Demon Fire (The Angel Fire Book 3)

by Marie Johnston

  The underwear was almost in the purse. The employee was almost even with them.

  “Excuse me,” Sierra said. She kept her eyes off the underwear and smiled sheepishly. “Can I get around you?”

  The woman blinked, her eyes regaining focus. “Oh. I’m sorry.” She pulled her hand out of her purse and hurriedly tossed the underwear into the bin.

  “Good sale?” Sierra had enough underwear, but she couldn’t just walk away without doing something. Leaving Jim at the mercy of the sylphs still gnawed at her.

  The woman pushed her hair back with a shaky hand. “Yeah.” She yanked her cart back and the corner got stuck. “Fuck.” She rammed it forward and back again.

  Before the woman could draw the employee back, Sierra grabbed the end of the cart and unhooked it from the sale sign.

  The woman was about to whip it away for another attempt but Sierra kept hold of the cart. “It feels like this time of year things should slow down, but they never do.”

  The woman’s eyes darted left, then right. The symaster’s eyes, though, they watched her. Sierra should stop and be on her way. But she couldn’t.

  “Makes it easy to forget to breathe.” The woman’s gaze focused on her. Encouraged, Sierra kept going. “Makes you forget to slow your mind and remember everything’s going to be okay. Makes you forget to quit listening to that ugly voice in your head that ruins your day.”

  Sierra willed the woman to understand and forced herself to focus on the human hazel irises instead of the inhuman, dark eyes glaring at her like the demon would rip her apart if it could become tangible.

  “That ugly voice . . .”

  “It can be loud, right? Demeaning. Always remember,” Sierra nudged past her, “it lies.”

  She kept walking and didn’t look back. If the woman listened to her and was strong enough to boot the demon from her psyche, then the risk was worth it.

  Chapter 6

  Obnoxious sunlight bored through the curtains. He should’ve gotten thicker curtains when he first moved in. Nothing was brighter than a cloudless, frigid winter day. The snow reflected all the rays, amplifying their assault on his eyeballs.

  Most days Boone enjoyed rising with the sun. Those days hadn’t included nights where Sierra went to the bathroom at least twice. The water bill was going to skyrocket now that she was actually showering, but he didn’t care about that. Her bathroom breaks had escalated over the last three weeks.

  Did she have a bladder infection or something?

  He couldn’t bring himself to ask. Phoebe used to drink cranberry juice, claiming it warded off the dreaded bladder infections she’d gotten when she was pregnant. Frozen berries were in the freezer, but none of them were cranberry.

  What did he know about bladder infections?

  He sat up on the edge of the couch and rubbed his eyes.

  Sierra was sprawled across the mattress, the covers twisted around her bare legs but not covering near enough golden skin. He averted his gaze. She wore shorts to bed, commenting that she got “hot flashes or some shit” when she never used to. The result was tossing and turning, which also woke him up.

  He should’ve gotten a bigger cabin.

  Every morning pre-Sierra, he’d get up and do his morning routine in the bathroom—shower and shave. While Sierra was recovering, he’d done the same, only quicker because he didn’t trust her on her own. Lately, he’d been sitting for a few minutes, talking his morning wood down.

  It was the cost of waking up each morning in a small space with a beautiful woman, one who was oblivious to the way her shirts clung to her breasts. She couldn’t even hide them in a damn sweater. It was like they were growing.

  She was filling out. The thin woman he’d found in the snow who could eat pheasant one day and gag at it another had put on much-needed weight, rounding her tempting hips and—

  Those tits.

  He squashed his palms against his eyes. He’d refrained from jacking off in the shower since he’d carried her home, but he might have to do some stealth masturbation.

  Somehow it felt wrong when she was on the other side of the wall.

  Her breathing changed. She was waking up. He shuffled to the bathroom, shoving a hand through his hair. He went through his routine in his normal perfunctory manner. A look in the mirror made him wince. His beard needed a trim. Badly. But it was morning and Sierra was likely doing the potty dance outside the door.

