Cipher (Demonica Underworld #8) - Larissa Ione Page 0,25

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