She deserved Urban’s wrath. All of it. But it wasn’t going to help keep those around her from becoming collateral damage. “I sent the message for the humans put in danger by the demon’s plans. I have nothing to do with those plans and I’m not helping them. You’ll be the first to know if any try to contact me again.” She thought about skipping the next part, but she went for it because it was the truth. “Or if any corrupt angels approach me.”
“Oh, the kitty has claws.” Sandeen rubbed his hands together, but it was more like a therapeutic massage for aching joints than glee.
“Enough.” Harlowe’s disapproving frown was aimed at her. “We all know there’s corruption in Numen. Care to throw that in our face again while we’re risking our wings helping you?”
Singed from the censure in Harlowe’s tone, Sierra wanted to track down Andy by herself and make him pay for ruining her blissful fall. “Whatever. I’m tired. What bedroom do you want me in? Never mind. I’ll pick the smallest.” She was probably lucky to get a bed.
“These bones are tired too. I’m hitting the hay.” Sandeen took his bag from Urban and patted his hand.
Urban snatched it away and sneered. “Don’t touch me, demon.”
Sandeen grinned at Harlowe as he shuffled toward the hallway nook beyond the stairs. “Wanna tuck me in, Lowe?”
“Go fuck yourself,” Harlowe said.
“It’s weird in this body. Trust me.” Sandeen disappeared into his room.
Harlowe murmured to Urban, “You get to be the first one on watch. I can’t stand him.”
“He’s a demon,” Urban said as if that explained everything. It didn’t. Because Sierra had a hard time hating Sandeen. She was grateful he took some of the animosity off of her.
Sierra used the distraction to start for the stairs. The warriors didn’t have any more to say to her.
Harlowe addressed Boone. “We’ll get supplies delivered tomorrow. Toiletries, clothing, electronics. Dionna has it all arranged.”
Sierra wanted to ask how Dionna was doing. What about Bronx and Jagger? They wouldn’t tell her. They didn’t trust her. And Sierra didn’t care to think about Jagger or that she was pregnant with his half-sibling.
How the hell had this happened? She’d rather not think about the pregnancy at all right now.
She trudged up the stairs. The top floor had a landing and three doors. The bathroom door gaped open. One bedroom was over the garage and the other on top of the room Sandeen would be in.
She chose the one over the garage instead of determining which was smaller. If they hated her that much, they could kick her out. She was going for the door when a brush of heat swept up her back. Boone had come up the stairs. The man was stealthy. She’d thought the cabin swallowed the sound, but in this big, open house, he was as silent as he’d been in the woods.
He didn’t say anything as she entered the bedroom. A bed with two nightstands and a dresser. Nothing on the walls. Had this house been staged for selling and her team had bought it and all the belongings?
It was what she would’ve done.
Boone stepped in behind her and shut the door.
“Don’t tell them about the baby.” She hadn’t confirmed it to him until now, but since she would’ve gone months before she realized her “condition,” she figured he hadn’t needed to see the double lines.
He didn’t reply.
She crossed to the edge of the bed and sat. “The father was a bad choice.” She’d told Boone a lot today, but none of it had been the important stuff.
“The Stede you mentioned?”
She shook her head, her stomach roiling. “No.” She let out a scornful laugh. “Worse than him.” Her shoulders sagged. “Such a bad decision. But I never thought it would lead to this. Angels don’t have a lot of kids. Mates can be together for centuries before they have kids.”
“Right.” He rounded to the other side of the bed. The mattress dipped as he took a seat, their backs to each other. “Depending on how long this takes, they’re going to notice eventually.”
“I know.”
“You should have prenatal vitamins. Doctor visits.”
Was there a book for what to expect when you were expecting and you’d lost your wings? “I don’t have money or insurance. Or identification.”
“Can those two get some for you?”
“Yes. They’ll probably have the identification ready soon.”
The bed jostled as he removed his shoes. “I can sleep on the floor.”