  He stepped out and she popped up from the bedding. Heading straight for the kitchen, he avoided looking at her. Her short hair would be sticking up in every direction. She always shoved one side behind her ear and he was amazed that small ear could hold back the tangle of hair.

  And those legs.

  She wasn’t tall. Those shorts should go down farther. The hem landed way too far above her knees for his comfort. She usually changed into leggings in the bathroom, which were their own sweet hell.

  He rummaged until he found toast. Her stomach was touchy in the morning. Did it have anything to do with the bladder infection?

  He furrowed his brows and cradled the bread in his hands as he stood and stared at the countertop.

  He’d lived with Phoebe for thirteen years. They’d met right out of college, just after he’d started with the force. Adam had come along and they’d moved closer to Chicago—a change Phoebe had been against from the beginning.

  He couldn’t go down that memory lane again. He’d spent enough years on it. But it had reminded him—women needed certain things that men didn’t stock.

  Was that why Sierra was in the bathroom so often? Was she too timid, too proud, to ask him for pads or tampons or whatever other products women used?

  Dammit, he should’ve thought of that earlier. Now that he had, he couldn’t stop.

  Sierra exited the bathroom. Her hair had been tamed by the brush they had picked up with her clothing. She’d snap his comb otherwise. A bump of hair rose higher on her right side, her preferred side to sleep on, but whatever women did to tame their locks, Sierra didn’t do. Her eyes were clear and she wrapped her arms around her abdomen.

  Cramps?

  For fuck’s sake. How long had he been an idiot?

  He cleared his throat. “So, it occurred to me . . .”

  Her light brows lifted and she drifted closer, sensing the gravity of the topic. Wasn’t she going to be surprised what he brought up?

  “When we got groceries, I didn’t get . . . Um . . . Women’s things.”

  “Like what?”

  Did she mean to make this hard? “For your cycle?”

  She cocked her head like she didn’t understand.

  “Periods. Monthlies. Aunt Flow. Whatever ladies call it these days.”

  She blinked, then understanding dawned, followed by a hint of panic in the depths of her bright blue eyes. “Oh. My kind doesn’t—we don’t—I don’t get those.”

  “Like. Not at all?”

  Her gaze turned guarded. “Irregular?”

  Was she asking him? “Okay?”

  “Okay?”

  He hadn’t thought the conversation would be comfortable, but this was odd. “I thought with all your bathroom breaks . . .”

  “Oh, those. Yeah, I mean, that’s not normally me. I’m sure it’ll calm down soon.”

  “Right.” He opened the bag of bread and stuck his hand in to grab a few slices to toast for them. “Okay. I was worried. With your stomach issues and . . .”

  No. No period. Stomach issues. Loss of appetite. Hot flashes. Didn’t she mention once that her chest was sore? Bigger bras.

  Fuck. His wife had complained about those symptoms before. “Sierra?” She’d know. Did she know and was too afraid to tell him? Rescuing her was one thing. Helping her get on her feet was one thing. Not knowing her background or what happened was another thing.

  He didn’t know what it would mean if . . .

  She came around the island. “Boone. Are you okay? You’ve gotten really pale. You’re not going to pass out, are y
ou? I can’t carry you to the bed.”

  “Sierra. Are you pregnant?”

  It’d been easier than Sandeen thought to find a host in the middle of winter in Montana. Winter had been going for a couple of months, with a few months left to ride out. Depression was at its highest and alcohol flowed to pass the time.

  Too bad the host he’d found was an elderly woman with a raging case of SAD and arthritis so bad the joints of her right hand were permanently swollen. Her knees ached constantly. He rubbed them as he waited behind the wheel of the host’s old sedan. He’d been idling outside of the store where the sylphs had reported seeing someone who fit the description of the fallen.

  He’d spent two days in front of the new store in town, but if he sat much longer, he’d have to explain to the police why an old woman was staking out the parking lot. Would downtown turn up a whole lot of nothing too? What were the chances some sylphs and an asshole symaster had seen the same person?

