by Larissa Ione
He pivoted around to her. “Is that a trick question?”
It wasn’t, but trying to explain herself wasn’t going to be easy, and it took her a moment to put the words together. When she finally did, her voice sounded tired, as if she hadn’t slept in years. It felt that way, too.
“I fucked up, Cipher,” she sighed. “I don’t want any part of Bael and Moloc’s plans.”
“What plans?”
“All of them.” Her fists clenched in anger at the memory of what Bael said he wanted to do to the populations of Earth and Heaven. “I was so pissed off, so hateful after I lost my wings that I wasn’t thinking straight. I signed on with Bael and Moloc because I wanted revenge, but you made me rethink that.” At the skeptical arch of Cipher’s brow, she jammed her fists on her hips. “What, you don’t believe me?”
“I want to, but this could be a trick.”
Given Flail’s betrayal almost a year ago, she understood why he’d think that. “You’ve seen how I live. What life is like here. How Bael treats people. I have no reason to lie.”
“Saving your own skin is a reason,” he pointed out. “Revenge is a reason.”
A hot, stale wind ruffled his hair and made her long ponytail flutter against her neck. She watched as the breeze knocked a fruit to the ground, where a lizard-monkey snatched it before scampering up the tree.
“I chose the wrong team, Cipher. I should have remained an Unfallen.”
“I can see the appeal of entering Sheoul,” he admitted. He looked up, his expression thoughtful, his strong, masculine profile nothing short of majestic as he took in the sky made orange by volcanic activity. “As an Unfallen, most angels don’t have powers, and those who do got them through sorcery.”
“I still don’t.”
He turned his gaze back to her, and she shivered at the intensity of it. Sometimes he was super laid back, and others, like now, he carried an aura of authority that made her feminine side take notice in the most inopportune ways.
“You still don’t what?”
“Have powers.” She hated admitting this, but it was time to lay it all on the line. If she wanted out of here, he was her best hope, and he wasn’t going to help her if he didn’t trust her. “I mean, I have a couple, but they’re weak.”
“I saw your little vapor trick. That didn’t strike me as weak.”
“Today it came in handy, but it’s mostly useless. I can fit through small cracks and keyholes, but any fallen angel can get past locked doors and stuff like that anyway. Remember I told you never to reveal your unique power? Well, that’s mine, and everyone here already knows about it.”
She’d been so stupid, so happy to have any ability at all that when it manifested as her very first power, she’d shown it off. In her extreme naïveté, she hadn’t realized it would be pretty much her only gift, and that other fallen angels delighted in sharing fellow angels’ secrets. Acting on her desire for allies after losing her Heavenly friends and family had been so incredibly foolish.
“You’ve healed me several times,” Cipher pointed out. It was nice of him to try to make her feel better, but it didn’t do much good.
“The healing power I used on you? It only worked because your healing abilities were already powerful. I can’t set wards. I can barely swat a fly with mental strikes. The one unique ability I have is all but useless.”
“Must have been awful to go from being a Heavenly angel to a fallen angel with limited powers.”
She laughed bitterly. “You’d think. But I was a weak angel, too. It’s why I got assigned as a historian and researcher. You don’t need angelic powers for that.”
He seemed to think on what she’d said. “So you want to escape Bael’s clutches, and you want me to help. Is that what you’re saying?”
“I don’t deserve your help. But I’m asking for it.”
“And then what? You’ll want help to get your revenge?”
“I’m over that,” she said. “I don’t care anymore.” For some reason, her eyes stung, and tears welled up.
“Your tears say you do,” he said, as he caught a drop with his finger, his touch so gentle it didn’t even seem real. Not in a place like this. Not in a Hell realm.
“I think...I think I’m...I don’t know.” Drawing in a ragged breath, she searched her brain for the right words. “I feel...relieved. Like I don’t need to hold on to that anger anymore.”
“Yeah, well, I’m still pissed.” His wings flared and flapped for no apparent reason. “And these stupid things aren’t helping. Seriously, what the fuck?”
