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

feathers of his wings. He jerked like she’d gut punched him. Feathers fluttered as a ripple passed through Leo’s body. “I’ll get us some breakfast.”

He didn’t respond.

Had she gotten through to him? She went to the kitchen. Odessa had brought several bags of groceries from Earth earlier in the week. A loaf of bread Millie made yesterday was on the counter. Strawberries and blueberries were in a container next to it. Oranges. Eggs. Even a jar of a dark spread called Nutella. Millie had never had the chocolate hazelnut concoction, but Odessa swore it was an orgasm for the taste buds.

Leo usually wanted dry toast and water. He’d been indulged too long. He’d get used to her touch—and to pleasant flavors and sensations.

She cut some bread and spread Nutella over it, then sliced the fruit and made fresh orange juice. When she was walking upstairs, she passed a vase that Odessa had stuck red and yellow tulips in. Plucking one out, Millie put that on the tray next to the food.

She breezed into the bedroom, only now realizing her robe had been open the entire time. At least one of them was getting used to the new her.

Setting the tray down, she curled her fingers gently around the crest of a wing. “Breakfast, my love.”

She left him to eat. The minutes ticked by slowly. She paced the entire main floor of the manor. Would he sample anything? Gobble it all and realize how much he deprived himself?

Finally, an hour passed and she jogged up the stairs. He had rolled to his other side, but his face was still buried under feathers.

“All done?” She couldn’t suppress her grin when she went to the tray.

Her smile faded. Nothing had moved. The orange juice was full. A small gasp escaped her. The flower was crushed, like he’d fisted the delicate petals and squeezed.

No words came to her. She grabbed the tray. Juice sloshed over the glass as she stomped out.

She muttered under her breath the whole way to the kitchen. “Stubborn male. Stubborn, pigheaded, thick skulled—”

She was about to push over the vase with the unwanted flowers when a gong rang through the house. Snatching her hand back, she steadied the tray in her grip. That was probably Bryant. She stuffed a hand through her hair and cinched her robe as tight as she could.

She was back to her serene self when she answered. “Bryant. Welcome. You can go right up.”

“Is he . . .”

“Still digging his heels in?” She winced. “Poor choice of words.”

“Only he could still do that even after losing his legs.” Bryant swept upstairs.

In the kitchen, Millie took a bite of bread and groaned as rich chocolate sweetness burst over her tongue. Odessa was right. Her taste buds were having a full-on orgy.

She sighed. The moment of pleasure was brief. She might have to eat the entire jar to forget today.

What was she going to do? She’d been a fool to think that touching herself would be enough.

“Millie?” Bryant’s voice broke into her thoughts.

She pushed off the counter. How long had she been pouting? “Yes?” She met Bryant at the entry.

The corner of Bryant’s eyes crinkled. His version of a smile. “I’ll come again in a few days.”

“He’ll be there.” Right there. Left side or right side. That was all that changed.

Bryant took a step, then stopped. He turned, tipping his head toward her, and whispered, “And whatever you’re doing, keep going. It’s working.”

He breezed out the door, his wings barely clearing the frame before the door slammed shut behind him.

She stared at the wood panel for a full minute.

It’s working.

Slanting her gaze up the stairs, she thought of a conversation she’d overheard once during her work as a chaperone. Three kids, fully grown, had surrounded a mother who’d lived a long, full life. It’d been a privilege to guide her to the light. But as the woman lay dying, the children fondly swapped stories of when they were younger. One was about how their mother had fed them the same meal for breakfast, lunch, and dinner if they refused to at least taste everything on their plate.

Leo wasn’t a child, but he wouldn’t let himself get so weak she had to spoon-feed him again. He’d eat. And when he ate, he might have no choice but to enjoy the little pleasures life had to offer.

She went back to the kitchen, humming to herself, and fixed another slice of bread covered in Nutella.

Chapter 14

Traffic flowed around them. Boone didn’t want to get too far ahead of Harlowe. Sierra had been quiet since the doctor put the picture in her hand. She’d nodded at whatever the doctor said and walked out of the clinic as dazed as a newly made zombie. They hadn’t stopped to make another appointment.

She clutched the black-and-white photo in her hand. The corner was going to be permanently wrinkled from her hold on it.

He pulled off the 215 and turned right to get to the neighborhood their safe house was in. Harlowe followed in her nondescript black sedan. He adjusted his speed to stay consistent with traffic. Don’t stand out. Don’t lose Harlowe. They needed her trust.

The warriors had given him a burner phone to contact them in case they got separated. If they were smart, they’d be able to track him with it too. He hadn’t bothered to check. There were worse things than angels following him.

Two blocks before their place, a guy lurched across the sidewalk. His mouth moved but that didn’t always mean anything in the days of Bluetooth. Yet the erratic way he walked, unable to follow a straight line, sent alarms through Boone’s head.

Sierra straightened, but kept looking ahead. “Archmaster.”

“Damn.” They approached the end of the block. A red car was parked two houses away from the corner. “What about this guy?”

Someone was in the passenger seat.

“Can you slow down?”

He rolled past and she shook her head. “I couldn’t tell.”

He took the phone out and handed it to her. “See what Harlowe