This time, she’d gotten herself off in the morning. Changed up her tactics. Kept him guessing. She hoped.
Flinging one side of her robe open, she strode into their bedroom. Leo was on his side, facing away from her as usual. His wings were tucked closer around his body than normal, as if he hoped they were an invisibility cloak.
Pursing her lips, she crossed to the drapes and flung them as wide open as her robe. There was a rustle of bedding as she let her eyes become accustomed to the bright sunshine.
Leo didn’t say anything. He didn’t ask her to shut the curtains. He didn’t protest like the first couple of times. He was silent.
Push him harder. She let out a nervous giggle. “Oh my goodness. I should tie my robe shut or I’ll flash the entire neighborhood.” She spun around, a fake smile plastered all over her face.
And found that he had his back to her, his wings forming a shell around him.
What the . . . When was the last time he’d rolled over that fast?
She narrowed her eyes. “They might see my breasts.” He didn’t twitch.
Her confidence wavered. How was she going to get through to him? Were orgasms really going to be enough to tear down the protective barrier his gray wings made?
Touching herself was all well and good, but she had a mate right here who could touch her whenever he wanted. The point of all this was to get him to want to do something, anything, at all.
She tilted her head. Touch.
When was the last time she’d touched him?
After he’d finished healing, he’d become self-competent enough to keep her at bay. She didn’t bathe him. She didn’t comb his hair. She didn’t help him get in and out of bed.
Summoning all the courage she had left, she sauntered to the edge of the bed. He couldn’t see her, but she didn’t care. She rolled her shoulders in a way that made her breasts jiggle.
What did humans say? Fake it till you make it.
She brushed her hand over the feathers of his wings. He jerked like she’d gut punched him. Feathers fluttered as a ripple passed through Leo’s body. “I’ll get us some breakfast.”
He didn’t respond.
Had she gotten through to him? She went to the kitchen. Odessa had brought several bags of groceries from Earth earlier in the week. A loaf of bread Millie made yesterday was on the counter. Strawberries and blueberries were in a container next to it. Oranges. Eggs. Even a jar of a dark spread called Nutella. Millie had never had the chocolate hazelnut concoction, but Odessa swore it was an orgasm for the taste buds.
Leo usually wanted dry toast and water. He’d been indulged too long. He’d get used to her touch—and to pleasant flavors and sensations.
She cut some bread and spread Nutella over it, then sliced the fruit and made fresh orange juice. When she was walking upstairs, she passed a vase that Odessa had stuck red and yellow tulips in. Plucking one out, Millie put that on the tray next to the food.
She breezed into the bedroom, only now realizing her robe had been open the entire time. At least one of them was getting used to the new her.
Setting the tray down, she curled her fingers gently around the crest of a wing. “Breakfast, my love.”
She left him to eat. The minutes ticked by slowly. She paced the entire main floor of the manor. Would he sample anything? Gobble it all and realize how much he deprived himself?
Finally, an hour passed and she jogged up the stairs. He had rolled to his other side, but his face was still buried under feathers.
“All done?” She couldn’t suppress her grin when she went to the tray.
Her smile faded. Nothing had moved. The orange juice was full. A small gasp escaped her. The flower was crushed, like he’d fisted the delicate petals and squeezed.
No words came to her. She grabbed the tray. Juice sloshed over the glass as she stomped out.
She muttered under her breath the whole way to the kitchen. “Stubborn male. Stubborn, pigheaded, thick skulled—”
She was about to push over the vase with the unwanted flowers when a gong rang through the house. Snatching her hand back, she steadied the tray in her grip. That was probably Bryant. She stuffed a hand through her hair and cinched her robe as tight as she could.
She was back to her serene self when she answered. “Bryant. Welcome. You can go right up.”
“Is he . . .”
“Still digging his heels in?” She winced. “Poor choice of words.”
“Only he could still do that even after losing his legs.” Bryant swept upstairs.