“Oh, ah, about that...”
He shot her a what now look. “Do not tell me that they’re cursed or some shit.”
How could she put this gently? “Do you know of a fallen angel named Asher?”
“Why would I—” He broke off, and then nodded. “As an angel, he was from the Order of Thrones. He was lead on the Ten Plagues of Egypt debacle.”
“That’s the one. Terrible mess. Humans got the stories all wrong.” She blew out a breath. “Anyway, after he got the boot, he joined up with Moloc and Bael. Revenant killed him last year.”
“What does that have to do with me?” Realization dawned, and his eyes shot wide. “Oh, shit. My wings—”
“They belonged to Asher.”
Chapter Eighteen
Numb with shock, Cipher wheeled away from Lyre. His wings—Asher’s wings—folded and spread of their own accord, and he had the sudden desire to rip them off. No, not even a desire. A desperate need.
With a roar of anguish and fury, he reached over his shoulder and seized one by its bony ridge. Pain streaked through the wing and up into his neck as he tried to wrench it from his body. He was going to rip it in half. Shred it. Break it. Whatever he had to do in order to free himself of a dead angel’s wings, he’d do it.
“Cipher, no!” Lyre tried to restrain him, but he threw her off like she was one of those freaky little reptile-primate things.
“How long have you known?” he yelled, the sense of betrayal hitting him harder than he figured it should.
He knew she’d been employed by Bael all this time, knew she’d do anything to get the revenge she yearned for. But this...this was sick.
“I just found out.” She came toward him again.
“Bullshit!” Rage throbbed through him and he tugged harder, gritting his teeth against the agony. The other wing struck at him as if defending its partner, its claw ripping at his head.
Lyre grabbed the thing in an effort to make it stop, but it fought her as hard as it fought him. Son of a bitch! This was creepy and twisted, and what kind of sicko transplanted wings?
It was a stupid question given where he was. Sheoul was filled with sickos, and he was bound to become one of them if he didn’t get the fuck out of here.
His struggle with the wings knocked both him and Lyre off balance, and they went down on the grass, his wings wrapping him in a tight cocoon. Increasing pressure compounded his muscles and made his bones ache as the wings tried their best to squeeze the life out of him.
“Roll onto your back.” She grunted as a wing kicked out and struck her in the gut, but she managed to wrestle the thing and hold it against his shoulder.
He rolled, pinning the bastards under him. Finally, he could take a breath. Lyre stretched out next to him, panting with exertion.
“I swear to you, Cipher,” she said between breaths. “Bael just told me and I went straight to you.” Her hand came down on his forearm, and he found himself hoping she’d leave it there. After being so alone for so long, he craved more than a fleeting touch. More than the usual pain others doled out every time they laid hands on him. “I tried to tell you back on the island, but things were kind of crazy.”
Were crazy? The crazy was still well underway. And despite his freak-out, he was grateful Lyre was here to help. She didn’t have to tell him the truth, and she didn’t have to rescue him from Flail’s evil clutches. Hell, she’d been his sole link to s
anity for months. What would his life have been like without her? His other handlers had been as depraved as Flail, bringing him food that was either too long dead or too alive, torturing him for fun, fucking with his head every chance they got.
There’s no way they would have saved him from Flail or told him his wings weren’t actually his.
And what the hell was up with that, anyway? Now he understood why Flail had said his wings would help him create viruses. That had been Asher’s specialty. Combined with Cipher’s tech skills, Bael had been counting on some serious computer-borne plagues.
As he lay there on his back, staring blankly up at the sky, he watched the programming code circling in the air far above him. He’d noticed it the moment he and Lyre had stepped outside the training facility and again here in this weird valley, but he hadn’t been able to decipher it yet.
Some of it looked familiar, as if he knew the subject, if not the purpose. Griminions. Souls. There would be no reason to cast spells for those things unless...unless they were the spells that kept the souls of the dead inside Bael’s territory and that kept griminions out.
