by Larissa Ione
She made a sound of disgust. “I understand that I broke the law, but the law is ridiculous. Humans are like an infestation of insects. How can it be wrong to kill them?” He must not have schooled the shock in his expression, because she jammed her fists on her hips and scowled at him. “I’m not alone in feeling that way.”
“No shit,” he said. “It’s kind of why Satan and his cabal of evil assholes were kicked out of Heaven.”
“Thanks for the history lesson,” she said dryly. “But you’re clearly not grasping the size of the anti-human movement amongst Heavenly angels.”
“How would you even know?” he shot back. “You’ve been fallen for what, eight hundred years?”
She eyed one of the icicles above, the pointiest one, and he made a mental note to avoid being under it. “That span of time is but a blink of an eye for angels. You know that. But you’re wrong. I lost my wings fewer than three centuries ago.”
“Yeah, well, I was in Heaven far more recently than that, and no one was talking rebellion.”
Her lips, which had at one time brought him a lot of pleasure, pursed in annoyance. “They wouldn’t speak openly of it. Some of the people you think you know the best probably agree with me.”
He wanted to tell her how wrong she was, but now that he thought about it, he’d heard stirrings of discontent. Angels of the old guard, those who had been around since before the Earth supported life of any kind, had waited a long time for humans to prove themselves worthy. Many of those who hadn’t supported Satan’s rebellion and who had preached patience were beginning to rethink their positions. And younger angels who had come along later in human evolution saw only a species that was destroying itself and the planet they’d been given.
It’s like humans are devolving, Tuvol, one of Cipher’s oldest friends, had said once. We had such high hopes for them, but they’re a failed experiment. It’s time Father ends it. The other living things on Earth will be better without their cruelty and selfishness.
As shocked as Cipher had been, he’d written off Tuvol’s opinion as non-mainstream, shared by an insignificant number of fringe malcontents whose influence was equally as insignificant.
But what if that wasn’t true? What if the extremists were growing in number and influence?
“Let’s say there are more of you than I think,” he said. “What is it they want?”
She stared at him like he was an idiot. “How can you not know? They want the Apocalypse.”
Now that was worthy of a bark of laughter. “I hate to tell you this, psycho, but Heaven has always been working to prevent the Apocalypse.”
Flail kicked his foot again, this time harder. “The Apocalypse is inevitable, Cipher. Just as there are religious demon and human radicals who work to bring about the end days, there are angels as well.”
“But the point of delaying it is to allow humans time to perfect their souls.” That was the entire argument against Tuvol’s “failed experiment” bullshit. Yes, humans were awful and seemed to be regressing, but they learned from the bad times—not the good ones. “To become worthy of the eternal life they’ll be gifted with after they’ve lived several earthly lives and experienced all there is to experience.”
She made a gagging gesture. “Ugh. You sound like a fucking textbook. Don’t you realize that they will never succeed? Why prolong the agony? If Armageddon kicks off before humankind perfects itself, all human souls will be extinguished.”
“Bullshit. When the end of days comes, all good souls will cross over, no matter whether they’re perfected or not.”
She shrugged. “That’s what we’re all told, isn’t it? Now, if we’re done with the theological debate, let’s get back to why I’m here.” She gestured to him. “Stand and strip.”
Talk about a change of subject. “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”
“When did you get modest?”
He wasn’t modest at all. He had a great body and he saw no reason to hide it. But he also saw no reason to comply with this particular demand.
He’d always been bullheaded.
And it was exactly that trait that had gotten him kicked out of Heaven.
“I’m not playing anymore, Cipher.” A wave of agony spread from the ascerdisc. He clutched at his chest and moaned as blood trickled between his fingers and down his sternum. “Stand up and drop the fucking blanket.”
“Fuck. You.”
The agony retreated, but what it left behind was worse—a sudden, overwhelming need to obey.
“What—” he breathed as his fingers went to the knot at his hips. “What the hell?”