  Sandeen had been all over the country in the last few weeks. A short, blond female in Oklahoma City had fainted when her gaze landed on a sylph. Another short dirty-blonde in Memphis had reportedly tried to communicate with a symaster that’d inhabited a body. Sandeen was supposed to go to Seattle next, but that one sounded less likely. A blond female who had cried out the archmaster’s real name while he’d been nailing her via possession of the woman’s husband. Sandeen would rule that one out as fast as the others.

  Humans weren’t supposed to see his kind. Neither were fallen. But Jameson had figured it out. Two fallen in such a short time? Too much of a coincidence. It sounded more like a case of Numen hubris. They wrote the fallen off as never having existed and it was biting them in the ass. Fallen weren’t human no matter how much the angels wished it.

  But that didn’t mean that Sierra had ended up in a small mountain town in Montana in the middle of winter.

  Still, intuition tingled in his gut. That, or the host’s heartburn was acting up. He’d tried having a coffee while sitting on his ass for hours, moving the car every forty-five minutes to keep from drawing attention in the tiny town. The drink had been bliss on his taste buds until the human’s stomach had churned up a storm and he’d wanted to vomit it all right back into the cup.

  The middle of nowhere in the middle of winter. It was exactly the type of place a fallen would get dumped. Andy’s spies might’ve reported the snow on Winger accurately. So Sandeen had quit drinking the coffee, popped a few Tums, and waited.

  Five more minutes and he’d move the vehicle again. The tank guzzled gas like no one’s business and he’d filled it once already. He alternated between running the engine and letting the heat build, then shutting it off until the host’s old bones clattered from the cold. Another trip to the gas station would drain the human’s account.

  He shouldn’t care, but he’d long given up on fighting the compassionate side to his nature. An abomination, his sire had claimed. Sandeen couldn’t be needlessly evil, and he was a shame to his realm. Except most of his kind assumed that not being needlessly evil meant he also wasn’t ruthless.

  They would be wrong.

  Sandeen’s gaze flicked down to the coffee. He was bored as hell and—

  A big pickup pulled up to the pharmacy two blocks down. He’d been on surveillance duty for three days. He’d visited all the major places in town—the department store, the sporting goods store, the drug store, and an auto parts shop. Most of the cars were familiar by now. This pickup wasn’t.

  Sandeen shifted in his seat and pulled the stocking hat down farther. If this human really could see his kind, he didn’t want this host outed. Who knew when Nowhere, Montana, would come in handy?

  A tall man got out. A human. The corners of his eyes crinkled as he squinted against the sun. A black knit hat was stuffed on his head, but the ends of his dark brown hair stuck out in the back. The bottom of his beard brushed the top of his jacket. The passenger door opened, but Sandeen couldn’t see through the vehicle. The man waited on the sidewalk, his face weighed down by a heavy scowl.

  The other person cleared the hood of the pickup. Petite—check. Blond—check. For all of Andy’s resources, he hadn’t been able to get a picture of Sierra. Sandeen had seen a few of the other team members Sierra had worked with, but not her.

  She wore a gray stocking hat and a simple black coat. He didn’t know what was going on between these two, but either someone had kicked their dog or they were stressed about something.

  The man said a few words Sandeen couldn’t make out and the woman nodded, looking around. As she turned toward his vehicle, Sandeen sank lower and tipped his head down but kept his gaze on her the entire time. Her eyes glittered blue in the sunlight.

  It was the way she scanned the road and the parked cars that pumped adrenaline through his veins. She was casual but cautious, like she was worried she was being followed.

  Or like she was trained.

  She turned and he straightened, leaning over the passenger seat to keep from losing sight of her. The man held open the door to the pharmacy. The woman’s head stayed down as she walked inside.

  Sandeen’s gut churned and it had nothing to do with the coffee from earlier. He scrambled out as fast as his old bones would allow. His shuffling gait down the sidewalk made him want to scream, but no one paid him any mind, which was one of the main reasons he chose old ladies over and over again. He’d been around humans long enough to know that if he wanted to be invisible, an old or overweight woman couldn’t be beat.

  The warm air of the pharmacy welcomed him into the store. The man was running his card through the self-checkout. The woman had bagged an item and it was clutched in her hand like she was strangling the bag for mouthing off.

