassing purpose.

Absolution of his sins.

Redemption.

And no room for a woman.

Finally glancing down at the fragile female he’d saved, steeling himself against the unwanted desire she kindled without effort, he realized bringing her there, trapping himself inside the tiny apartment with her, was a disaster of epic proportions. Even now, the scent of her crept inside him, stealing into the deepest, darkest corners of his tarnished soul. Disconcerted, he pushed to his feet and strode across the room. He draped the towel over the back of the chair and made his way to the dingy window.

After prying the pane open, he pushed it up and braced his palms on the peeling windowsill. Niklas leaned out into the night, dragging in a gulp of stale air in a vain attempt to clear his head. And still, the fog of lust lingered. He caught himself peering at her over his shoulder.

It was no use.

He couldn’t not watch her.

It had been so long since he’d been with a woman, so long since he’d touched one or lost himself in soft, feminine flesh. So long since he’d simply sat and just watched one, with her fluid grace and delicate mannerisms. His fingers itched to caress her. Was the rest of her skin as soft as he’d imagined, or had his mind played cruel tricks on him after all these years of abstinence?

Fearing his unexpected weakness, Niklas stood there, digging his fingers into splintering wood, praying his feet might grow roots so he wouldn’t go to her, seduce her.

Get rid of her, that was what he should be doing. Ditch her somewhere and put her from his mind, never think of her again. But he couldn’t do that now, thanks to that bastard Ronové. Now he had to question her, pump her for whatever information he could get from her. There was too much at stake to let a valuable opportunity like this slip through their fingers. Dragging in a great breath of humid night air, he weighed his options. Much as he disliked admitting it, she presented him with too much temptation. He was going to need help on this one. But who to call?

Mikhail? Hmm.

No, that might not be wise. Witnessing Ronové and himself had, no doubt, been traumatic enough for the female. More than likely, Mikhail would send her right over the edge, screaming the entire way. No matter which form he chose, demonic or human.

Sebastian?

With his immeasurable patience, Sebastian would probably be the best candidate. But last Niklas had heard, Sebastian was off the grid somewhere in South America tracking a horde of demons that was devastating small villages, leaving behind nothing more than rubble and desecrated bodies in its wake.

Gideon then?

No!

Much as he considered Gideon his brother-in-arms, unwarranted jealousy fisted deep in his gut and twisted. Granted, Gideon could no longer physically touch or be touched by human hands. But these odd stirrings inside Niklas didn’t bode well. What if Gideon held too much appeal for the woman to resist? Besides, lately Gideon had been…unpredictable at best. No, he wouldn’t call Gideon.

The last thing he needed was to have to worry about some unexpected, treacherous thing like jealousy rearing its ugly head. Not that he had any right to be jealous where she was concerned. He’d willingly accepted abstinence as part of his penance. Penance wasn’t meant to be comfortable, or something you could shrug on and off when it was convenient.

Niklas reached down and readjusted the bulge behind the straining zipper on his jeans.

Heaven knew this wasn’t comfortable. Not one damned bit.

Since Niklas had clapped eyes on the woman, since the moment he’d caught her scent, he’d been experiencing the strangest urges to protect her. To possess her. To lay her down and thrust himself inside her, fast and hard, slow and deep, and every measure in between. To fill her body and her mind with nothing but him. Brand himself upon her very soul.

Until he got those baffling urges out of his system—or, at the very least, got a leash on them—it would be best not to test his limits.

Relations between his small legion of fallen demons had withstood much. But none of them had great quantities of patience, except for Sebastian, of course, and Niklas didn’t want to strain the bond they shared any more than necessary. They provided a support system of sorts, a network of aid in times of temptation, and were useful allies in their ongoing war against their former compatriots, demons of hellfire and damnation, Lucifer’s soldiers. That didn’t, however, mean they always played well together.

With the right provocation, things could get nasty. Real quick.

Xander it is.

At one time the right hand of Lucifer, feared by all in Hell and beyond, Xander had hunted down and slain any demon that rebelled against Lucifer’s rule. No matter how powerful, no matter how cunning or resourceful, there wasn’t a demon alive that could evade the Slayer for long.

Right now, it looked as if Xander was his only hope.

And, that being the case, he was well and truly screwed.

Biting back a curse, Niklas reached into his hip pocket and drew out his phone. Having to admit to weakness was galling. Revealing that weakness to another demon went against the grain. After thumbing in a quick sequence of