Cipher (Demonica Underworld #8) - Larissa Ione Page 0,36

and ceiling, but didn’t do a damned thing to Flail or her shield.

“Is that all you can do, Cipher?”

“You’d better hope so,” he ground out.

Grinning victoriously, Flail raised her hand to deliver what would probably have been a devastating strike, but Lyre charged, throwing herself into the other female. Flail, caught off guard by the attack, stumbled, and a heartbeat later, she disappeared over the balcony with a scream.

“Ward the opening,” he shouted, remembering too late that apparently Lyre couldn’t do that. He cursed, unsure how to do it himself.

Turned out that there was no need. Flail rose up in flight, gave them a jaunty wave, and disappeared into the dark sky.

Trembling with rage, adrenaline, and frustration, he shot her the finger. She was going to kill Memitim, and he was helpless to so much as warn Azagoth.

“Damn, I hate her,” Lyre snapped, her gaze locked in the direction Flail had gone.

“She needs to die.”

Lyre turned to him, her fangs bared. “Then maybe you should get to work on those viruses,” she suggested, the silver in her eyes darkening into gunmetal death. It was sexy as hell, and his evil side, growing larger every time he opened himself up to it, stirred.

Simmer down, buddy. We have fallen angels to kill.

That seemed to satisfy his inner sex fiend, and he reached for his uneaten sandwich. A guy had to keep up his energy, after all.

“I’m ready when you are,” he said. “Let’s go make a plague.”

Chapter Thirteen

“Please, my lord, I’ve told you everything!”

The demon screamed, blood bubbling from his parched, swollen lips, as Azagoth wrenched the horn out of his skull with a wet crack of bone and flesh.

“That was the last one.” Azagoth tossed the bloody length of ivory to the floor, where it clattered to rest against another horn. “The next protruding body part I rip off will be located a little farther south. So tell me what I want to know.”

The demon moaned, slumping from exhaustion and the strain of hanging by his bony wrists from Azagoth’s favorite torture rack. A gift from Malachi, a powerful demon from the Islith region of Sheoul, the mahogany rack was a thing of beauty, perfectly sized to grace the far wall in his office, and conveniently located next to the soul tunnel. This Croucher demon had not, however, come through the tunnel, his soul escorted by a griminion.

Nope, his sons Journey and Maddox had dragged the bastard in themselves.

Azagoth’s cell phone beeped from his desk. Inconvenient timing, but he swore to Lilliana that he would always get back to her immediately, especially now that she was close to giving birth.

“Hey, Hawk,” he called over his shoulder. “Is that a text from Lilli?”

Hawkyn had arrived a few minutes ago with news about Cipher. Somehow, he and Journey had been able to crack into Bael’s demonweb, and they’d left a message for the fallen angel. So far, there’d been no response.

Azagoth wasn’t sure what to think about Cipher’s situation. Bael had taken Cipher for a reason, and Azagoth suspected the kidnapping had something to do with him. Lilliana had pointed out that Unfallen angels everywhere were, in general, being hunted and forced into Sheoul, and that was true. Demons and fallen angels everywhere were preparing for the End of Days now that there was a time table.

But Cipher’s abduction had felt personal, because no one in their right mind would abduct anyone under Azagoth’s protection.

Which meant that whoever had done it wanted Azagoth’s attention.

Azagoth was going to show them why drawing his attention was a very bad thing.

Hawkyn flipped Azagoth’s phone over and glanced at the screen. “Yup, it’s Lilliana. She wants to know what time to plan for dinner. She’s got a recipe of Suzanne’s she wants to try on you. Says it’s...oh, I see. She wants to try it on you.” Hawk’s face went crimson as he put the phone down and backed away as if it were a poisonous Croix viper. “She’s very graphic about it.”

Azagoth laughed. Damn, it felt right to do that again. At least, it felt right to be laughing at anything good and pure and pleasant. The only thing that had been funny while Lilliana was gone was the suffering of people who deserved it.

“Suzanne recently did an episode about aphrodisiacs and food,” Azagoth said. “Lilliana thought it was interesting.”

Hawk cringed the way he always did when his sister and sex came up in the same conversation. Azagoth got that. Suzanne was his daughter, so he