“No. Don’t.” The relief that swamped her when Harlowe had said they had to share a room was shameful. She had fallen into this world and been with him ever since. Things had seemed simpler just a day ago. Now she had demons after her and a baby to deal with. “Please don’t be uncomfortable because of me. I’ve upset your life enough.”
“That’s an understatement.” He rolled to his side and adjusted his pillow. He wasn’t getting under the covers.
She stood and drew back the sheets. Crawling beneath them, she didn’t miss how he shifted closer to his edge of the bed. Heat burned the backs of her eyes. A houseful of people who disliked her and a demon who wanted her blood.
She deserved nothing less.
There was nothing to do. Not a damn thing. He couldn’t go outside, but it wasn’t like he had a lawn to mow. The backyard had a pool that was covered. As the new “owner” he could go out and take it off, but he didn’t know shit about pools. And he had no way to look it up.
He and his “wife” were supposed to work from home but the office next to the bedroom the demon slept in had a desk and chair. That was it. He’d mentioned a computer, but they weren’t letting Sierra close to anything electronic.
Luggage had arrived the day after they had in the form of a half-full moving van. Boxes of clothing for him, Sierra, and Alma had been unloaded by the driver, a man by the name of Bronx who had acted way too familiar with the two warriors. Another “angel”? The boxes filled with laptops and tablets and phones were squirreled away in the room the warriors used when they weren’t pulling duty watching Sandeen like a hawk. If Harlowe and Urban really had wings, that would be a humorous image. Boone didn’t feel like laughing.
He was a prisoner. He’d followed Sierra and lost his freedom.
Would it be worth the price?
He’d slept next to a fitful Sierra last night. Her feelings had been hurt. The way her gaze had dropped when her friends—coworkers?—had mentioned anything to do with her fall . . . He couldn’t blame her for not telling them about the baby. If the father would be an issue for them, then they’d use it against Sierra. But if he was worse than the guy who’d blackmailed her, then . . . Boone didn’t know what that meant. She’d been scared and alone and made stupid decisions.
He’d dealt with the consequences of those before.
Urban was on the phone, his back to him. Boone had gleaned enough to figure out they were watching Sandeen to make sure he didn’t communicate with anyone else and that he still possessed Alma. If he stopped, they’d send his host on a flight back to Montana and move locations.
Sandeen opened a box that contained several puzzles. “Ooh. Puzzles. I’ve never done one.” He straightened with a wince and took an Audubon bird puzzle to the table.
“How have you never done a puzzle?” Boone followed him. There was no TV to watch while his ass was planted on the couch.
He tugged at the waistband of his brand-new jeans. They were a little large, but the angels—because fuck it, why not call them that—had guessed his size well. He’d taken Sierra’s box to their room and quietly set it inside the door. She’d finally settled into a deep sleep and he didn’t want to disturb it.
Why was he so damn considerate when it came to her?
“The underworld is not the place to do a puzzle.” Sandeen flipped the top off and dumped out five hundred pieces.
How many pieces did one bird need to be cut into? “That bad?”
Sandeen paused, his less art
hritic hand poised over the mess. “It’s a level above Hell, Boone.”
“Right.”
“You say that a lot.” He started flipping pieces over.
Boone did the same. “There’s nothing else to say.”
“Some humans go batshit. Then there’s Jameson’s following. They fucking love it. I don’t know why.”
Since he’d muttered the last part, Boone asked, “Not homesick, then?”
“It’s a level above Hell, Boone.”
Boone sat back and studied Alma’s face. If she was truly possessed and the demon inside was named Sandeen, then he was serious. His voice was serious, his expression grave.
It’s a level above Hell, Boone.
Boone had been through hell. His own personal hell, one of his making. One he was responsible for. “I’ve been through hell on Earth. Worse than that?”
Sandeen sat back, the puzzle forgotten. “You wake up every day and the best thing that can happen to you is getting ignored. If you like something, another demon will destroy it. If you find happiness, another demon will destroy it. If you manage to avoid those first two, then every other demon in the underworld will still try to destroy you.”
