Demon Fire (Angel Fire #3) - Marie Johnston Page 0,26

which were their own sweet hell.

He rummaged until he found toast. Her stomach was touchy in the morning. Did it have anything to do with the bladder infection?

He furrowed his brows and cradled the bread in his hands as he stood and stared at the countertop.

He’d lived with Phoebe for thirteen years. They’d met right out of college, just after he’d started with the force. Adam had come along and they’d moved closer to Chicago—a change Phoebe had been against from the beginning.

He couldn’t go down that memory lane again. He’d spent enough years on it. But it had reminded him—women needed certain things that men didn’t stock.

Was that why Sierra was in the bathroom so often? Was she too timid, too proud, to ask him for pads or tampons or whatever other products women used?

Dammit, he should’ve thought of that earlier. Now that he had, he couldn’t stop.

Sierra exited the bathroom. Her hair had been tamed by the brush they had picked up with her clothing. She’d snap his comb otherwise. A bump of hair rose higher on her right side, her preferred side to sleep on, but whatever women did to tame their locks, Sierra didn’t do. Her eyes were clear and she wrapped her arms around her abdomen.

Cramps?

For fuck’s sake. How long had he been an idiot?

He cleared his throat. “So, it occurred to me . . .”

Her light brows lifted and she drifted closer, sensing the gravity of the topic. Wasn’t she going to be surprised what he brought up?

“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