“Cipher? Are you okay?”
“What? Oh, yeah.” He gave a reluctant nod. “I’m just pissed. This is insane.” He growled as his wings bucked beneath him. “That whack job gave me someone else’s wings, and as if that wasn’t bad enough, he made sure they were ensorcelled so I can’t leave his realm.”
“They’re actually ensorcelled so you can’t flash around inside the realm. No newbie fallen angel can leave.”
He cranked his head to look at her. “So you’re trapped here too?”
“Yup. I’m still on probation.”
She rolled onto her side and propped herself up on one elbow, her thick ponytail draping over her shoulder and falling across her breasts. Was it wrong of him to notice that and the way her full breasts filled out her tank top?
Nah.
“Do you think part of the reason Bael gave the wings to you was to accelerate the process that turns fallen angels evil?” A breeze whipped her ponytail around until it settled in her cleavage, and he went utterly parched when she absently brushed her fingers over the thick lock of hair. “I mean, those wings are already steeped in malevolence. It should be bleeding into you.”
“Maybe,” he mused, refocusing on the subject and not on how much he wanted to drag his tongue along the neckline of her top. “But you’d think I’d feel more of it.” He’d been shocked at how not evil he felt. He’d expected to be slammed with it, to have to fight it more than he had.
“I should feel more of it too.” She toyed with a piece of the yellow grass, her liquid mercury gaze downcast. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. For so long I felt like I should want to do evil things. I wanted evil to fill me with so much hate that I wouldn’t be miserable down here.”
He got that. He’d let despair get to him once or twice, making him wonder, for a split-second, how much easier life would be if he just gave in to the dark side.
Heh. Dark side. Between his Star Wars reference and Lyre’s Aliens line, he figured that if they survived the next twenty-four hours they’d have to do a science-fiction marathon. With popcorn and pizza and beer. Damn, he could practically taste garlicky pepperoni and feel ice cold liquid pouring down his throat. He could invite Hawk and Journey, and—
A sinking sensation tugged at his insides. What if they hated him? What if they couldn’t forgive him for giving up the list of their brothers and sisters? He didn’t have to survive just the next twenty-four hours, he had to survive all his friends and the Grim Reaper.
“I think it wouldn’t have been long before I got to that point.” He swallowed dryly. “Knowing I’m responsible for the death of one of Azagoth’s children would have fucked me up.”
Still might.
“I’m so sorry.” Her palm traveled up and down his arm in long, soothing strokes, and his skin tingled at the gentle touch. “I didn’t know what Bael intended.”
He tempered his voice, driven by curiosity, not malice. “Would it have mattered?”
“Honestly? At the time, no.”
“And now?”
She closed her eyes, and he wondered if she was conscious of the way her nails dug into his skin. “Now I just want to get out of here. I don’t want to be responsible for any of the catastrophic things Bael and Moloc plan to do.” Her sable lashes flew up, and her eyes mirrored her sudden anger. “Now the only evil I want any part in is aimed at those assholes,” she growled.
Okay, he could work with that. “Wanna do evil things together?”
“Like what?”
“Like...open Bael’s realm to Azagoth.” God, he hoped this wasn’t a trick. He was going to lay it all out, and if she reported back to Bael, he’d be dead. But ultimately, he needed her. He couldn’t do this without her. And, most significantly, he wanted to trust her.
“Are you serious?” she asked.
He nodded and went down the rabbit hole. “My buddies slid a code into the backdoor of Bael’s security system. If I can get to my computer I can shut it down.” He looked up at the sky, its eerie orange depths streaked with gray tendrils of ash. “And I think I can destroy the spell that prevents griminions from getting inside and that keeps souls in. If I can send a message to Hawkyn, we could coordinate everything. We can escape.”
“But your wings are still enchanted. They won’t let you leave his territory.”
Which was why he had to lose them. “You’re going to have to cut them off.”
