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

“No,” she said quickly without thinking. Hiding in bed was just fine for now.

“Are you sure?” One of his brows cocked so subtly she might’ve missed it, but her gaze was glued to his face. A mess of dark hair covered his brow and the tips of his ears, but neither that nor his beard could hide the harsh angles of his face. They did a shit job at softening them. “Sierra? Are you sure?”

Her breath gusted out. Still a crap liar and now she was staring. “No, but I don’t want to get up.”

“Moving around will help the healing if you’re careful.”

She nodded, her hair bunching around her cheek. She hadn’t had a shower since the day before her trial. “How long have I been here?”

“I carried you back yesterday.” His barrel chest expanded as he drew in a heavy breath, and he rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze sweeping the room she hadn’t seen yet. “It snowed. And it’s winter in the mountains. We’re not leaving for a while.”

Since she was in no shape to leave, she didn’t care.

“You should get up and move.” He said it softer this time. Yep. A good man.

“What time is it?” She was stalling. Boone was trying to help despite obviously not wanting her around.

“Two in the morning.”

Her brows popped. “And you’re still up?”

“You were passed out. I needed to be awake when you woke.” His look spoke volumes. He didn’t know who she was and he wasn’t closing one eyelid until he had answers. She’d only given him more questions.

“I appreciate it.” She hated that she did, that after weeks alone in a cell with no visitors, she took more comfort than she deserved, knowing that someone was capable of caring about her. But he didn’t know her, and that was the only reason he was concerned about her. None of that mattered at the moment as she faced a stark reality. “I don’t want to move to use the bathroom.”

“You need to.” His brows drew in as if he knew just how bad getting up would hurt, that first shock of letting gravity weigh on her injuries.

Fatigue swamped her. She wanted to sink into the mattress and melt away. Her pain gone. Out of her misery. But then Boone would be left to deal with the mess her short existence in this realm had caused.

As she groaned and rolled to a sitting position, agony traced up and down her spine, spreading over her body as evenly as if she’d been doused in angel fire. The pain sparked an awareness deep inside of her. She was afraid to look any closer at that feeling.

Anger. Roiling and toxic. Her people had turned on her. Some had tried to use her. They’d all used her. When they’d gotten what they wanted, she’d been disposed of. Loss welled up. A yawning hole of nothing. Her team hadn’t been there in the end. She’d told them she’d deal with her punishment, she’d take it, and they . . . they had let her. Without even a goodbye.

And Papa. A warrior who’d given up his identity for her. And this was how she’d repaid him.

She slammed a lid on the festering emotions. They did her no good. She’d let fear lead her before, and this was where she’d ended up. At least she couldn’t hurt anyone else.

Chapter 2

A gong rang through the manor. Millie Richter put her stitching down and stood. Her mate, Leo, was asleep on the bed, his back turned to her. He was always asleep, managing to face away from her. She wasn’t worried the noise would wake him up—she hoped it would since she wasn’t ornery enough to do it.

She straightened her pristine white robe and tiptoed from the bedroom, closing the door to keep from making a sound. She trotted down the stairs, running her hand along the hand-carved railing. So much opulence. So much emptiness.

Before Leo’s injuries, she’d worked in the field. As a chaperone, she’d escorted souls to the pearly whites. She’d experienced their last moments on Earth with them and stood by them in their first moments of eternity. It’d been rewarding, rescuing her from the quiet manor while Leo worked long hours.

Now this manor was her prison. Leo was her warden. She’d synced herself to him, their souls entwined. The injuries were awful, but the way he’d shut down afterward was worse. She couldn’t bring herself to leave him. The thought that they would leave the manor—together—kept her going. But each day that went by, her high hopes lowered a little more.

She lifted her pale wings before she opened the door. She didn’t have to ask who it was. Bryant Vale stopped by every day he was able. Bryant and Leo were close, but she tried to hide how stark her and Leo’s existence had become.

“Bryant, come in.”

His stern gaze bored into her like she could hide nothing. Why did she even try? He’d seen for himself how despondent Leo was. His mate, Odessa, wasn’t with him today. Millie missed her talks with the director’s wife. Odessa’s youthful enthusiasm was a dose of sunshine in a house that had become a tomb.

“How is he today?” Bryant kept his voice low. Leo would hate that Bryant checked on him with her first.

Defeat hung on Millie’s wings. Hate would be welcome. Anger. Righteousness. Any emotion beyond the nothingness that consumed her mate would be welcome.

“Right. Odessa picked these up.” Bryant held out three brochures. Prosthetics.

Millie gave him a sad smile. “I’ve looked at them all, but I haven’t brought it up.” Bryant had made the comment to Leo that humans survived amputation and learned to adapt. But Leo had ignored him, and to her he’d pointed out that humans’ lives were poetically short.

She had wanted to say that to humans, life felt inexorably long, but definitively short. They were innovative and their prosthetics would continue to improve. But Leo had retreated into his mind and she didn’t have