Cipher

by Larissa Ione

  With one last glare at everyone, including her, Cipher left. And she might have watched his retreating backside a little longer than appropriate before turning back to the three regional bosses.

  “I did what you asked,” she said. “What Flail failed to do. I want to talk about how I’m going to get my revenge.”

  “This again?” Bael curled his lip in contempt. “I have more important things to do.”

  “Like what?” Disappointment made her words curt, but dammit, she was tired of waiting. “What are you using those names for?”

  Rancor looked up from poking one of the blinking eyeballs on her bracelet. “It’s all part of the plan to release Satan from his prison.”

  Release Satan from prison? She’d heard talk of it, but as far as she knew, no one truly believed such a thing was possible.

  “How can that be?” she demanded. “According to prophecy, he’s got nearly a thousand years to go before he’s released.”

  “Prophecy.” Moloc scoffed, waving his claw-tipped hand. “There are endless interpretations of every prophecy. Even if we must wait until then, we will need all of the souls in Sheoul-gra on our side for the Final Battle between Heaven and Hell.”

  “Bullshit!” Bael threw his cup across the room, splashing blood all over the ice wall and freezing it instantly. “We will not wait! Azagoth will release the souls, and he’ll—”

  Moloc’s hand came down on Bael’s shoulder, easing his frenzy within seconds. Bael was prone to sudden angry fits and, somehow, his brother could always bring him down with something as minor as a touch.

  “You should go,” Moloc told her.

  Only a fool would stay after being told to leave.

  Apparently, Lyre was a fool. “Not until Bael tells me how he plans to help me get revenge on those who wronged me.”

  “Patience, female,” Moloc said. “The war between Heaven and Hell will draw out the angels you seek to destroy.”

  Wait...that was the plan? Do nothing? She could have done that herself. “That’s nothing but a byproduct of a war destined to happen! I don’t want to wait a thousand years!”

  “Neither do I,” Moloc murmured. “Neither do I.”

  “Go, my love.” Bael broke away from his brother. “Unbind Cipher’s wings and let him discover his fallen angel talents. We will have use for them soon enough.”

  Bastards. All of this for nothing. Well, not nothing. She’d outmaneuvered Flail and gained some points with Moloc and Bael.

  But still, none of this felt like a win.

  Chapter Ten

  Lyre had emerged from Bael’s residence with one hell of a scowl on her gorgeous face. She’d said only that she was going to unbind his wings, and then she’d been silent as they hurried out of the massive ice castle. Once outside on the drawbridge that spanned a lava moat, she flashed them both to a bizarre land of gray desert sand, craggy hills, and weird, scrawny vegetation.

  “Where are we?” He sidestepped to avoid a spiky black vine slithering toward his crude leather boots.

  A prison guard had thrown the blister-spawning footwear at him, along with a pair of seriously beat-up jeans and a T-shirt that must have belonged to some other prisoner, on the way to the shower. Which was really just a drain in the slaughterhouse and a bucket of tepid water. Damn, he hated Sheoul.

  “We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

  “I can see that.” Another vine, this one red and pulsing like a vein, followed them for a few steps. “I thought you were going to unbind my wings.”

  “I am. Somewhere safe.” She led him toward a flat expanse of sand and gravel, her expression still creased with whatever disappointment Bael and his cohorts had dished out. “Your powers and wings didn’t develop the way they should have, over the course of months or years. So when your wings pop out, who knows what’s going to happen? Besides, we don’t even know why your wings developed practically overnight.”

  Yeah, he’d love an answer as to why he’d woken up with the wing anchors on his back sewn shut, his wings bound inside, the day after being abducted. The official story, that they’d emerged while he was unconscious and that a sorcerer had been immediately called to bind them, seemed fishy to him. No one grew wings that fast, and binding them before knowing what powers they brought with them struck him as short-sighted.

  Then again, Bael didn’t always operate on logic or with forethought. Impulsive, narcissistic, and emotional, Bael was a dictator whose personal whims took him on wild boondoggles. If not for Moloc’s restraining presence, Cipher doubted the guy could preside over his own bowel movements, let alone an entire territory.