In the kitchen, Millie took a bite of bread and groaned as rich chocolate sweetness burst over her tongue. Odessa was right. Her taste buds were having a full-on orgy.
She sighed. The moment of pleasure was brief. She might have to eat the entire jar to forget today.
What was she going to do? She’d been a fool to think that touching herself would be enough.
“Millie?” Bryant’s voice broke into her thoughts.
She pushed off the counter. How long had she been pouting? “Yes?” She met Bryant at the entry.
The corner of Bryant’s eyes crinkled. His version of a smile. “I’ll come again in a few days.”
“He’ll be there.” Right there. Left side or right side. That was all that changed.
Bryant took a step, then stopped. He turned, tipping his head toward her, and whispered, “And whatever you’re doing, keep going. It’s working.”
He breezed out the door, his wings barely clearing the frame before the door slammed shut behind him.
She stared at the wood panel for a full minute.
It’s working.
Slanting her gaze up the stairs, she thought of a conversation she’d overheard once during her work as a chaperone. Three kids, fully grown, had surrounded a mother who’d lived a long, full life. It’d been a privilege to guide her to the light. But as the woman lay dying, the children fondly swapped stories of when they were younger. One was about how their mother had fed them the same meal for breakfast, lunch, and dinner if they refused to at least taste everything on their plate.
Leo wasn’t a child, but he wouldn’t let himself get so weak she had to spoon-feed him again. He’d eat. And when he ate, he might have no choice but to enjoy the little pleasures life had to offer.
She went back to the kitchen, humming to herself, and fixed another slice of bread covered in Nutella.
Chapter 14
Traffic flowed around them. Boone didn’t want to get too far ahead of Harlowe. Sierra had been quiet since the doctor put the picture in her hand. She’d nodded at whatever the doctor said and walked out of the clinic as dazed as a newly made zombie. They hadn’t stopped to make another appointment.
She clutched the black-and-white photo in her hand. The corner was going to be permanently wrinkled from her hold on it.
He pulled off the 215 and turned right to get to the neighborhood their safe house was in. Harlowe followed in her nondescript black sedan. He adjusted his speed to stay consistent with traffic. Don’t stand out. Don’t lose Harlowe. They needed her trust.
The warriors had given him a burner phone to contact them in case they got separated. If they were smart, they’d be able to track him with it too. He hadn’t bothered to check. There were worse things than angels following him.
Two blocks before their place, a guy lurched across the sidewalk. His mouth moved but that didn’t always mean anything in the days of Bluetooth. Yet the erratic way he walked, unable to follow a straight line, sent alarms through Boone’s head.
Sierra straightened, but kept looking ahead. “Archmaster.”
“Damn.” They approached the end of the block. A red car was parked two houses away from the corner. “What about this guy?”
Someone was in the passenger seat.
“Can you slow down?”
He rolled past and she shook her head. “I couldn’t tell.”
He took the phone out and handed it to her. “See what Harlowe says.�
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Her moves were efficient. She didn’t set the ultrasound print down, but it didn’t slow her movements with the phone.
He idled down the next block. There was a navy blue delivery van sitting outside the safe house. “Shit.” All the deliveries they needed had been made in the days after they’d first arrived.
There was no time to wait for Harlowe’s permission. He increased his speed. He wasn’t stopping until he knew for certain it was safe.
A delivery guy wearing a navy polo that matched the van was walking up the path to the front door. At the sound of the pickup, he turned slowly, his moves eerily jerky.
Boone glanced over, his expression neutral, like he was just a normal dude a few blocks from home. The delivery man had stopped, his gaze intent.
Sierra did the same as Boone. A glance over and then out the windshield. Neither one said anything until they passed.
Just as Sierra said, “Archmaster,” the delivery man sprinted to his vehicle.
“We’ve been ID’d.” He pressed down the accelerator. How fast could he push the speed? He didn’t dare get pulled over. What would a demon do to a cop? How well would Jack Smith’s fake license hold up?
