Cipher (Demonica Underworld #8) - Larissa Ione Page 0,32

she was a happily married Connecticut dietician with two grown children, grandchildren, and a beach house in Florida. Hopefully, at least for her, her life was better than it would have been if Cipher hadn’t interfered.

“Well, come on, asshole,” Lyre said, mercifully pulling him out of his past. “We have things to do.”

“Food?” he asked hopefully. His stomach was starting to rebel.

“Right after I show you your new home.”

He shouldn’t be excited about getting a residence in Sheoul, but anything had to be better than where he’d spent the last seven months. “You mean I don’t have to sleep on a slab of ice in a prison cell anymore?”

“Nope. If you were a demon, you’d get a filthy hut in some shanty town somewhere. But lucky you, you’re a fallen angel, so you get an upgrade.” She waggled her dark brows. “In Sheoul, fallen angels are the elite. Like the super-rich in the human world. Different rules apply. Like how you were in the luxury prison.”

That had been luxury? He didn’t even want to know how much worse it could have been.

“Where do you live?” he asked.

Her wings, midnight black with elegant arches, erupted from her back. “Give me your hand and I’ll show you.”

He took her hand, liking the way they fit together. “We’re going to fly?”

“The curse on your wings prevents you from flashing, even within Bael’s realm, so you might as well get used to flying.”

He gestured to the dents in the ground where he’d hit it hard. “You saw how well that went.”

“That’s why I’m holding your hand,” she explained. “I’m going to help you.”

He didn’t have the chance to process his surprise that she was going to take the time to help him get his flying shit together before she’d lifted off, yanking him into the air with her. But he did give a silent thanks, because the quicker he became proficient at this fallen angel stuff, the faster he was going to get out of here.

Maybe she’ll come with you.

Startled by that sudden thought, he faltered in flight and nearly took a dive. But Lyre’s capable, strong arms caught him, and her wings buoyed them into the endless sky with effortless grace.

Yeah. Maybe she’d come with him.

Or maybe he’d have to kill her.

But it was definitely a predicament for later.

Chapter Twelve

The flight to Lyre’s place took twice as long as it should have, but it certainly had been interesting. And sometimes terrifying. Like a test flight of an airplane built by someone who had never seen one.

Cipher definitely failed at Fallen Angel Flying 101, but Lyre gave him an A for effort and an A+ for cursing.

“Mother...fuck!” He shouted as one wing crumpled and he rolled hard. Lyre barely caught him before he spun out of control and nailed one of the housing structures they were trying to avoid as they flew toward her apartment. “This is bullshit!”

“We’re almost there.” Clinging to his arm, she guided him between two fifty-story statues of Satan in his ugly beast form. She shuddered, as always, as the statues’ eyes followed them. “Bank right.”

“Are these apartment buildings?” He flapped his wings hard, but he could barely stay aloft. “They look like giant termite hills turned into beehives.”

She’d always thought so too. “Right there.” She guided him through an opening near the top of one of the structures and landed on the baked clay floor.

Cipher set down surprisingly gracefully and put away his wings as he looked around. “Nice place.”

“I guess.” She kicked off her boots. She’d always preferred to go barefoot at home, even if she was only there for a minute. “It’s no Heaven.”

No, the dwelling was an insult, and not entirely because, as a weakling and a newbie fallen angel, she’d been assigned the tiniest quarters available. It was also just a flat-out affront to the senses. Her house in Heaven had been sprawling and colorful, nestled in a private cloud that floated over a vast, turquoise sea. This...this was small and boring, but she didn’t have the motivation to decorate beyond the plush Persian rug in the middle of the room.

Decorating would signify some kind of permanence, and for some reason she didn’t want to give in to that kind of thinking, even though she’d basically sold her soul to Bael.

“It’s kind of like the dorms in Sheoul-gra.” He glanced over at the dining table with seats for two that had never been used. “Except you have a kitchen area.”

“Where did you get your meals?”

His