  “So you brought me to this wasteland so I wouldn’t destroy anything.”

  “Exactly.” She stopped in the center of the clearing, and all around them, the vegetation quivered as if excited by their presence. “Take off your shirt and turn around.”

  He’d say something blatantly inappropriate if he weren’t vibrating out of his skin in anticipation of feeling his wings explode from his back. Of feeling power flood him once more. Yes, it was going to be dark energy, but after going without that unique ecstasy for so long, he was eager to experience any kind of power again.

  Would it be different than the sensation of letting in Heavenly power? Would it be as addictive?

  Lyre slid the blade from the sheath at her hip. “Are you ready?”

  He opened his mouth to say yes, but his anticipation suddenly mixed with doubt. This would be the first step toward acceptance of his new life as a fallen angel. There would be no going back once he opened the floodgates to the evil that surrounded him.

  But what choice did he have? Without the wings, he was powerless here, and he needed every advantage he could get to escape Bael’s clutches.

  “Cipher?” Lyre’s hand came down lightly on the small of his back, and he jerked out of his thoughts.

  “Yeah,” he said roughly. He needed to do this, but he swore he’d do whatever it took to keep evil from consuming him completely. “But what’s to keep me from flashing out of Bael’s territory and escaping?”

  “The same thing that happens to all Unfallen brought here against their will.” Pity turned the silver in her eyes liquid, like a spoon full of water, and he knew he wasn’t going to like whatever she had to say. “Bael had an Orphmage curse your wings with a tethering spell. You can’t leave his realm until he trusts you and the curse is lifted.”

  Well, shit. That trashed his immediate plans for escape. But he wasn’t going to give up. If he could get a message to Hawkyn, he could warn him about the list Cipher had given to Bael, and his friends could find a way to get him out of here.

  He peeled off his T-shirt and bared his back to Lyre. “Do it.”

  He felt a whisper of air as Lyre brought the knife up to the twin scars near his shoulder blades, the wing anchors from which his new flappers would emerge. The blade’s cold tip sliced into his skin, and he gritted his teeth against the pain. Lyre made two cuts and worked quickly, severing the binding twine that had kept his wings imprisoned.

  “Done.”

  She hadn’t needed to tell him that.

  Every cell in his body sang with power, as if he’d just been plugged in to Sheoul’s main battery. Pleasure-pain tore through his back and shoulders as pale gray, bat-like wings erupted in a violent spray of blood-red gelatinous membrane.

  Nasty.

  That was not how his lemon-tipped white Heavenly wings had popped out the first time.

  He didn’t have a chance to ponder more. An ice cold stream of energy shot down his arm and blasted from his fingertips, launching him backward in a tumble of dust and flapping, leathery wings.

  “What the fuck?”

  “Oh, wow!” Sheathing her dagger, Lyre jogged toward him. “That was dissolving ice. Look.”

  A column of ice had encased one of the tentacle shrubs, freezing it solid. But as they watched, it melted rapidly, turning the plant to liquid as it went. Within moments, there was nothin
g but a puddle where the shrub had been.

  The other shrubs were frozen too, but not in ice. In fear.

  That was pretty badass.

  “I told you this could be chaotic—”

  He threw out a hand to warn Lyre off. His control sucked, which he proved as a fireball shot at her from the palm of his hand.

  Fire engulfed her, demon-faced flames that laughed and bit at her. No! Oh, shit. He felt her screams all the way to his gut as she fell to the ground and writhed in violent agony.

  “Soretay! Stop!” He yelled commands in Sheoulic as he rushed toward her, but his words were useless.

  He dove on top of her, covering her with his body. He tried to wrap his ugly-ass wings around her, but the fuckers didn’t behave, instead fanning the flames, beating the both of them as they flapped uselessly.

  Then, for no reason he could figure out, the shrieking apparitions flickered out. Lyre went limp beneath him, her exhausted, panting breaths puffing hot air against his neck.

