Demon Fire (The Angel Fire Book 3) by Marie Johnston (best authors to read .txt) 📗

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.

A grunt left the host as he scooted to the edge of her chair. “These knees.”

“Remember her meds.”

Rheumy eyes pegged her. “The purse is full of meds. The bathroom cabinet is full of meds. I’m not going to forget the fucking meds.”

Sierra watched the demon struggle to rise in his older host. “Then why didn’t you possess a younger human?” Demons weren’t picky. They took what they could get, but her question was a way to find out what she could about this one.

“Alma likes me.”

“What now?” Jameson had built an empire around humans who wanted to serve the underworld and help them. Had his sickness spread this far?

“Don’t get your angelic panties in a twist. Alma’s a good soul. But she’s lonely and in constant pain. I’m a good distraction.”

And he likely felt the brunt of that pain, muffling it for Alma’s consciousness. “She’s not fighting you?”

“It might surprise you that I’ve done nothing to make her fight me.”

“You’re possessing her.”

“Everyone needs a break.”

Exasperating demon. How could he be what he was but speak fondly of his host? Demons were selfish. Hosts were a means to an end.

Yet she couldn’t escape the sense of kinship she had with him. He wasn’t a normal demon. He thought out his actions, for one. A cunning demon was the most dangerous, but he wasn’t needlessly cruel. She didn’t trust him, but he was different and that was enough to take notice.

He hobbled past her on his way to the bedroom. “Where are we going, fallen?”

“Far from here.” She hadn’t forgotten that this demon wanted her blood too. But she needed answers and he was the best route for her.

“I don’t know how far Alma’s car will make it.”

“We can procure another one.”

He turned, delight gleaming in his host’s eyes. “Do you plan to jack a car? Is that the definition of how the mighty have fallen?”

“Fuck off, demon.”

“I can’t. Andy has a fan club in Daemon. I can’t go home until I kill them all.” As he disappeared in the bedroom, she caught his muttered, “And then I don’t ever want to go back again.”

Was he tricking her?

A message popped up that the send was a success. Now she waited. Should she go into the bedroom and see if any of Alma’s clothing fit? She was back to having nothing and she didn’t want to flee town on the dime of a human living off social security.

Her mind went back to the picture. There’d been no kids, but Alma had found someone to spend her life with. Sierra wouldn’t ever find anyone to spend her life with. She’d never planned to. Someone like her didn’t get a happily ever after with a mate. Others of her kind could sync their life with another’s, or wait until they got matched to a sync mate. But she’d been a warrior, and the chances were supposed to have been better that she’d mate. Mates could heal, and many warriors got theirs when they’d been severely injured.

But Sierra wasn’t like the others. She’d assumed that whatever ethereal force assigned mates would skip over her, leave her unique makeup out of the Numen gene pool.

Somehow, she was procreating anyway.

Awareness prickled along her spine. She stared at the computer screen but concentrated on her other senses. Was someone watching her? Alma’s shades were drawn. She didn’t know if the human normally kept her house this dark, but the demon did.

Was someone approaching the doors? Did Alma get visitors? How did the demon handle those?

There was a faint rustle by the back door. Sierra moved her fingers over the laptop keys in case anyone could see inside. They’d think she was focused on her task, but her senses were attuned to the back door.

She strained to hear over the racket the demon was making as he packed. Pill bottles rattled and the host’s footsteps shuffled between the bedroom and bathroom.

She had to get the demon’s attention. Discreetly. “Psst.” She winced. That would have to do.

The host disappeared into the bedroom. Dammit.

Pushing away from the computer, she shoved a hand through her hair. She’d done nothing more than brush it and it was long enough to hang in her face and get in the way. Her coat was by the front door with her hat and gloves stuffed inside the pockets. The pile rested on top of her boots. She hadn’t wanted to track snow all over the human’s tidy house.

She was barefoot and pregnant and unarmed.

Striding to the kitchen, she looked through the cupboards. When she found the glasses, she took one out to make it look like she was getting a drink. The back door was to her right. The curtain across the door’s window was thin, just thick enough to hide the specifics of what she was doing. A shadow moved on the other side, crouched low.

A block of knives sat on the counter. She slipped out the paring knife and tucked it into the palm of her hand. It was small, but if the person on the other side was possessed, it wouldn’t kill the host if she was careful.

Creeping close to the door, she edged back against the wall, inching left and right