Cipher (Demonica Underworld #8) - Larissa Ione Page 0,52

dead. But ultimately, he needed her. He couldn’t do this without her. And, most significantly, he wanted to trust her.

“Are you serious?” she asked.

He nodded and went down the rabbit hole. “My buddies slid a code into the backdoor of Bael’s security system. If I can get to my computer I can shut it down.” He looked up at the sky, its eerie orange depths streaked with gray tendrils of ash. “And I think I can destroy the spell that prevents griminions from getting inside and that keeps souls in. If I can send a message to Hawkyn, we could coordinate everything. We can escape.”

“But your wings are still enchanted. They won’t let you leave his territory.”

Which was why he had to lose them. “You’re going to have to cut them off.”

Abruptly, she sat up and stared. “Are you serious? Cipher, that’ll be excruciating. And you won’t be able to recharge your powers until you grow new wings. All you’ll have is what’s stored in your anchor bones.”

All that was going to suck. Hard. But he’d gotten lots of practice being in pain, and he’d spent decades without powers while he was an Unfallen. He could do it again. As long as he had enough juice in his power battery to execute his opening salvo, his recharge could wait.

“That’s why we’ll need Azagoth’s help. And an aural,” he added. “I’ll stab Bael myself if I get the chance. Do you know where he stores the one my opponents used in the arena?”

“He keeps it locked in the armory nearby. But it’s impossible to get into. It’s locked with a spell.”

“Sounds right up my alley.”

“Oh, yeah.” She grinned. “You have a really cool gift.”

He could see it coming in handy quite a bit, actually. “I just hope I don’t lose it with the wings.”

She nibbled her bottom lip thoughtfully. “The wings were attached to your existing bone structure. Most of the non-plague related abilities should be yours, not Asher’s. But just in case, maybe you should delete the spells that keep souls in and griminions out now.”

Made sense. Looking up at the bazillions of lines of code, he concentrated. It took longer than he would have liked to reprogram the spell and insert a timer, but after about an hour, he was finally satisfied.

He gripped Lyre’s hand and squeezed. “You ready?”

“To slice off your wings?”

He suspected that they weren’t going to slice off, all polite and easy, like a tender shaving of roast beef. But sure. “Yes.”

“No.”

He wished he could laugh, but the best he could do was reach across his body and snag the dagger from the sheath at her hip. “Just hurry. They’re going to fight you.”

Taking a quick, deep breath, he rolled onto his stomach and held onto the ground, trusting Lyre with his body, his future, and his very life.

Chapter Nineteen

Lyre had never been squeamish, and years in Sheoul had made her even less so. But sawing wings off Cipher had left her shaking with adrenaline and horror. The wet crunch of the blade sawing through bone, the resistant vibration of the knife hitting gristle, the metallic stench of his blood.

And through it all, Cipher had been silent.

She’d screamed when her own wings had been severed, and hers had been taken off neatly, with a blade meant for the task. Her wings also hadn’t fought like pterodactyls caught in a net.

He knelt a few yards away, where he’d stumbled and collapsed after the second one flopped to the ground, his back bleeding, his chest heaving. She dropped the knife and ran to him.

He reached blindly for her as she went down on her knees in front of him. “Is there anything I can do?”

“No.” The pain etched in his expression broke her heart. He squeezed her shoulder, using her as a brace as he straightened. “It’s already getting better.”

She doubted that. Taking his hand, she channeled healing waves into him. Every little bit had to help, and within moments, his color had come back a little and the flow of blood to the ground slowed to a drip.

Suddenly, he hissed and went stiff, his back arching so violently she thought his spine might snap. “Fuck...hurts...”

“I want to help, Cipher—”

He dropped forward again, catching himself on her arm. His forehead fell to her shoulder, and he spent a dozen heartbeats like that, his labored breathing rocking his entire body.

“Thank you,” he rasped.

For what? Maiming him? Hurting him? She knew she’d done what was necessary, but it didn’t change