  “Wow,” she rasped. “That was unexpected.”

  He pushed himself up on one arm and looked down at her. Scorch marks streaked her face and her clothes were singed. The hemline of her shirt was completely gone, leaving her flat belly exposed, a smudge of soot forming a crescent under her navel.

  He wanted to clean it off with his tongue. Too bad she was playing for the wrong team.

  You’re playing for the same team now.

  No, he wasn’t. He might be a fallen angel, but not by choice. And, until evil took him over completely, he wasn’t in league with them yet. And he’d never play for Bael the Seriously Unstable. Right now he had no choice, but once he figured out these new powers, he was going to get the fuck out of here.

  “You can let me up anytime now,” Lyre said softly. “Preferably before one of your new powers incinerates or melts me.”

  “Right.” He jumped up and offered her a hand.

  “Thanks, but no.” Eyeing his hand like it was a viper, she pushed to her feet and backed away from him. “I’m just going to watch from...over there.” She pointed to a bluff in the distance. The far distance.

  It was probably for the best. With little to lose, he was going to test his limits and push his boundaries.

  And boundaries? Well, those were something he’d never believed in, and for once, that little personality flaw was going to work for him instead of against him.

  Chapter Eleven

  Lyre watched Cipher try to get his powers and wings under control for just over twenty-four human hours.

  It hadn’t gone well. His wings, grotesquely veined with serrated claws at the tips, seemed to have minds of their own. His fallen angel gifts were powerful but unpredictable, like natural disasters spawned by a child’s imagination.

  Finally, after he exploded a tree with a superheated stream of blue light and nearly fried himself with the blowback, she called down to him.

  “You hungry?” she yelled. “Because I could eat.”

  He let out a frustrated shout accompanied by a stomp of his foot, and a crack appeared in the ground under the sole of his boot. A deafening boom and a slow rumble started up, and within seconds the crack lengthened and began to widen as the walls collapsed and chunks of earth tumbled into the fissure.

  That couldn’t be good.

  “Run!” she shouted.

  He sprinted toward her, away from the growing gap. And then, suddenly, he spun around and ran toward it.

  “Cipher! No!” What the fuck was he doing?

  She extended her wings, ready to go after him as he leaped across the fissure. He wasn’t going to make it to the other side of the sheer cliff face. Not if his wings wouldn’t work—

  His great wings flapped, lifting him easily skyward. He banked and soared in a glorious, elegant arc. A shout of pure joy rang out as he flew toward her, reminding her of the excitement she’d felt the first time she’d tried out her fallen angel wings. Hers had taken a year to grow, but it had taken only minutes to get them working. Cipher had to be thrilled to finally have his under control.

  Folding her own black leather wings against her shoulders, she watched him come in for a landing, but as he did, one wing went rogue, freezing in a closed position. He clipped a tree and went into an unrecoverable spin before hitting the ground and tumbling to a stop next to her.

  She coughed at the resulting cloud of dust. “That was graceful.”

  He eyed her from where he lay sprawled in the dirt. “Tell me you got that on video.”

  She didn’t want to be charmed, but she laughed anyway. Humor was something she missed since entering Sheoul. No one had a sense of humor here. And those who did seemed to have found it puddled on the floor of a torture chamber.

  “No such luck,” she said.

  “S’okay. But I’ll bet it would have gone viral.” Wincing, he shoved to his feet and tried to push his left wing into the retraction position. “I don’t get it. I can’t control these things. It’s like they’re fighting me. They don’t feel right.”

  They didn’t look right, either. Marred by what seemed to be scars and ragged edges, they weren’t like any newbie wings she’d ever seen.

  “Hmm. Maybe they were damaged by the restraints.” She moved around behind him, silently admiring his broad, muscular back. It would look even better with scratch marks from her fingernails after a long, sweaty round of sex.

  She blinked, surprised by her runaway thought. Yes, she’d been prepared to get down and dirty with him in his cell, but that had been nothing but a way to get the list of names from him. A means to an end.

  Mostly. It wouldn’t have been a hardship, anyway.

