Demon Fire (The Angel Fire Book 3)

by Marie Johnston

  “Do you remember the man that worked for Jameson Haddock?”

  Terror and regret flashed over her face. He recalled how she’d looked exiting the stall. Bringing up Jameson’s name had brought that all back. What had she discovered about the deceased fallen in this little bathroom?

  “Andy?” he prompted.

  “Stede was the one that got to me.”

  He cocked a brow. She didn’t admit to Jameson. His restless intuition said that there was something there. But he’d play along with Sierra’s feigned naivety. “Andy was Jameson’s accountant, then his assistant, but he was a deceptive one. Smarter than anyone gave him credit for and he knows all about us. All of us.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “All of us?”

  “Angels, demons, and fallen.” He cocked his head. “You, my dear, have captured his attention.”

  She crossed her arms, her gaze pinning him in place against the sink. Wet spots from the counter seeped into the back of his sweatpants. He hoped they dried before he went outside and they froze in a heartbeat.

  “Why would he be interested in me?”

  This was where Sandeen had to decide how much to reveal. It smarted that Andy knew everything he did. Sandeen shouldn’t have underestimated him.

  “It has been discovered that fallen blood has certain properties . . .”

  She waited, one black snow boot tapping on the floor.

  That was enough for now. “I propose an alliance.”

  “You can take your alliance and shove it up your bony ass, archmaster. I’m a fallen, as good as human. I’m done with my realm and yours.”

  Her vehemence was understandable. She’d lost her wings for a reason and he only knew part of the story. Perhaps if she knew how much danger she was in . . .

  “Give me some of your blood.”

  Her expression wavered. His request was the last thing she’d expected.

  He rolled his eyes. His knees were stiff and he wanted to sit down. Propping a hip on the sink, he clasped his soft, wrinkled hands. He didn’t want to give her all his information, but he’d rather be working with the fallen than Andy. He’d have to use his trump card. The one thing that would convince this fallen that she could not just fade into humanity. She was wanted.

  “You’ll understand better if you can see why you’re so important to Andy. For that, I need some of your blood.”

  Why the hell would he want my useless blood? When Stede had approached her, he’d wanted her intel, her inside knowledge of where her team would be and when. Jameson had wanted information. The sex had been a byproduct of rage and a rebellion against how they’d each been backed into a corner.

  She’d suffered the repercussions of working with Stede to protect her secret. She’d just discovered she’d be paying for her time with Jameson. She’d left the bathroom wondering what the hell she was going to do, and wallowing a little in the self-pity pool, when this strange woman had said her name.

  Sierra knew almost no one in town. And when she’d turned, letting her gaze go soft like when she’d been in the sporting goods store, she’d seen him, like a 3D hologram over the woman’s face. But instead of skeletal features covered in leathery skin, this archmaster had a less demonic look and a more . . . male model appeal.

  Demons weren’t supposed to be handsome. This one had thick dark hair, piercing blue eyes, and a chiseled chin. She’d been able to make out dark horns jutting from his hair and that was it. Only his face flashing among the aged features of the woman.

  Despite his otherworldly good looks, he didn’t compare to Boone’s quiet strength. And he was a demon.

  She glanced toward the door as if she expected Boone to storm in and find out the answer both of them instinctively knew. The magnitude of the plus sign on the stick in the garbage was slowly setting in. Before the pink lines had appeared, she’d had a sliver of hope. That hope was gone.

  “Your guy’s waiting by the door, glaring down a rack of magazines,” the demon said. “But I’m sure he’ll come knocking. You’d better make your decision.”

  “Or you could tell me.”

  The host’s expression turned serious. “Either give me your blood or I tell Andy exactly where you’re at. Think you and that human can outrun a hundred demons sent your way?”

  Shit. Shit.

