Cipher (Demonica Underworld #8) - Larissa Ione Page 0,21

had been constructed of opaque, charcoal-colored ice. According to Lyre, Bael missed the extravagant crystal palaces in Heaven, so he’d created a replica of his former home out of enchanted ice that could withstand the intense heat from the nearby volcano and the moat filled with lava.

Cipher doubted the stronghold was a genuine, exact replica, though, given the scenes of torture carved into the walls by an incredibly talented artist. Everything was so...graphic. Had Bael been a sick, twisted bastard as a fully-haloed angel too?

Cipher waited until the door closed behind the ugly bastards to fire up his baby. When he did, the whirr of the CPU fan damn near made him orgasm.

But it wouldn’t have been like the one Lyre gave you.

He nearly groaned out loud at that thought.

Lyre stood nearby, her lush midnight hair tied up in a severe high knot, her mouth little more than a grim slash. She didn’t seem nearly as excited to be here as he’d figured she’d be. Bael was going to reward her for this, give her a promotion or some shit. She should be grinning like Flail did when she caused him pain. Instead, ever since Lyre picked him up after he’d showered and dressed, she’d been distracted. Maybe a little sad.

Not that he cared.

When the password screen popped up, he covertly turned the laptop away from Lyre’s prying eyes and entered the code. A code that also needed to be entered with his fingers, and none other. It was the reason none of Bael’s minions had been able to break into it.

They hadn’t known about the tech he’d both developed and installed on his computer.

Dumbasses.

“I can’t believe you’re going to do this.” Lyre handed him a flash drive she’d dug out of her side pants pocket.

“I’m tired of living in a deep freeze,” he said, and that wasn’t a lie.

But mainly...mainly he needed to buy a little freedom. And some goodwill. He wasn’t a fool—Lyre and Flail were in a competition to see who could get the list from him first. He wouldn’t save Flail if she were being roasted over a Neethul fire pit, but if he helped out Lyre he might get something in return. A favor, or maybe even a measure of trust, which he could exploit when the time came.

If he played his cards right, he could actually escape this hell.

The screen flashed, giving him an option to select one of three private blocks on his hard drive. His gaming partition wasn’t protected, but he didn’t need that one. He’d password-protected the second partition, but he’d set it up so that if, on the insanely minuscule chance someone got into his computer, they’d eventually be able to get into his basic work files. There was some sensitive shit in there about Azagoth’s realm and tech, but nothing so critical that Sheoul-gra would be compromised if it were to get out. There were also some nasty booby traps and a computer virus that would execute once the file was downloaded to another computer.

The third partition required blood to open. Blood and a password spoken only in his voice as he typed it.

“I need you to turn around,” he said.

“Why?”

“I want to look at your ass.”

She blinked. “Really?”

Yes, but that wasn’t the main reason. Also, she was seriously gullible. How had she survived this long in Sheoul?

“Do you want the list or not?”

Rolling her eyes, she spun on her heel and faced the wall. “Oh, and in case you had any ideas about contacting Azagoth or your friends, think again. The ice in this room blocks all electronic signals, including WIFI.”

Fuck. There went a major piece of his plan. The heroes ride in and save the day part. Guess he was on his own.

Unfortunately, lack of access also meant he couldn’t disable Bael’s security systems, which would render escape far more difficult, especially since Bael had embraced tech in ways other wretched warlords in Sheoul hadn’t. Most still lived in the Dark Ages.

Cursing silently, he nicked his thumb with a fang and smeared a drop of blood on the touchpad. His fingers settled over keys so worn that most of the letters had faded as he whispered, “Han Solo.”

Take that, Hawkyn. Star Wars beats Star Trek. Every. Single. Time.

Hawk would probably break his jaw for that, but it would be worth it.

A twinge of regret pricked him. He missed Sheoul-gra. He missed his buddy. Missed all of his friends.

But they were looking for him. He knew they were.

Doubt