  But things were different now. She didn’t need anything from him, and while he was still a ward of Bael’s realm he wasn’t exactly a prisoner anymore. And now that his wings were unbound, the strength and power emanating from him wrapped around her like an aphrodisiac.

  Didn’t hurt that he was gorgeous, either.

  Carefully, she nudged his right wing down so she could inspect it, running her palm over the long, flexible bones and thick, rugged expanses.

  “How does that feel?”

  “I can’t feel anything.” He looked over his shoulder at her, one lock of blond hair falling across his forehead and giving him a sexy, playful expression. “Are you touching me?”

  Not in the way I’d like to be.

  Nodding, she flexed one of the joints. “You can’t feel this?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Okay, try extending your wing.”

  Nothing happened. He let out a frustrated curse, and then, finally, the wing shot out before folding in again.

  “It shouldn’t have taken that much effort, should it? Is this normal?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You don’t think so? You’re a fallen angel, right?”

  She jammed her fists on her hips. “No one is going to want to have sex with you if you’re snarky with them, you know.”

  “What?”

  Ignoring him, she stretched out one of his wings. “I told you, I’ve only been a fallen angel for a few years. It’s not like I know everything about every fallen angel’s experience.” She poked at a blemish in a large expanse of the tough, leathery membrane. “But from what I’ve heard, once the wings erupt for the first time, it only takes a couple of hours to figure out the basics. You should have been flying hours ago.” She dragged her finger down the long bone toward the base, her finger tingling from the electric sizzle emanating from it. “Were they sensitive at first?”

  “Not at all. Should they have been?”

  That was one thing everyone, including herself, remembered about their new wings. Sensitivity to the point of agony at the lightest touch. After the sensitivity eased, wings became erogenous zones. Cipher should be practically groaning in pleasure right now. Hell, she was nearly there and they weren’t even her wings.

  “Mine were crazy sensitive,” she murmured as she zeroed in on a scar t
hat circled the base of the wing, right where it emerged from the skin. She palpated it, feeling for deformities. “Does that hurt?”

  “No. Why?”

  “It’s a scar. Like a ligature mark, maybe. Must be where the twine was wrapped.” She checked the other wing and found a twin scar. Yikes. Her own wings throbbed in sympathy. He must have been in so much pain when his wings were bound. “Same thing on the other one.”

  “Makes sense.” He rolled his broad shoulders, and she nearly drooled. “My wings aren’t sensitive now, but they hurt like hell until you took the rope off.”

  Once, while researching the great demonic war of 263 BC, she’d interviewed a fallen angel whose wings had been bound after capture by an enemy. He’d said the pain was so great he’d taken a sword to his own back in an effort to cut the twine. Would Cipher have done the same if he’d had access to a weapon?

  She shuddered. “I’m sorry they did this to you.”

  “Are you?” he asked as he turned to face her.

  “Why would I lie?”

  He looked at her like she was an idiot. “Because you’re a fallen angel.”

  “I hate to point out the obvious,” she said, “but so are you. And who did you trust before? You were Unfallen, living with the Grim Reaper and his unholy griminions and fallen servants. Did you trust them?”

  “Some of them,” he said, going on the defensive. “A lot of them are Memitim. Memitim who are working toward becoming full-fledged Heavenly angels.”

  She shook her head, knowing exactly how un-trustworthy angels were, fully-haloed or not, family or not. “If you trust any angel, you’re a fool.”

  “I trust my friends.” His big wings flapped in irritation, and a lightning bolt shot from one of them. The bolt vaporized a nearby cactus, and he gave her a sheepish smile. “Oops.”

  His wings folded and obediently disappeared.

  “So where are they now, these friends? Do you think they’re searching for you?” She raked him critically with her gaze, from his muscular legs and hard-cut upper torso to his square, masculine jaw and intelligent eyes. She appreciated all of that, but his friends would see him very differently. “What do you think they’d do if you showed up looking like this? Fallen angel wings and a dark soul? They’ll turn on you. They’ll kill you, Cipher.”