“That’s how the ascerdisc works. Obey or suffer.”
Growling, he snapped his hand back...and instant agony returned. The trickle of blood from the device became a stream, and a new trickle started from his nose.
“Just drop the blanket, you fool.”
Yeah, okay, he was stubborn, but he liked to think he wasn’t a total moron. This was a minor battle he was willing to lose in order to save strength for the next one, which would probably have higher stakes. He pushed to his feet and dropped the sucker. The pain faded.
Flail ogled, even though she’d seen him naked before.
“That is definitely no cocktail wiener,” she said before letting out a resigned sigh. “Bael sent me to seduce you. But I know how much you hate me. You’ll never fall for any of my tricks.”
“Duh.”
“So I’m going to make you want me.”
He laughed. “That will never—” He broke off with a hiss as his body flooded with sexual need that bordered on pain.
“There you go,” she murmured, her gaze becoming drowsy, full of erotic promise.
And he knew well that she kept her promises.
Damn her.
Hatred boiled up and merged with the lust burning hotly in his veins. His body wanted to fuck her. His brain wanted to kill her.
“Why—” he gritted. “Why are you doing this?” She could have beaten him with chains, flayed the flesh off his bones, smashed his organs with a sledgehammer, but instead, she was taking the one thing he had left: his free will.
This was so much worse than any torture he’d suffered so far.
“It’s all about self-loathing, my boy.” She walked toward him, slowly, deliberately, each hip kicking out in invitation. “You’re going to fuck me, and you’re going to hate yourself later.”
“I’ll know it wasn’t my choice.”
“But that won’t be true, will it?” She poked one long, black-lacquered nail into the hollow of his throat. “Deep down, you want me with more than just your cock. And that will eat away at you. Which will let evil in.” She smoothed her finger down his chest, through the wet blood. “Every day you give in a little more, but with an emotional wound like that? You’ll succumb within days and give Bael what he wants.”
“Never,” he ground out. But each of her words chipped away at his conviction and tapped into his own secret fear.
“You fell for a reason, Cipher. You fell because you have no self-control, especially with females.” She used his blood to paint his skin, and revulsion started to swallow the runaway lust. “You know that if you give in to me now, you’re still the same piece of shit you always were, no matter how hard you tried to get back into Heaven.”
“Bitch,” he hissed. His fangs throbbed with the desire to rip out her throat, but his cock was throbbing for an entirely different reason.
Dropping her hand, she palmed his shaft, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. He stumbled backward out of her grip, and pain crushed his body in a vise of invisible pressure.
“When you resist my order, you suffer. Come to me and there will be only pleasure.”
“No.” He doubled over and shouted as another round of agony shredded him.
He’d been tortured on a weekly, and sometimes daily, basis since he’d been dragged here. He’d never been close to breaking. But Flail was somehow doing what the others couldn’t. She wa
s ripping beyond his flesh and into his soul.
“How?” he rasped. “How are you doing this?”
“We all have superpowers.” Her hand came down on his neck, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t move. “Why do you think I’m called Flail? It’s because my special power, the one that makes me indispensable to anyone who pays me enough, is that little thing buried in your chest. With it, I can use my thoughts like a whip, flaying emotions open.”
Her superpower was horrific. Cipher had no idea what his unique fallen angel power was yet, but he hoped it was just as nightmarish.
And then, he swore, he’d use it to kill Flail.
Chapter Five
Cipher’s shouts of agony echoed in the dark halls as Lyre hurried toward his cell. The tower guard said Flail was with him, but if that were true, why would Cipher be in pain? She’d been sent to seduce him, not torture him.
Unless...
Shit.
She started past the cobra-faced guard at the cell door, but the big asshole blocked her. “Sssorry. Flail gave ordersss to not allow anyone in.”
“I’m not anyone,” she gritted out. “I’m his handler, and I outrank Flail in this.”
The guy’s slitted eyes narrowed even more in confusion, but he still shook his three-horned, hooded head. On the other side of the door, Cipher moaned. Time for a different tack.
