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

this what she’d been missing? Was it the man who made the difference?

She shook her head. Moot points. Tossing the shirt over her head, she asked, “Did they say what it was about?”

Boone crossed his arms and stared at the floor in front of her feet. “There’s another warrior here.”

She’d seen Bronx out the window when he’d been unloading the moving van. He’d caught her looking and she hadn’t bothered waving. Just turned away before he could see the tears glittering in her eyes. She’d crawled back in bed and tried not to think about how she couldn’t walk up to Bronx, bump knuckles, and ask if he’d actually fought anyone or if he’d spent his whole time on Earth picking up women. She wouldn’t think about how he’d laugh and tell her that she was his favorite wingman.

Bronx was the brother she’d never had. Since her sister didn’t know she existed, the loss left a bigger hole than ever.

“Who?” She could go downstairs and see for herself but her feet were rooted in place.

“I don’t know. Blond.”

Icicles crystalized in her veins. “Jagger.”

Boone lifted a shoulder and finally lifted his gaze to hers. “Sierra? Are you going to faint?”

She might. “Damn hormones.” Her butt hit the edge of the bed. She wasn’t close enough and slid down. Boone was at her side before she could catch herself. He lifted her up and placed her close to him.

“What’s with Jagger?”

“He’s . . .” Breathing was like sucking air through ten thick blankets. “He’s . . . Nothing. He’s just an old teammate.”

How would she act around Jagger? She’d fucked his father. They hadn’t liked each other, but she’d let the fallen have at her. They’d had sex like it was tied to their next breath. Two desperate, lost beings. She’d never see Jameson again. She’d never have to wonder what he’d do if he learned she was expecting his kid.

Oh, God. What if Jagger found out? Would he try to take the baby? Or destroy it?

Her chest burned.

A hand was at her back, Boone’s voice in her ear. “Breathe, Sierra.”

She clung to his words and the steady way he spoke them.

“So, you and this Jagger . . .”

Boone thought she was a scorned woman seeing her long-lost lover again? “No. No, not at all. Not him.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. The way she’d said Not him was telling to anyone who knew her. Only she and Jameson knew what they’d done together, and she was the only one alive.

“Then what?”

“It’s just . . .” Another lie. Another lie to a guy who claimed to not care about her but was rubbing her back and coaching her to breathe. “After the way Harlowe and Urban have acted, I don’t want more of the same. It’ll be harder with Jagger. His father was the fallen who started the club we told you about. His father . . . died.”

Boone’s hand on her back stopped. His dry chuckle sent prickles down her spine. “I keep getting sucked in. I gave up my life to follow you across the country and you still can’t be honest.” He stood, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “Everything you said was true—in your world at least. But the reason you almost fell on your ass wasn’t part of it. After everything I’ve heard, I can’t believe I’m hung up about this.”

“I thought you were bored and that’s why you’re here.”

He propped his hands on his hips and spun. The clothing purchased for him wasn’t the same as his mountain clothing but probably made him look like he had before he retreated to Montana. Between the jeans and regular black polo shirt and the newly trimmed beard, the edge should’ve been dulled. But no. He was a mushroom cloud of repressed emotions.

“I’m here because . . .” He huffed out a breath. “Because I can’t not be.”

Once she got her fake papers, she’d have to find a way to ditch this place. Those times she’d been with Jameson hadn’t been only sordid fucking. He’d told her things. He’d talked about his life as a fallen. How he’d thrived.

But he hadn’t had demons after him. Not at the beginning. He hadn’t had someone give him a hand up when he’d needed it the most. If he had, would he have turned out the same?

Probably. If Boone had been born an angel, he wouldn’t have fallen. Ever.

“You’re a good guy, Boone. Don’t let anyone ruin that.”

“The thing is, Sierra, it’s the secrets that’ll ruin you. I just hope you figure that out before it’s too late.” He left the bedroom.

When his broad shoulders disappeared, she sighed. He thought it was cut and dry. If she talked to him, or to her team, it’d all be okay. It should be okay. But her secrets could hurt more than just her.

Boone went downstairs and Sierra followed him, her face wan and her steps deliberate. Sandeen was at the table with his puzzle. He had all the edges together and was working on the sky. The giant red cardinal in the middle would’ve been easier, but when Boone had commented, Sandeen had told him that patience was a virtue and sometimes doing the harder steps first made the easier ones better.

Had he been philosophized by a demon?

Harlowe sat on one end of the couch and Urban on the other. One or the other was consistently here to watch all of them and act as mediators between the rest of the team, like this Jagger, the only other one that Boone had met. When Harlowe or Urban would leave, they’d step out the back sliding door, leaving the blinds within the window panes closed. Boone saw nothing. Sierra and Sandeen claimed the angels did something called transcending, which involved ascending to Numen or descending from Numen to Earth. They said it was easier than using the Mist since they could come across warrior and demon battles.

Or the “warriors” could just be stepping off the patio, spinning around the cove made by the terrace, and jumping the fence. Maybe they’d