  He let out a soft sigh. “Look, like you, I want to be left the hell alone, and I was this close”—he held his host’s fingers an inch apart—“from being free. But Andy’s got eyes everywhere and here I am. He wants something from you. He wants me to do his dirty work, and if I deliver, I’m not young and dumb enough to think that’ll be it and he’ll let me be on my way.”

  If she knew the specifics, she might believe him. The trouble was, she believed him already. He wasn’t a typical archmaster. Save for those horns, he could blend into Numen easier than any other creature she’d seen.

  Still, she hesitated. Nothing like this had worked out before and she refused to be a pawn again. If she caved, Boone could get hurt and he’d done nothing but help her. Her baby—

  She could barely form the thought without gagging, sick to her stomach about what she’d done. Or was it morning sickness? Her gut churned.

  What would the baby of two fallen be like? Normal, like a human? Tiny wings?

  No one would help her, but if the baby had wings? Her realm would take it in a heartbeat. Take it and never look back.

  She couldn’t let that happen. But wings? And how was she going to raise a baby?

  Would it be better to let them take it?

  Ferocious protectiveness welled until she leaned over the human the demon inhabited. “Leave this bathroom and never come back and I won’t let it slip when demons come for me that you were willing to strike a bargain.”

  The host blanched. The demon inside tightened his mouth. “Dammit, Sierra, I don’t have time for this.”

  He struck out, a blade she hadn’t noticed slicing the back of her hand. She hissed and raised a fist to punch the demon, stopping short because she’d do serious damage to the frail human. He clapped his hand over hers, rubbing the beads of blood between their skin.

  She tried to tug away, but the host grew stronger with each second. “What the hell are you—”

  The grip tightened more than it should for the older woman and the image of the demon grew clearer, more defined.

  Sierra stopped fighting against his hold, her arm going still. She glanced down at her hand. The woman’s arthritic fingers gripped her, but she felt the much larger hands that overlaid them. She shouldn’t feel him. She shouldn’t see him so well, shouldn’t see the clear blue of his irises or how his horns curved into his thick hair.

  “I can see you,” she whispered.

  His eyes glinted and his jaw clenched as he gazed down at their hands. “You should be doing more than fucking seeing me.”

  His voice. The deep rumble of his voice was clearer than the reedy words of the old woman. He released her, looked at the red smeared along the wrinkled skin of the palm, and then yanked her hand again.

  Sierra’s curiosity let him. What the hell was going on?

  “I should be free of this host,” he gritted out. “Maybe it’s your blood.”

  She yanked her hand away and shoved it under the faucet. He watched, his scowl on her cut the whole time. “Thanks, asshole. I’m going to have a scar.”

  “Fallen don’t scar.”

  She glanced at him. “How do you know?”

  He lifted a shoulder. “Jameson didn’t have any. He didn’t even age.”

  “Don’t remind me,” she muttered. Jameson’s body had been perfection, his only scars the ones from losing his wings. She had her own. “We can’t base our knowledge of fallen on Jameson. He was different.”

  “Was he different, or determined?” The demon watched her. “You sound downright sentimental. Don’t tell me he got to you.”

  The human’s voice was stronger than the demon’s. Whatever her blood had done was fading
.

  She slapped a paper towel over her cut and glared at the demon. “Since your experiment failed, care to tell me what my blood was supposed to do?”

  “Let me walk free.”

  She chuffed out a laugh. He said it so plainly, it was like he actually believed it.

  His steady stare made her think about what had happened. She’d felt him. She’d heard him. Not the host. Him. “That’s not possible.”

  “It was possible with Jameson’s blood. It should be possible with yours.”

  “I’m not Jameson. What’s your name?” He lifted a brow and she rolled her eyes. “What happened to the ‘we’re in this together’ bullshit?”

  “Such language for an angel.”

  “Such odd behavior for a demon.”

  His shoulders slumped. He wasn’t a normal demon and he knew it. He might be wicked, but he wasn’t evil. What must his life be like?