  Shit, they were doing an in-and-out dash. Sandeen was about to turn and lurch back to the car. If this woman could see creatures from Daemon, he had to leave. Now. He also couldn’t rule this woman out at a glance. He’d need to follow them. His left knee was complaining as he changed direction when the woman spun on her heel and charged for the back of the store.

  The guy holstered his card in his wallet and shoved his hands into his heavy-duty work jeans. He turned, nodded at Sandeen, and stepped to the side to wait by the door.

  Well, that was an unexpected boon. The man didn’t see him as anything more than another shopper, and the woman was going toward the sign that read restroom. Sandeen weaved through the aisle as casually as he could.

  He hadn’t expected to ever find Sierra. If this was her, what would he do? Andy had him by the short hairs and the human’s sharp little mind had plans for Sandeen that were only going to benefit Andy. Sandeen hadn’t survived his time as a Daemon outcast to get used up by a shifty human. He hadn’t looked too hard for Sierra, but if this was her, he needed a plan.

  First, he had to determine if this was the fallen he hunted.

  He tested the handle to the women’s bathroom. Locked. It must be a one-seater. He slumped against the far wall and waited. One of the pharmacists came out of the back door. He smiled.

  “Hey, Alma. Nice to see you out,” he said before disappearing into the men’s room.

  Sandeen smiled, grateful the man’s need to piss was greater than his need for small talk.

  Minutes ticked by. The pharmacist came out of the restroom, straightening his tie and leaving damp fingerprints all over it. He’d washed his hands at least.

  He glanced at the closed women’s room. “Feel free to use this one.”

  Sandeen winced like the thought of being in the same room as a urinal was repellent. The pharmacist gave him a go ahead and be a picky old lady shrug and went back to work.

  Another couple minutes ticked by and Sandeen cleared his throat as loud as possible without breaking into a cough. He couldn’t stand here all day. Alma’s knees couldn’t take it.

  The sink ran and the paper towel dispenser sounded.

  Finally.

  The door opened and Sandeen had to do a double take. The woman’s
face was wan, her eyes red rimmed. She hastily brushed a tear off her cheek and was about to sidle out without making eye contact.

  He didn’t know what had happened in there and he didn’t care. Before she could get away, he said, “Sierra, at last we meet.”

  Her shoulders stiffened and she turned slowly. Well, well, well. His gut hadn’t lied.

  Her hands were loose at her sides, a slight bend to her knee. You could kick the warrior out of the realm . . . Another benefit to choosing an older host. A Numen wouldn’t kick the host’s ass to get to him.

  She took her time facing him, but the burn of her perusal hit him first. She’d taken her time on purpose. Was the real him harder to make out when she was looking right at him?

  He kept his expression placid, both that of his host and whatever Sierra could see of him. “We have mutual acquaintances I think you should know about.”

  With speed he didn’t expect, she shoved him into the restroom she’d just exited and kicked the door shut behind them. His knees protested the sudden movement and his hands throbbed, trying to loosen the grip she had on his winter coat.

  “How the hell did you find me and what the hell do you want?” she growled. The angst in her eyes when she’d left the room was gone. Her gaze, still haunted, was calculating. She couldn’t yank him out and whisk them both to the Mist to fight to the death anymore, but that didn’t stop her from trying to figure out how to kill him.

  Good luck with that, fallen. “You gave yourself away to some demons frolicking in town, I’m afraid. I was sent for you.”

  “Why? Who?”

  He grinned. Someone was cornered and desperate and it wasn’t him. He could use this. “Aren’t those questions you’d love the answers to?”

  “Just because I don’t exist to my people anymore doesn’t mean they won’t listen to me when I tell them there’s an archmaster possessing people in this town and stalking fallen. After what’s happened, they might ignore me, but they won’t ignore what I have to say.”

  “Bold. And I agree.”

  She loosened her grip. His easy acceptance had caught her off guard apparently. He used his host’s weak muscles to brush off Sierra’s hand. Not wanting to hurt the human, she dropped her hands. He straightened his bulky winter coat and the heavy sweater underneath. Alma was always cold.