Summoning every ounce of power she could muster, she used her one major play and dematerialized into a wisp of gray vapor. In her smoky form she could squeeze through any opening, and the keyhole was just perfect.
She heard the guard’s shout of “Hey!” as she slipped inside the cell and rematerialized.
When she’d fully formed, her jaw dropped at the sight of Flail, standing near the center of the small room like a dominatrix, her spike-heeled boots digging into the ice, her arms crossed under her bare breasts. On the floor, puddled like blood, was her corset.
Cipher’s glassy gaze jerked over at Lyre as he stood slumped against the icy wall, one hand clutching the ascerdisc in his chest. Fury knotted in her own chest as blood ran in thick streams from the device and from Cipher’s nose and mouth.
“Bitch!” Without thinking, she slammed an invisible fist of power into the other female’s gut, knocking her off her feet and into the remains of a giant fallen icicle behind her. “How dare you torture him.”
Flail laughed, flipping to her feet as if Lyre’s power punch had been a mere slap. To add insult to injury, Flail shot her a mocking smirk that all but screamed, Your powers are feeble and you’re a pathetic excuse for a fallen angel, and everyone knows it.
So embarrassing.
“I’m not torturing him.” Flail curled her finger at Cipher in a come-here gesture. “He’s torturing himself.” With a pained hiss, he staggered a couple steps closer to Flail, his hands clenched, rage burning in his eyes. Even his erection, engorged and pulsing with thick veins, seemed angry. Impressive, but angry. “The more he resists, the more it hurts.”
“He’s not torturing himself and you know it. You’re forcing him into it.” Lyre cursed. “This is sinister, even for you.”
Flail made a sound of disgust. “Such a human thing to say. Next you’re going to tell me that this is mind rape.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Or rape rape. Whatever.”
Well, yeah, technically...
As a fallen angel who had allowed the malevolence of Sheoul inside her, Lyre should embrace all acts and all things evil. But every once in a while, like now, her past and her memories rose up, all inconvenient and shit.
Her ex had been a vigilante of sorts, a demon who’d put his ability to cause nightmares to good use. Anyone who harmed others could find themselves victims of his gift, but rapists had been his favorite targets. He’d have paid to haunt Flail’s dreams until she went insane.
Lyre couldn’t haunt Flail’s dreams or drive her insane, but she could put a boot up the skank’s perfect ass.
“Get out, Flail.” She sent a mental flare at the door, and it creaked open. “He’d rather die than screw you, so this is pointless.”
Ignoring her, Flail again gestured to Cipher, inviting him closer. He snarled, his hatred hanging in the frosty air with his breath. But he shuffled toward her, his efforts to resist making his steps jerky and uncoordinated.
Son of a bitch. “I’ll call the damned guards,” Lyre ground out.
“And you’ll answer to Bael,” Flail shot back. “He ordered me here.”
As a baby fallen angel with weaker powers than most, Lyre was always outranked by every fallen angel she encountered, including Flail. But not here. Not as long as Cipher was in her charge.
Lyre came at Flail, ready to take the skank down with her bare hands. She might be pathetically weak when it came to angelic powers, but she’d spent a lifetime training in physical combat to help make up for her lack of supernatural ability.
“Bael ordered you to seduce him,” she said, halting at the very edge of the other female’s personal space, “but he ordered me to train him and care for him, and I say he’s had enough.”
Flail’s jaw tightened, her lips mashing into an angry slash, and Lyre summoned power to have at the ready if the other female struck out. Lyre was hopelessly outgunned and outclassed by Flail, but within the confines of the power-dampening cell where only low-level abilities could be used, Lyre could hold her own enough to avoid a serious ass beating.
Plus, she had a really sharp dagger at her hip.
