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

and Urban stormed out. “Damn thing got away. The human is fine but will need medical attention.”

A furrow formed in Boone’s forehead, as if working out why, exactly, Urban was also delusional enough to believe Jim was possessed.

“The police are coming. We have to go,” Sierra said.

Harlowe and Urban exchanged glances. “We’re coming with.”

“Ask Boone. It’s his vehicle.” She pushed past Harlowe and ignored all the memories that surfaced. Her and Harlowe watching movies during long stakeouts. Talking about the other guys on the team and their more annoying, but endearing traits. Training together and then rejoicing when they got on the same team. An ache yawned open in her chest. She was never going to have that again with Harlowe.

By the time Sierra made it to the pickup, Boone was by the driver’s side. “We need to pick up Alma. She can’t walk that fast.”

Sierra didn’t argue that the woman wasn’t Alma right now. She climbed in. Boone pulled up to the driveway opening and Urban helped Alma inside. His lips twisted in disgust at helping a demon, but even he could tell Sandeen wasn’t pushing the host beyond her capabilities. The bag got tossed in the box and Harlowe and Urban bookended Sandeen in the back seat.

“You didn’t have to frisk me,” Sandeen grumbled.

“Yes, I did,” Urban replied.

“I’d rather she did it.”

Did he have to antagonize Harlowe?

Boone pulled away and drove calmly past Alma’s house. He turned the corner, and Sierra checked the mirrors. A police car tore around the other end of the block where Boone had been parked. They’d made it out in time.

Boone turned toward the highway that led out of town and south toward Wyoming.

“Where are we going?”

Boone navigated around the curve of the highway, and the city stretched out in front of them. Darkness had descended hours ago and the lights of Las Vegas brightened the horizon.

He couldn’t escape the feeling that they were driving into the lion’s den. The day after he’d rescued Sierra, she had mentioned that she’d lived in Vegas. Harlowe and Urban claimed they had orders to go to Vegas. Alma—Sandeen—had the “I’m with you boys” attitude. For three of the four, Las Vegas was relevant. Sierra hadn’t lied about that, at least.

The entire time they were on the road, he learned all about Sierra’s world. Her explanations of a realm of angels called Numen—both the realm and the angels. Daemon, a realm of demons. The three levels of demons—sylphs, symasters, and archmasters. Or were there four? He’d never look at a gargoyle the same again.

Sandeen was called an archmaster, and Harlowe had grilled him about why he wasn’t monstrous and leathery. Which had led to Sandeen pestering her about how sexy she thought he was. So demons were normally ugly. Got it. Apparently, the others were able to see what Sandeen really looked like when all Boone could see was Alma.

By the time the lights of Sin City spread before him, Boone wasn’t sure if he was the only one living in reality, or the only one left out of a great cosmic secret.

These people talked about this world as simply and as detailed as he’d describe his time being an agent and the realities of being undercover.

Sylphs were street dealers. Symasters? They were like the midlevel dealers who ran the street dealers who sold the most drugs. But the middlemen could only play at being the big dog. They didn’t have the connections or the money or, most importantly, the power to control others. Lacking political connections and the ruthlessness to hurt innocent people to make a point, they couldn’t be a drug lord. Archmasters were like drug lords.

Boone propped his elbow by the window and scrubbed his face, his mind buzzing with all the information. Sierra hadn’t told him as much about Numen—she’d made Sandeen tell him what he knew so “the demon” wouldn’t learn anything new about their realm.

She didn’t elaborate on what had happened to her, and neither did Urban or Harlowe. And at no point did she tell the others she was pregnant. She hadn’t confirmed it to him, but when he’d asked about bathroom breaks, she’d given him a knowing look.

She had people after her and instead of getting farther away from danger, they were getting closer.

Harlowe’s tone hadn’t left room for him to argue. He was just the driver.

“Where do I go, you know, since I can’t use my map app? On my phone.” The one they’d made him toss outside of Green Valley. Andy has wicked skills. He might be able to track you.

In for a penny . . .

Boone had gone with it. How far was he going to follow this troupe of . . . He had no name for them. Sierra called Harlowe and Boone warriors. Still angels, but they did something called a morph to hide their wings on Earth. All he knew was that he couldn’t return to his isolated life in the mountains without all the questions eating him alive.

That was the excuse he told himself about why he was driving and nodding at Sierra’s descriptions like of course there were angels and demons and they fought their battles on Earth or an in-between realm called the Mist, not to be confused with the realm between the underworld and Earth.

For fuck’s sake.

Had he been alone too long? Did he crave interaction? Or was it the escape from the regrets of his old life that drove him to stay a part of this group?

One of those had to be the answer. It wasn’t the petite blonde in his passenger seat who vibrated with nerves. She was nervous around the two she claimed were her former teammates. Her suspicion of Sandeen lined her speech toward him. But when she spoke to Boone, she was the same fallen angel he’d rescued from a snowstorm.

Fallen angel. His ironic name was what she claimed was her identity. Kicked out of the realm of angels. She was more comfortable around him than anyone else