Demon Fire (The Angel Fire Book 3), Marie Johnston [books suggested by bill gates TXT] 📗

“When we got groceries, I didn’t get . . . Um . . . Women’s things.”

“Like what?”

Did she mean to make this hard? “For your cycle?”

She cocked her head like she didn’t understand.

“Periods. Monthlies. Aunt Flow. Whatever ladies call it these days.”

She blinked, then understanding dawned, followed by a hint of panic in the depths of her bright blue eyes. “Oh. My kind doesn’t—we don’t—I don’t get those.”

“Like. Not at all?”

Her gaze turned guarded. “Irregular?”

Was she asking him? “Okay?”

“Okay?”

He hadn’t thought the conversation would be comfortable, but this was odd. “I thought with all your bathroom breaks . . .”

“Oh, those. Yeah, I mean, that’s not normally me. I’m sure it’ll calm down soon.”

“Right.” He opened the bag of bread and stuck his hand in to grab a few slices to toast for them. “Okay. I was worried. With your stomach issues and . . .”

No. No period. Stomach issues. Loss of appetite. Hot flashes. Didn’t she mention once that her chest was sore? Bigger bras.

Fuck. His wife had complained about those symptoms before. “Sierra?” She’d know. Did she know and was too afraid to tell him? Rescuing her was one thing. Helping her get on her feet was one thing. Not knowing her background or what happened was another thing.

He didn’t know what it would mean if . . .

She came around the island. “Boone. Are you okay? You’ve gotten really pale. You’re not going to pass out, are you? I can’t carry you to the bed.”

“Sierra. Are you pregnant?”

It’d been easier than Sandeen thought to find a host in the middle of winter in Montana. Winter had been going for a couple of months, with a few months left to ride out. Depression was at its highest and alcohol flowed to pass the time.

Too bad the host he’d found was an elderly woman with a raging case of SAD and arthritis so bad the joints of her right hand were permanently swollen. Her knees ached constantly. He rubbed them as he waited behind the wheel of the host’s old sedan. He’d been idling outside of the store where the sylphs had reported seeing someone who fit the description of the fallen.

He’d spent two days in front of the new store in town, but if he sat much longer, he’d have to explain to the police why an old woman was staking out the parking lot. Would downtown turn up a whole lot of nothing too? What were the chances some sylphs and an asshole symaster had seen the same person?

Sandeen had been all over the country in the last few weeks. A short, blond female in Oklahoma City had fainted when her gaze landed on a sylph. Another short dirty-blonde in Memphis had reportedly tried to communicate with a symaster that’d inhabited a body. Sandeen was supposed to go to Seattle next, but that one sounded less likely. A blond female who had cried out the archmaster’s real name while he’d been nailing her via possession of the woman’s husband. Sandeen would rule that one out as fast as the others.

Humans weren’t supposed to see his kind. Neither were fallen. But Jameson had figured it out. Two fallen in such a short time? Too much of a coincidence. It sounded more like a case of Numen hubris. They wrote the fallen off as never having existed and it was biting them in the ass. Fallen weren’t human no matter how much the angels wished it.

But that didn’t mean that Sierra had ended up in a small mountain town in Montana in the middle of winter.

Still, intuition tingled in his gut. That, or the host’s heartburn was acting up. He’d tried having a coffee while sitting on his ass for hours, moving the car every forty-five minutes to keep from drawing attention in the tiny town. The drink had been bliss on his taste buds until the human’s stomach had churned up a storm and he’d wanted to vomit it all right back into the cup.

The middle of nowhere in the middle of winter. It was exactly the type of place a fallen would get dumped. Andy’s spies might’ve reported the snow on Winger accurately. So Sandeen had quit drinking the coffee, popped a few Tums, and waited.

Five more minutes and he’d move the vehicle again. The tank guzzled gas like no one’s business and he’d filled it once already. He alternated between running the engine and letting the heat build, then shutting it off until the host’s old bones clattered from the cold. Another trip to the gas station would drain the human’s account.

He shouldn’t care, but he’d long given up on fighting the compassionate side to his nature. An abomination, his sire had claimed. Sandeen couldn’t be needlessly evil, and he was a shame to his realm. Except most of his kind assumed that not being needlessly evil meant he also wasn’t ruthless.

They would be wrong.

Sandeen’s gaze flicked down to the coffee. He was bored as hell and—

A big pickup pulled up to the pharmacy two blocks down. He’d been on surveillance duty for three days. He’d visited all the major places in town—the department store, the sporting goods store, the drug store, and an auto parts shop. Most of the cars were familiar by now. This pickup wasn’t.

Sandeen shifted in his seat and pulled the stocking hat down farther. If this human really could see his kind, he didn’t want this host outed. Who knew when Nowhere, Montana, would come in handy?

A tall man got out. A human. The corners of his eyes crinkled as he squinted against the sun. A black knit hat was stuffed on his head, but the ends of his dark brown hair stuck out in the back. The bottom of his beard brushed the top of his jacket. The passenger door opened, but Sandeen couldn’t see through the vehicle. The man waited on the sidewalk, his face weighed down by a heavy scowl.

The other person cleared the hood of the pickup. Petite—check. Blond—check. For