Sierra put the phone to her ear. “The safe house has been blown.”
The van squealed into the middle of the street—and right into the side of Harlowe’s black sedan. The crash was loud within the cab and both he and Sierra jumped.
“Harlowe!” Sierra craned around in her seat. “Harlowe!” she cried again into the phone.
The van didn’t stop and was gaining on them. They couldn’t stop to check on her. Urban or Bronx had to have heard the crash.
Boone whipped around the corner. There was a long stretch ahead, but zigzagging would be best. He didn’t take the next turn for fear of running into the archmaster they’d first passed.
“Shit!” Sierra faced forward. “She’s not answering.”
“The phone probably got knocked out of her hand.” Boone checked his mirror. The delivery van was gaining on them.
Calling on old skills, he took the next left without slowing. Sierra braced herself against her door and the console. He took the next right, then an immediate left. He went to take a right and almost got stuck in a cul-de-sac. He veered back out as the van careened around the corner behind him, gaining speed.
Boone pushed his speed faster. A residential area was the last place for a high-speed chase. Another quick right. He didn’t know this area. If he’d been on the job, he would’ve mapped the entire neighborhood. Hell, he’d have known every block in Henderson. But this hadn’t been his operation and he hadn’t been allowed a phone until today.
The van roared close. Boone was about to take another right but spotted a large, sprawling building that reminded him too much of a school. He swerved back on the road he’d been on, losing precious feet of distance.
“It looks like a main road over there.” Sierra pointed to where cars whizzed by at higher speeds than he was going. He could push the limit higher there and weave in and around traffic. The demon pursuing them would have to avoid an accident or risk enough damage that’d stop his pursuit.
He’d have to quit turning and gun it for the main road. Increasing his speed, he remained hyperaware of his surroundings. They passed a few pedestrians and a few people on bikes who took the first turn away from them they could.
He tore his gaze away from the mirror just as a familiar red car fishtailed around a turn two blocks ahead.
“It’s the same car,” Sierra confirmed.
It raced straight for them. If he swerved, he’d jump the sidewalk, but he couldn’t see any kids playing in lawns or driveways. He’d have to risk it.
He was about to ease the wheel to the right between two parked cars when his pickup was slammed from behind. He and Sierra flew forward and back. The red car was on them and not slowing down. It was going to pin them to the van. The human behind the wheel of the red car would perish.
He slammed on his brakes. The shrieking of tires on pavement filled the air, followed by the wrenching of what sounded like a massive soda can crushing outside of the vehicle.
Both air bags popped, slamming his head back. He cried out and cupped his nose. Dust rained down around them as they were momentarily dazed. Sierra undid her seat belt and reached for the ultrasound picture that had been knocked from her hand. But before she could reach it, her door was yanked open. She let out a strangled cry as the delivery man hauled her out.
“No.” Boone fumbled with his seat belt, but the pounding he’d taken from the air bag had left him stunned. Smoke filled the air but he refused to panic. The smell was different from a fire. It was from the airbags.
He freed himself and lunged across the front seat. Fear suffocated him as questions clambered in his head. Was Sierra okay? Had the seat belt or the airbag hurt the baby?
The door hung open and the smack of knuckles on skin was unmistakable.
“Sierra!” he roared and rolled out, nearly landing on his damn face. When he righted himself, he spun toward the flurry of movement.
Sierra had the human’s arm twisted behind him and was slamming him up against the truck. “Who. The fuck. Told you. About us.”
Boone knew the answer. Sandeen had left and demons had found them. But he hung back.
“Your angel bodyguards can’t protect you.” A dark laugh left the human a moment before a long, ragged groan. The man crumpled. The demon must’ve vacated him.
“We’ve gotta check on Harlowe.” Sierra ran to the pickup and came out with the phone and the picture clutched in her hand. She went for the van that was cockeyed on the curb. The engine wasn’t running.
“Sierra.”
“Boone. Hurry.”