“Every one? I thought there were different levels of strength.”
“Sylphs don’t get too close or they get eaten. Some symasters get a little big for their britches and find themselves roasting over a spit. Other archmasters? It’s a life of proving their power.”
“Then how have you survived if you’re not as fearsome as the others?” Sierra and Harlowe both agreed on what Sandeen looked like. Blue eyes, dark hair. Horns.
For fuck’s sake. Horns.
Sandeen tapped a finger against the side of his head. “A little intelligence goes a long way down there. So what’s your story?”
“I found Sierra. Now I’m here.” Demon or not, he wasn’t going to elaborate.
“You must really like her, then.”
He didn’t make sharing his business with others a habit. And since Sandeen had just said that where he came from, the mission was to prove one’s power, he wasn’t going to start today. Because information was power. “Finding out where this shit show ends seemed more exciting than being alone in the mountains for another winter.”
Sandeen’s lips quirked, then he slid his gaze to the base of the stairs. Boone looked over his shoulder. Sierra stopped at the base, hurt glimmering in her eyes.
Shit. Sandeen might not really be a demon, but he was an asshole.
How had Sierra expected him to answer? He might’ve been fighting his attraction since she’d healed and cooked her first pheasant. He might’ve liked her two days ago. How he felt about her today would depend on her state of mind and the secrets she was keeping.
“Did you find the toiletries in the boxes of clothes?” He should’ve turned back to his puzzle, but he’d hurt her feelings.
“Yes.” Her pea-green T-shirt made her look like she’d been fighting morning sickness for years. What an awful color. Despite her pale complexion, the brown leggings she’d put on gave her a petite Robin Hood look. He had a feeling all of the clothing chosen for her would flatter her in the worst of ways. “I’ll shower after I eat. My stomach is . . .”
She put her hand on her belly and dropped it just as fast.
The intuition he’d thought had turned on him years ago came to life. She hadn’t accepted the fact that she was pregnant. She needed medical care. She needed prenatal vitamins. She needed to know what her options were.
He needed to butt the hell out, but he couldn’t. Or he wouldn’t be here.
Millie faced the door to the bedroom. Her wings were lifted and flared. Her determination wavered but the solid hold of her wings didn’t. For weeks she’d thought about what Bryant had said. Weeks. And while she’d sat on her decision, nothing had changed.
Hit him where it hurts. She’d done a lot of thinking on that. She’d considered his work. Herself. His friends. Ultimately, she’d found an underlying current tying them all together.
Pride.
Her mate’s pride was important to him. He’d taken pride in his experience as a warrior, in his job as director, in his role as a mate. He was no longer a warrior. He wasn’t the director. Losing those roles had devastated him more than losing his legs.
But he still had her. The question was—did he still want her?
She loosened the tie to her robe and flung the door open. Leo jerked in the bed and rolled to look at her. Once she’d caught him tossing and turning and he wouldn’t confess why. She finally figured out that he refused to use a pillow between his thighs so he could sleep comfortably on his side.
Her pillow was there. Untouched for months.
Hit him where it hurts.
“Oh, you’re awake.” She went to the curtains she kept closed for him. He’d complained his eyes were sensitive. At the time, she would’ve done anything to keep more pain at bay. But his eyes were going to have to adjust to natural light again. Or he could close the curtains himself.
She swallowed hard, her resolve wavering. Bryant had brought a wheelchair back from the human world. Leo used it—to keep her from emptying a urine container. The bathroom was the only time he got out of bed.
She went to the curtains, fortified her nerves, and flung them open. Light flooded the room and chased away the shadows. The emerald of the lawn was like a carpet that ran to the tall trees that gave her property privacy from the other manors close by. “It’s gorgeous out today.”
“Millie,” Leo croaked. “Close them. Please.”
His wings were limp behind him. He faced the wall with the window and he wouldn’t roll over while she was in the room to witness his struggle.