  She had no place in her for sympathy for a demon. Her empathy had no place either.

  She got another paper towel and wrapped it around her hand. She wasn’t a beacon of goodness like the other angels she’d grown up with. But then she knew why— Her head snapped up and she gasped.

  He caught her gaze. “What?”

  “Nothing.” Did he even know? She’d keep it to herself. She’d have to. “Boone’s going to come looking for me. Sorry I couldn’t help you.”

  His expression said Are you kidding me? “I think you still can. I’m missing something.”

  “You say it’s happened before?”

  He ignored her and looked around the bathroom as if it were a puzzle and the answer was hidden inside. His gaze dropped to the trash and his scowl deepened.

  Shit. She’d hid everything as best she could but there were only so many discarded paper towels. She reached around him to push everything down, but he shrugged her off. The effects of whatever her blood did lingered. The old lady never would’ve been able to stop her.

  “Well, well, well.” He met her gaze, his lips tipped at an odd angle. “Congratulations are in order.”

  “Fuck you.”

  He put his hand on his heart. “I’m hurt.” He jerked his head toward the door. “Is that the nervous dad out there?”

  She couldn’t stop the panic racing across her expression. The incorrect observation was as unexpected as her regret that someone as normal and human as Boone couldn’t be the father, that she hadn’t succumbed to his charm instead.

  The demon stood straighter, making his host’s hip pop. “What’s this now? He’s not the father?”

  “It’s none of your business.”

  The demon’s scrutiny unnerved her. He looked at her as if she were transparent and heartbreakingly obvious. She might be. If she had been quality warrior material, she wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place.

  “If it’s not the human’s, and it happened before you fell, what are the angels going to do when they find out?” He spoke like he marveled over the issue.

  “They are going to do nothing. I’m no longer Numen and I’ve been fallen for months.” She wasn’t much farther along than that. “I’m dead to them, and other fallen have children.”

  “Indeed?”

  Shit, she’d said too much. This demon’s deceptively casual attitude had lured her into a comfort she shouldn’t feel. He wasn’t a friend. He was more likely an enemy, a cunning one. “I’m dead to them. My kid, my business.”

  “The father might think differently.”

  “The father . . . lost his . . . right to have a say.” Smooth, Sierra. Where’s that deception you used earlier when you tricked your entire team?

  “I’d like to hear the story,” he mused.

  “You’re not going to.” She had to leave. If what this demon said was true, others were after her. What would they do when they found out she was pregnant?

  Terror mounted inside of her like a billowing storm bearing down on this tiny town. Aside from not being planned, this was a part of her . . . but also a part of him. Jameson had wanted revenge on an entire realm of angels. He’d killed innocents. That was the baby’s father.

  Not exactly a good start in life.

  “You don’t have to tell me a thing, Sierra. You don’t even have to believe me. But they’re coming for you, and they either won’t care about your baby or they’ll care. A lot.”

  She ground her teeth together. A fallen’s baby might not garner much attention otherwise. But this was Jameson’s baby. And if her blood was important, whoever was after her might question how useful the blood of her child could be. If they ever learned the baby was Jameson’s . . .

  Jameson should’ve been a worthless fallen like her. Instead he’d been driven by resentment, hubris, and greed. He’d prospered. Rational wasn’t a trait when it came to those dealing with Jameson, those who’d followed him. Given that his grown son was not only an angel, but a warrior, this baby would garner much interest. As a pawn, if nothing else.

  She couldn’t have that. “I have to go.”

  “Sierra.”

  She fumbled for the doorknob and managed to turn it enough to open it—and stared into a pair of stern brown eyes.

  “Boone.” Shit, shit, shit.

  The sizable dose of suspicion in Boone’s eyes crowded out the concern and near panic that’d been there since the morning. “What’s going on here?”

  How much had he heard?

  Would he believe any of it?