Abruptly, she sat up and stared. “Are you serious? Cipher, that’ll be excruciating. And you won’t be able to recharge your powers until you grow new wings. All you’ll have is what’s stored in your anchor bones.”
All that was going to suck. Hard. But he’d gotten lots of practice being in pain, and he’d spent decades without powers while he was an Unfallen. He could do it again. As long as he had enough juice in his power battery to execute his opening salvo, his recharge could wait.
“That’s why we’ll need Azagoth’s help. And an aural,” he added. “I’ll stab Bael myself if I get the chance. Do you know where he stores the one my opponents used in the arena?”
“He keeps it locked in the armory nearby. But it’s impossible to get into. It’s locked with a spell.”
“Sounds right up my alley.”
“Oh, yeah.” She grinned. “You have a really cool gift.”
He could see it coming in handy quite a bit, actually. “I just hope I don’t lose it with the wings.”
She nibbled her bottom lip thoughtfully. “The wings were attached to your existing bone structure. Most of the non-plague related abilities should be yours, not Asher’s. But just in case, maybe you should delete the spells that keep souls in and griminions out now.”
Made sense. Looking up at the bazillions of lines of code, he concentrated. It took longer than he would have liked to reprogram the spell and insert a timer, but after about an hour, he was finally satisfied.
He gripped Lyre’s hand and squeezed. “You ready?”
“To slice off your wings?”
He suspected that they weren’t going to slice off, all polite and easy, like a tender shaving of roast beef. But sure. “Yes.”
“No.”
He wished he could laugh, but the best he could do was reach across his body and snag the dagger from the sheath at her hip. “Just hurry. They’re going to fight you.”
Taking a quick, deep breath, he rolled onto his stomach and held onto the ground, trusting Lyre with his body, his future, and his very life.
Chapter Nineteen
Lyre had never been squeamish, and years in Sheoul had made her even less so. But sawing wings off Cipher had left her shaking with adrenaline and horror. The wet crunch of the blade sawing through bone, the resistant vibration of the knife hitting gristle, the metallic stench of his blood.
And through it all, Cipher had been silent.
She’d screamed when her own wi
ngs had been severed, and hers had been taken off neatly, with a blade meant for the task. Her wings also hadn’t fought like pterodactyls caught in a net.
He knelt a few yards away, where he’d stumbled and collapsed after the second one flopped to the ground, his back bleeding, his chest heaving. She dropped the knife and ran to him.
He reached blindly for her as she went down on her knees in front of him. “Is there anything I can do?”
“No.” The pain etched in his expression broke her heart. He squeezed her shoulder, using her as a brace as he straightened. “It’s already getting better.”
She doubted that. Taking his hand, she channeled healing waves into him. Every little bit had to help, and within moments, his color had come back a little and the flow of blood to the ground slowed to a drip.
Suddenly, he hissed and went stiff, his back arching so violently she thought his spine might snap. “Fuck...hurts...”
“I want to help, Cipher—”
He dropped forward again, catching himself on her arm. His forehead fell to her shoulder, and he spent a dozen heartbeats like that, his labored breathing rocking his entire body.
“Thank you,” he rasped.
For what? Maiming him? Hurting him? She knew she’d done what was necessary, but it didn’t change the fact that she’d brutally severed a fallen angel’s defining feature and the source of his power. Didn’t matter that they weren’t his. He felt it as if they were.
“Shh,” she murmured. “Rest. Heal.”
Without his wings, the healing process would take longer, but already the edges of his wounds were less ragged and starting to seal up, and his skin had lost the ashen tone.
He relaxed against her, the tension in his big frame draining with every passing minute.
Gently, she held him, stroking his damp hair until he looked up at her, his tormented gaze locking onto hers. “I’m sorry.”
Her mouth fell open with shock. “Are you kidding? For what?”
“For making you do this.” He reached up, his hand trembling as he cupped her cheek. “It couldn’t have been easy.”