“Can Harlowe really be hurt?” Angel fire. Dismemberment. She hadn’t mentioned a fender bender, which wasn’t nearly as bad as what had happened to the red car.
Sierra stopped at the driver’s side of the van. “She’ll . . .” She rubbed her head. “She’ll heal.”
“We have to check on the driver of the other car.” And get Sierra to the doctor, but she wasn’t going to go willingly while others were in danger.
“Right. The human.” She chewed on her lip as they both sprinted to the car. He was desperate to ask her how she was feeling, to beg her to stop so he could look her over, but she wasn’t going to slow down, and they had to get out of here after checking the human.
The driver of the car couldn’t have been more than nineteen. He hadn’t been wearing his seat belt. The airbag of the car had slammed him into the seat and he’d probably hit his head on the door’s window. Blood dripped from his nose and he was moaning. At least he was breathing.
“Is he—” Boone couldn’t bring himself to say just human. They’d been in an accident in the middle of the day. Anyone who was home would be coming out to check on them, call 911, or film it. None of those scenarios was good.
“No,” she answered knowing what he meant. “It’s gone.”
“We have to go.” He didn’t know if his pickup would run. The back end was dented, but the front bumper was on the ground. The best vehicle out of the three was the delivery van with its wonky but still-attached front bumper.
Sierra came to the same conclusion and they ran for it. “We have to ditch this as soon as possible.”
She dove through the open driver’s door and scrambled into the passenger seat. He jumped into the driver’s seat. The keys were in the ignition. Shutting the door, he fired up the engine.
“I don’t know where the fuck to go,” he admitted as he backed onto the street and whipped around so he could go back the way they’d come. He’d circle around the block, hope to miss any police on their way, and head . . . somewhere.
“It’s Vegas,” she replied. “It’s easy to lose yourself here.”
The small motel was the kind where Sierra didn’t want to question the stain in the carpet. The older woman who’d checked them in had sworn they’d b
een free of bedbugs for three years and counting.
She sat cross-legged at the edge of the bed. Boone had stripped the comforter from the top. The sheets weren’t exactly pristine, but they were an even shade of not-quite-white and relatively stain-free with only one cigarette burn in the corner.
It was the best they could afford on the cash they’d been given. Boone had parked the delivery van at the farthest edge of a grocery store after he’d dropped her off a block away. She’d had to convince him to do it. He’d hated being even ten feet from her side, but the distance might keep her face off of security cameras. Evading the human police would be easier than evading the underworld.
She’d stood just outside an accountant’s office and checked the phone. Harlowe hadn’t tried to contact her. After he met back up with her, Boone had used his debit card to withdraw his max cash limit. Andy had likely learned who he was by now and was probably using his connections to find out everything about him. He could even be tracking Boone’s finances. But they’d needed money.
Boone had prepaid for one night. They’d find another place tomorrow night after figuring a way to get across town. Both of them hated stopping in one place for so long, but their resources were limited.
The owner had ordered them a pizza. Boone had paid her extra to do it, saying they were stranded in town and his phone had quit holding a charge. Sierra had done her best to look road-weary and haggard. It was coming naturally by now. Since the phone in the room cost money to use, the owner had gladly tacked on a five-dollar charge.
There was a knock on the door. Sierra pressed herself against the headboard and considered rolling off to crouch behind the bed, but Boone put his back to the wall and used a finger to pull the curtain back an inch. He scanned the rest of the parking lot before opening the door. He blocked the crack in the door to keep the pizza delivery person from seeing her.
When the delivery guy was gone, she dug into the pizza, using the box top as her plate along with Boone as they sat on the hard chairs of the side table that was so small the pizza box hung off the side. He’d purchased a few bottles of water and a Sprite. She had a feeling she could’ve asked for a filet mignon and hand-squeezed orange juice and he would’ve gotten it for her. The way he hovered and looked her over from head to toe every few minutes, the accident had left him shaken and not from the injuries.
Demon Fire (The Angel Fire Book 3) Page 16