His pleas almost had her turning around and scrambling to make the room dark once again.
No. She yanked on the tie to her robe and the ends fell apart. She hadn’t worn undergarments on purpose, preparing for this, wondering if she’d have the guts.
“There’s no comparison to sunlight, don’t you agree?” She spun around. The air was so stale in the room, she barely noticed a difference in temperature on her bare skin.
Leo held his hand in front of his eyes. Dang. She hadn’t thought of that. She’d made her big show right after she’d blinded him.
“Millie, the curtains.”
“They were never my favorite.” He’d know something was up. She rambled when she was avoiding talking about what was on her mind. He used to love coaxing it out of her, and his favorite way had been to kiss a path from her ear down her neck to her—
Heat flooded her until her knees almost crumpled. She hadn’t thought about sex in so long. Leo’s healing had been paramount. But they were angels. He’d healed quickly. He couldn’t grow back amputated parts, but he’d healed. His mind needed a nudge—or more. But he wouldn’t get to the more if she didn’t do something drastic. Dragging him to a human psychiatrist wasn’t an option for her kind.
“I think I might change them. Floral. What do you think?” Her body burned. At this point, before, Leo would have known she wasn’t talking and he’d be on her. His strong hands would be circling her waist. He wouldn’t undo her robe, he’d tease her.
She feathered her fingers between her breasts. Had she rambled just to get him to use his talented hands and mouth on her?
Would they be able to play those games again?
“Millie, close the curtains.” He moved his hand and his gaze landed on her. He blinked and ducked his head, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
“I just love the sunlight.” She trailed her hand down her belly. His bleary brown gaze tracked her. “It’s so warm. Remember when we used to sit on a blanket outside?”
“I can’t get outside.”
“Bullshit.” She bit her lip. She rarely swore. He might have missed that.
His eyes were on hers. No, he hadn’t.
Bolstered, she kept going. “The grass is so soft. Aren’t we lucky in Numen? We can make our
grass as plush as we want.”
“Millie.” There. He was onto her rambling.
Her hand was going to reach a point where she’d have to decide what she was going to do. Pressure built in her skull, coalesced in her belly. She was going to explode and she knew a surefire way to let off steam.
Orgasms were nature’s pressure valve.
“It’s been so long, Leo. I’ve held it all in. I have needs.” Her libido had been shut down. Hard. She could continue to ignore her baser needs, but an unseen force propelled her. Was it her sync bond? Was Leo trapped in his own head and looking for a reason to escape? Was it her own pride motivating her?
She wouldn’t know unless she tried.
Hit him where it hurts.
She snapped her hand up. Leo’s gaze jerked, following its path. “Well?”
His pupils were dilated. Was he realizing that he had needs too? Was he realizing that not all was lost? He was alive and he had her. That was a good start, wasn’t it?
“I should go since I can’t sleep in here anymore.”
She rushed out before she lost her nerve, yanked her robe closed, and shut the curtains while profusely apologizing. She might’ve if that hadn’t been the most alive Leo had been since he’d been injured. In his eyes was male interest. Her mate was still in there. He’d buried himself so deep to protect himself, to protect her, he didn’t realize how much he was hurting them both.
The way he’d looked at her . . .
She slid into the guest bedroom that she’d been using for the last several months and was about to close the door when she paused. She hadn’t closed his door. He’d hear better with the doors open.
Her belly fluttered. She was really doing this.
Yes. No. Yes. She had to do something and she’d exhausted her reserves.
She flopped on her bed, her wings spread wide and her robe flung open. She clung to the brief glimpse of desire that’d been in Leo’s gaze when his eyes had adjusted. The way he’d looked at her. So much longing. So much self-defeat.
She skated her fingers down her abdomen, and this time she let her mind wander to the first time she’d been with her mate. They had synced first. Ever the traditional couple. He’d done little more than kiss her hand before they’d bonded.
Demon Fire (The Angel Fire Book 3) Page 11