Cipher (Demonica Underworld #8) - Larissa Ione Page 0,28
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 that 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.”
“No, they