“I’ll leave,” Flail said in a shockingly peaceful capitulation, “but only because you ruined the mood.” She leveled a warning look at Cipher. “I’ll be back tomorrow, and we will finish what we started. But your handler’s little stall tactic is going to cost you. We’re gonna do all of this again...but we’ll do it in the arena in front of an audience.”
Flail flicked her wrist, and the ascerdisc tore out of Cipher’s chest with a wet, ripping sound. He grunted and clutched at the bleeding wound as she stalked out of there, not even bothering to take her corset. No surprise. Flail had always been an exhibitionist.
Which was why she was probably already drooling over tomorrow’s arena sex show starring Cipher.
For some reason, the idea repulsed Lyre in every way.
She’d attended a lot of Bael’s erotic displays—he used the arena to host both pain and pleasure, and if they happened at the same time, even better. And she’d seen Cipher in the arena, fighting battles that could have killed him. But this would be a fight he couldn’t win, and death might actually be kinder.
After closing the door, she turned back to Cipher, who watched her with wild eyes, a wounded predator, in pain and more dangerous than ever.
“Let me heal you.” Like all her abilities, her healing power was limited in scope and strength, but she could at least take the edge off and jumpstart the process.
He bared massive fangs dripping with his own blood. “Don’t touch me.”
Of all the times she’d seen him following a death match, or torture, or forced hard labor, he’d never looked like this. Exhausted, yes. Bleeding and barely conscious, sure. Trembling and puking, yeah, once or twice. But no matter how battered he’d been, defiance had burned in his eyes. That same unyielding hatred still smoldered there, but now it shared space with doubt. And maybe a little anxiety.
Flail had gotten to him. She was famous for it. But what deep, emotional scar had she ripped open to do it? Cipher wasn’t going to survive the arena mentally intact, was he? He’d come out of it as evil as any fallen angel. And then he’d give Bael what he wanted, and Flail would take the credit.
No way. Lyre was tired of waiting to get back at her enemies. She needed this win, and she needed it badly.
“Listen to me,” she said as she kicked Flail’s corset into a corner. “Flail is going to destroy you in the arena—”
“Never,” he spat.
His fire was magnificent, but fires could be put out.
“You know it’s true, Cip
her.” She met his tortured gaze, hoping he’d recognize her genuine concern. He just had to mistake concern for her own situation for concern for his. “You know it is. She’s going to crack the shield you’ve got around yourself, and evil is going to pour in and turn you into someone your friends and family won’t recognize. And then you’ll willingly give up the list Bael wants. But if you give me the list, you won’t have to go through the hell Flail will put you through. You can hold on to your sanity and yourself for a while. Let the effects of being in Sheoul seep into you gradually instead of pouring in like a dam breaking.”
“You think I’m stupid?” he rasped. “You don’t give a shit about me. You just want to deny Flail a victory while scoring one for yourself.” He inhaled a gurgling breath, his fingers tightening around his gaping chest wound where the ascerdisc had been. “And fuck you for making sense.” He spat blood onto the floor, where it froze instantly, little drops of color on a canvas of white. “Is that how it went down for you?”
“I wasn’t forced to give up anything, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Nope, she’d entered Sheoul with a heart full of screw-you-Heaven enthusiasm. She’d expected evil to take her immediately given that she’d come here of her own free will. Instead, she could barely feel the slow creep of it and sometimes she wished it would happen faster. She’d love to be devoid of empathy. Too much of that crap got you in trouble. Having her own emotions sucked enough as it was. Having to feel for others bordered on overwhelming.
It was why she tried to avoid being anywhere nearby when Cipher was being worked over by torturemasters. It was also why she interfered with said torture as often as she could without looking suspiciously sympathetic. She wasn’t squeamish; some people deserved what they got. But during the months she’d spent with Cipher she’d grown to realize that he didn’t deserve any of this. The most offensive thing she could find about him was that he liked black walnut ice cream when everyone knew rocky road was the best.
“What about Bael?” He made a gesture that encompassed the glazed ice walls of his cell. “Did he lock you up in the Hellton hotel?”
