Demon Fire (Angel Fire #3) - Marie Johnston Page 0,7
wings. If we know that, others do too.”
She had to think a moment. “Demons?”
“Yes, so we can’t just forget about the fallen. After what Jameson did, the underworld is going to wonder what other knowledge and delights fallen are hiding.” Bryant took a step, then paused. His gaze traveled up the stairs. “Do you think it’ll bother him? That we’re requesting the ability to conduct surveillance on . . . Sierra.”
“Likely not.” Her mate had done the equivalent of crawling into his shell to die. Except he was an immortal angel, not a crustacean. “If he cared about anything, it’d be a miracle.”
She hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Ignoring it made it easier to continue to ignore. But she’d spoken it out loud. And she was tired. Her wings ached from resting on the floor while she sat on her ass and stitched all day. She looked at her hands. Her fingertips were roughened. She stitched too much for them to heal. She stitched for hours. She hated stitching, but she couldn’t concentrate enough to read. The manor was pristine, and she hated cleaning. What else could she do?
“I’m losing hope, Bryant.” The words rushed out. “I’ve tried to get him to talk. I’ve tried to get him to just let me lie beside him. He’ll barely look at me. Can a male lose his mind after staring at a wall too long?”
She pressed her cool fingertips to her forehead. A dam was breaking down inside of her. She couldn’t hold it together for much longer.
“Take the gloves off, Millie.” He lowered his voice. The cavernous echo in the marble manor hadn’t been so noticeable when there’d been more noise, when Leo had actually talked to her and she hadn’t had to hide discussions about him from him. “Don’t go easy on him anymore. Hit him where it hurts. You love him, that much is obvious. But he needs tough love, or he’ll never come back to us.”
“And how would I do that?” Leo washed himself when she brought him the basin, but he only exerted the effort so she wouldn’t have to. He ate to avoid being spoon-fed by her. He did only enough to keep her at a distance.
“I don’t know. You’re the only one who knows him well enough.” Bryant went to the base of the stairs. Before he stepped on the first one, he said, “But you’ll have to hit him where it hurts, in a way that makes him want to get better for himself, not for us.”
Take the gloves off. Hit him where it hurts.
Her logical brain rebelled, but that part of her had been steering since Leo was hurt. It was time to let her emotions take the wheel.
Boone kept an eye on his odd guest. Sierra was sleeping, this time on her left side. Smart choice to switch it up.
She didn’t seem like an idiot, but those brilliant eyes of hers were dull, their dimness cutting straight through him. She was evasive, and he’d bet the pension he’d walked away from that she was lying her ass off. But that didn’t bother him as much as it should.
Two weeks had passed and she’d done little more than go to the bathroom, eat a few bites when he was extra persistent about food, and sleep.
Depression was understandable, but this was . . . different.
Her wounds had scabbed over and were well on their way to the next stage of healing. She should be moving, slowly stretching out her arm and back muscles, keeping the scar tissue healthy and reducing any limitations they could cause.
He pestered her about it. She half-assed some exercises if only to placate him, then tucked into his bed and ignored the world.
Admittedly, there wasn’t much world here to ignore.
He perched on the edge of the couch and scanned his bare-bones cabin. Books were the only items adorning the shelving he’d put up when he’d thought this would be a hunting retreat for him and—
He rubbed the center of his chest. Air disappeared from his lungs and he wasn’t confident he could draw in another breath. Grief was an insidious beast like that. One moment, he was fine. Then he thought of the life he’d had and everything he’d lost, and the gravity of it crushed him as completely as if it were a physical force.
If Sierra cared to notice her surroundings, she’d never guess a thing about his old life. There were no certificates. No medals. No