  Deep-seated fear rose. No. She wasn’t in Numen anymore. She couldn’t fall again if he found out about them. But his looming presence outside the door and the hard look he was shooting both her and the host pounded one point home. He was in danger because of her. His life was at risk because he’d helped her.

  She had to rectify that and she only knew one way to solve it.

  “I have to leave, Boone.”

  Chapter 7

  A hole inside of Sierra gaped open and empty like she’d lost everything.

  Boone had let her go. She hadn’t explained. Boone had let her walk away with a person he’d never seen before. She’d left with only the clothes on her back, which was at least more than she’d started with in this world.

  Sierra punched keys on the host’s old laptop. Alma. The demon hadn’t told her, but there was a pile of bills next to the computer. “It’d help if you gave me your name, demon.”

  “Incognito.”

  She rolled her eyes and logged on to the secure messaging platform she’d set up when she’d been with the team. Human technology benefited them well, and since they worked on Earth so much, it was convenient. Modern advances made it easier than ever to use.

  If only Alma’s computer didn’t take a solid three minutes to load each page.

  “Do I call you Cog for short?” She glared at the demon from the tiny desk set up by the kitchen table. The host’s house was small. A single kitchen, a small dining room, and a simple, square living room. A bedroom door was off the kitchen with the small bathroom. Alma’s house was one level and well lived in. Old photos of her and a man from throughout the years lined the hallways. Pictures of younger versions of them, when gravity hadn’t weighed so heavily on the woman, hung next to older pictures. Alma and the man must have been in their fifties then. The man must’ve died shortly after. The pictures stopped after one of what looked like a sixty-year-old Alma perched on the edge of a hospital bed. The man in the bed was a frail version of the man from the rest of the photos. A lack of any pictures afterward meant he hadn’t gotten out of that bed.

  Grief tugged at Sierra’s heart. A long life together cut too short. Alma was waiting out her time in pain-filled isolation. For a brief few decades, Alma and the man had had each other. Depended on each other. Taken joy in each other.

  So much history in a few photos. A life richer than any Sierra had lived. She’d hovered in the shadows her entire life, afraid of what she was and who’d find out. Then Boone had found her. And she’d left. Destined to do this alone in order to ke
ep someone she’d come to care about from getting hurt.

  Don’t care about anyone. Then they can’t be used against you.

  The thought tempted her. She couldn’t deny that it’d be easier. Except those weeks in prison before her wings were taken had been the loneliest of her life. No communication. No visitors wishing they could change her circumstances. No one. She’d been on her own.

  The online account finished downloading and she punched out a succinct message, naming the town, listing Alma and her address and her unnamed puppet master, and including for good measure Jim and the sporting goods store.

  Her team had to forget about her, wanted nothing to do with her if her time in prison had been any indication, but they couldn’t ignore Alma’s possession and the threat to Jim’s life.

  Sierra hit send and sat back, waiting for the message to complete its digital journey. “It won’t hurt to know your name.”

  The demon lifted a bony shoulder. “It won’t hurt you. I can still play dumb if this thing goes tits up and you turn on me.”

  “Why would I turn on you? I’m not working for demons.”

  “You’re working with me now.” He scooted his butt around, having sunk into the recliner and pointed a gnarled finger at the computer as soon as they’d arrived. “That human of yours was madder than hell.”

  Boone hadn’t said much.

  Sierra had spewed some bullshit story about Alma being an old aunt who had tracked her down and wanted to help, and given “the situation,” Sierra had better go.

  Boone’s direct gaze made it clear he hadn’t bought any of it. But he’d let her go.

  They hadn’t grown so close in the two months since she’d been with him, but he’d opened up to her. And she’d done nothing but keep secrets and put him at risk.

  Go, me.

  “Okay, the message has been sent. You’d better pack.” She wasn’t staying in Green Valley, Montana, one more minute than she had to. She didn’t have to believe the demon to know that trouble was on its way. People had gotten hurt because of her and the lies she lived under.