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

to know what she found tragically humorous? Wouldn’t the whole realm of Numen like to know? But a stubborn part of her had held out. She should’ve learned her lesson and done whatever she could to protect her home, the place she’d sworn to protect as a warrior. But she’d held back. Letting her realm—her former realm—learn her deep, dark secrets would do her no good.

So she hadn’t answered and he’d left with a disgusted snarl, ascending back to Numen, a home she could never return to. She no longer had the ability, even should she wish to. And she didn’t wish to. Not at all.

Maybe if she weren’t such a shitty liar, she wouldn’t have found herself in this dire situation.

Something crackled. Her senses started firing and the smell of smoke tickled her nose. Her fingers were no longer blissfully numb. They ached, along with the rest of her body, but she wasn’t cold.

That didn’t make sense. She’d been outside in the snow. Now she wasn’t and it wasn’t due to any effort of her own.

She kept her eyes closed as she took in her surroundings, learning as much as she could while playing dead.

Crackling, interspersed with pops. A fire. She kept her breathing steady. The smoky smell was fresh, seeped into the very fibers of her surroundings. She didn’t get to experience a real fire too often. Over the years, she’d traveled and experienced the pleasantness of a hearth fire. But there was no need at home—

Her heart wrenched. Not home.

She took another measured breath, refraining from a deep inhale. Other than the campfire smell, there were hints of pine and soap and not much else.

Where was she?

“You can pretend you’re still sleeping,” a deep voice rumbled, making her jerk, then hiss as pain flared through her back. She winced as her dry lips cracked. “Or you can open your eyes and help us both get some answers.”

His voice, whomever it belonged to, held no hint of humor. As serious as a gravestone, he spoke evenly, but she couldn’t escape the feeling that he was hiding an exorbitant amount of emotion. So much that it was smothering him.

Maybe she was just imprinting her own feelings onto him.

She opened her eyes and blinked. The place wasn’t bright. The only light came from the fire crackling on the other side of the room. The walls of her new shelter were made of large brown logs. One wall was two feet from her and there was no furniture, not even a small end table. Just enough room for someone to walk around the bed and slide in. The owner of the voice had propped her on her side, leaving her back blissfully free of pressure.

The bed itself was nice. Soft and cozy, made more so by the plush blankets piled on top of her. Between the fire and how close the man sounded, she was either in the bedroom of a cabin, or the cabin was one room in its entirety. She suspected the latter.

“Who are you?” Her voice cracked. Her mouth was dry and her tongue woolly. How long had she been out?

“Just a guy living in the middle of nowhere who found an unconscious woman in the middle of nowhere.”

Explaining that would be tricky. If he was human—which was likely—he would have her committed if she told him the truth. Or if he believed her at all, then he’d despise her as much as she despised herself. If he wasn’t human and had saved her, then he was probably Numen and she’d risk his standing in Numen society if she told him she was fallen. If he wasn’t human, then he was from Daemon and she had bigger problems than how to explain herself.

Her heart rate kicked up as her mind whirled over how she could defend herself. Her breath eked out of her. Would she defend herself? For what? She had nothing but her body and she couldn’t summon enough energy to care about it. Those weeks spent imprisoned in her realm, when she hadn’t talked to anyone, had given her time to think. Time to reflect on what little she’d contributed in her forty-eight years. Young for an angel, but she’d been a warrior.

And now she wasn’t.

Curiosity propelled her next question. Winger would’ve ensured she’d been put nowhere anyone could help her. “Does this ‘just a guy’ have a name?”

“Boone.”

“Boone,” she rasped, testing the name out. It told her nothing about the type of male he was. “First or last name?”

“Does it matter?”

She chuffed out a breath and fire laced down her spine, seizing the air in her throat.

“You’re in pain.” Not a question. He must’ve seen the damage.

“Stings a bit.”

She got the impression he nodded, but he was sitting out of her line of sight, likely on purpose. Maybe he thought it gave him an advantage. Maybe he feared her, though from his steady voice, she doubted it. Maybe he didn’t want to scare her.

He could’ve left her, but he hadn’t. He might be some sadistic asshole who wanted to use her in terrible ways. She tried to summon some fear.

She was unsuccessful. Did she even care what happened to her?

“Your name?” he asked.

Her lips twitched, but she paused. He didn’t know who she was, and she doubted he had any idea what she was. She was no longer Numen. No longer a warrior. She was fallen. Fallen didn’t last long on Earth. Except for Jameson, though he was dead now too.

The thought of Jameson was the shiny cherry topping her mountain of shame. How could she have done what she had with him?

Duh. Because she was no better than him.

Maybe a little better. He’d fallen and turned more thoughtless and awful than he’d been in Numen. She wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t do anything. That way, she couldn’t hurt anyone else.

This could be a new start.

She shoved that traitorous thought away. She was who she was and she wouldn’t forget what she’d done, or who