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

“I don’t think . . .”

Pleasure swamped her—nowhere near as strong as what Leo could do to her, but staggering all the same. “Yes. Leo. Yes!”

Her shouts rang off the walls as she rode her hand. The swell died down and she sagged against the bed. Stifling loneliness weighed on her like a lead blanket. She pressed the hand she hadn’t used on herself on the headboard behind her, as if she could touch Leo that way.

“Leo,” she said between heaving breaths, “I’m sleeping in that bed tonight.”

Silence was her only reply.

Chapter 10

A week since they’d arrived and she was less active than she’d been in a one-bedroom cabin in the middle of winter.

The bath water was getting cold, but sitting in the tub staring at the white tiled wall was better than being downstairs while everyone ignored her. Sandeen kept trying to creep by her. There were knives other than butter knives, but Sandeen wanted her blood bad enough to risk staying around a bunch of angels.

She didn’t want to leave the bathroom. It’d become her safe space.

Las Vegas during winter was pleasant. There was a reason people from northern, wintery climates flocked here between the months of November and March. But she wasn’t allowed to sit out under the sun. The background checks on the neighbors weren’t complete.

Boone was allowed to go outside. He’d set up a couple of patio chairs that had been delivered, but they were for looks only. The neighbors would assume they were still settling in.

Boone didn’t talk to her enough to come up with a backstory, so Harlowe had given them one. Jack and Shari Smith from Idaho. He sold health insurance and worked from home but had been transferred to the Las Vegas area. She was taking online courses for her degree. Second marriage for him, first for her. She hadn’t missed how Boone tensed when Harlowe listed that as part of their background. But since Sierra looked like she was in her twenties and he was pushing forty, it would provoke fewer questions.

Alma was Jack’s mother. Sierra thought Boone would resist feigning having a parent, but he didn’t flinch. His own parents had died years ago, and he’d dealt with the grief.

Had Harlowe intentionally given Boone the fictional mother, knowing Sierra hadn’t known hers and that her father was probably still in mourning in Numen?

It’d make up for the box of ugly clothing she’d received. She’d gone through the piles, and at the risk of being ungrateful, they were repellent. She wouldn’t have to worry about maternity wear. The granny panties went to her boobs. The plain white bras lacked all support, and no matter how she adjusted them, they felt twisted. The simple sports bras weren’t better, but they allowed for growth and were easier on her still tender breasts than the others.

Plain T-shirts in off colors. Sickly green. Obnoxious yellow. Browns. All sorts of brown and none of them cute. None that complemented each other. She didn’t know how it was possible, but Dionna had managed it.

It wasn’t the clothing that irritated her. It was the sentiment behind it. She’d paid her dues. When would it be enough?

Should I tell Director Richter you said hi?

She deserved it.

Closing her eyes, she debated turning the hot water on and warming the water up. She’d love some bubble bath. A soothing scent that wouldn’t upset her stomach.

Why was her stomach so attuned to her nose?

Maybe she’d know if she read a book or two on pregnancy, but she’d have to tell the warriors and that wasn’t happening.

She should. Sandeen hadn’t said anything. Ever-present suspicion regarding the demon flared. He was smarter than the average demon. He was keeping the information to himself in order to benefit himself. She needed to let the warriors know. Even better—she needed to let them know and tell them not to let Sandeen know she’d told them. How would he attempt to use the information?

But she couldn’t. This baby wasn’t a pawn.

This baby.

Inhaling, she sat up. She couldn’t be stuck alone with her thoughts anymore. Lukewarm water sluiced down her body as she stood. After she dried off, she dressed and went to her bedroom. She wasn’t ready to go downstairs and be around anyone. She rolled her neck and stretched her shoulders. Then she lifted an arm and dug at the underwire sticking into her skin.

Already? Even a crappy bra should last over a week.

She dug out a sports bra and took her shirt off. The bra went in the garbage and she tugged the new one over her head.

“Hey, Sierra, they want you—”

The bra was in place by the time she spun. Boone’s mouth was stuck open and his gaze planted on her breasts. The thin material had to show as much as it covered, but she kept her arms at her sides. How self-conscious could one be in mud-brown leggings and limp, wet hair?

“Want me for what, Boone?”

He snapped his mouth shut and stepped back. His back hit the door, knocking it closed the rest of the way. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“You’ve made it clear you don’t want to look at me or touch me. I’m not worried that you’re trying to peek.” She waved her hands up and down her body. “It’s not like I’m putting on a spectacular show.”

In Numen, she’d been surrounded by tall, stunning angels. Male attention hadn’t been plentiful. She’d lost her virginity to a friend she’d been in warrior training with. They’d done the friends-with-benefits thing, and sometimes she’d picked up a human when she was working long missions on Earth.

Sure, she was fit. She still had some abs. Her breasts were slightly bigger than her normal size. Muscles filled out her biceps and thighs. But she wasn’t Harlowe. Statuesque. Stunning. Loyal. And she hadn’t cared. She’d lived to be a warrior, not a mate.

Yet the way Boone couldn’t keep his eyes off of her left her with a craving for more. Was