Demon Fire (The Angel Fire Book 3) by Marie Johnston (top 10 novels of all time TXT) 📕

side, the trained warrior side, told her that to protect those around her, she should ditch everything about her old life.

“I don’t have any documents,” she continued. “No papers to prove who I am and who I’m not. I don’t know how to apply for a job, or how I’ll get paid. I don’t know anything, Boone. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

She hated how frantic her voice got the more she spoke. But her situation was dire. Other fallen had managed to drag themselves out of the gutter. But more had succumbed to their circumstances for the very reasons she’d named.

She’d tried succumbing, but Boone hadn’t let her. He hadn’t let her be a coward. She couldn’t backtrack now.

“There’s more snow on the way.”

She looked at the cloudy sky. The air smelled like pine and snow, but she was surrounded by both. Did he have an innate sense about the weather or better cell service than she’d thought?

“I don’t want to risk getting stranded in town, but when the weather passes and the roads clear, we can deal with the clothing issue.”

“I can’t let you—”

“I couldn’t help my wife. Let me help you.” His jaw flexed so hard she wouldn’t be shocked if teeth cracked. The person who’d failed him had been his wife. Was she alive?

Sierra didn’t think so. “I want to be able to say no, but I don’t even have a pair of underwear to call my own.”

“It’s just money.”

He said it as if throwing money at the problem—her—was fine as long as he didn’t get invested in any other way.

“We’ll get you on your feet, Sierra. As long as you’re trying, I’ll help.” He pushed a hand through his hair and it stayed exactly where he’d pushed it, the sweat freezing it in place. It gave him an adorable, approachable feel that she was better off not noticing.

“I’m afraid I’ll fail.” She was fallen. She wasn’t supposed to matter anymore. But she couldn’t escape the sense that something had a hold of her and wasn’t done yet.

Boone leveled her with a solemn gaze. “Then don’t.”

Chapter 3

Two months of stalking this poser club and Sandeen had come up with nothing. Disguised as a hip goth club, Fall From Grace was the place demons—and that human bastard Andy—used to recruit gullible humans for underworld use.

Genius in its simplicity, the club had been started by that slick fallen Jameson, who had used tattoos to denote the “level” each disciple achieved—and to amass power. With no other way to interact on Earth other than through humans, demons had become beholden to the fallen. Jameson provided willing humans, and demons liked the ease. They’d gotten lazy.

That particular fallen might be gone, but Jameson’s assistant and unassuming-accountant-turned-evil-mastermind had taken over. Andrew Petrovsky was a master and Sandeen had become his puppet.

As far as evil missions go, hunting the fallen warrior Sierra could be worse. The last two months, he’d skulked around the club in a human male host, keeping his ears open for rumors about where the fallen could’ve been dumped. He’d had a lot of sex, but he’d rather have had it in his own body and not muted through some human skin bag.

Andy knew that and exploited it.

How the human had learned Sandeen’s treasured secret, he didn’t know. But by the time this mission was over, he would find out. Sandeen’s own sire couldn’t control him; no annoying human was going to.

Sandeen switched his attention to his “mission,” his half-assed efforts to find Sierra. He had pictures of what she looked like. As far as females went, she was attractive, but as far as warriors went, he wasn’t interested. Angels were more trouble than they were worth.

But she was fallen and therefore could be of great use to him.

He’d be damned—and well, he was, but still—if he found Sierra or any other fallen when Andy was watching. So he made it look like he was trying by trolling this club and getting into the torn fishnet stockings of the clientele.

The guy he was walking around in tonight was pleasantly dormant and not trying to fight the possession, thanks to the barbed wire tattoo he sported across his biceps. Allowing an archmaster like Sandeen inside him would promote him and he could earn blood droplets to be added to the design. Innocuous enough, but a powerful message to those in the know.

The tiered-disciple scenario and the way the club used tattoos to signify it irritated Sandeen. It was effective and maybe that was the annoying part. Demons were too mad, too power hungry to think of ingenious plots like this. They’d tear each other apart before they worked together for five minutes to take over the human realm.

Andy had kept the schtick going. A human. Disgust curled Sandeen’s lip and a cute girl with pink hair about to approach him hesitated. Sandeen switched on the charm. A little fucking would pass the time.

She sauntered over to the secluded booth and he leaned back, his arms slung across the back of the seat. The humans knew what these booths were for and he’d learned he didn’t have to work that hard if he picked an attractive enough host.

She slid into the booth, her hand stroking over his chest, her fingers tangling under the buttons. Her little black rose tattoo was visible thanks to the dip of her sweater. Sandeen sealed the deal by saying, “Be a good little human and show me what you can do.”

There it was. The flare of excitement mingled with trepidation. She would either lose her nerve because the thrill of mingling with the underworld was different than sucking it off, or she’d prove what a good little disciple she was.

She danced her fingers down the buttons of his shirt to the fly of his slacks.

Jameson, the damn genius.

Did this human know that the enigmatic millionaire owner who occasionally brought women up to his room was dead? The one she did all of