The Banished Gods Box Set: Books 1-3

by L. A. McGinnis

  She blinked, then her eyes shuttered as if a veil had been dropped over them. “And a big project for Ellis? My advisor?” She gave him a shaky grin. “Seriously Fen, the man can’t even find his glasses, do you really think they’d put him in charge of a project for the Field? Someone would need a lot of pull to make that happen, and trust me, he doesn’t have it.”

  And that’s when Fen knew.

  Knew when everything had started and knew where.

  But not why.

  She was quiet for a long moment before she finally spoke again. “When I opened up my eyes, in that…place, and I saw you for the first time, you weren’t a man. You were a wolf. But later, as a man, I recognized you. I knew who you were, and I wasn’t afraid.” She went quiet again. “What do you make of that?”

  Rolling onto his side beside her, he propped himself upon an elbow and reached out, kissed her hand, feeling every ounce of strength and frailty contained in those bones. “When I found you, I thought you were part of a dream until you stared straight into me, only then I knew you were real. I didn’t think. I didn’t stop to think, I just plunged in and swam over until I reached you.”

  “And you were the wolf, the whole entire time?”

  “I suppose. I never knew that’s what I looked like. In there.”

  “How do you think I knew you? In my apartment, in the dark? How could I have possibly known who you were otherwise? I recognized you Fen, right away. Otherwise, I would have hit you with the bat.”

  His lips hovered an inch away from her hand. He smelled her, the clean, fresh scent of her skin.

  “I think…” Fen couldn’t explain the sense of certainty he’d felt when he’d seen her, the absolute sense of inevitability the moment the mists had parted and revealed her to him. “I think in my dream, when I found you, I was meant to find you. I think I was meant to bring you back here and help you figure this thing out. We’re all bound together by the Fates, Celine. Life itself is a web, made up of the weft and warp of a billion lifelines woven together. Pull a thread and the entire thing unravels, but tighten one up and the whole thing holds.”

  We’re woven together, you and I. Somehow, in all of this, you and I are entwined.

  “Well, I’m glad you found me,” she said peacefully, her eyes beginning to drowse closed. “Are you more often the wolf? Or the man? Is that why there’s no furniture?”

  “I was struggling with that very issue, the night I went to the Otherworld and found you. I was trying to piece myself back together.”

  “Why? I would think it might be wonderful to be two things at once.” Her eyes opened slightly. “To be able to switch back and forth, like that. Besides, you changed tonight... Well, you started to change. When you were angry.” She reached up and traced his mouth, pausing on his upper lip, her fingers tracing the place where his fangs grew from. Such a look of quiet expectation on her face that made Fenrir want to run his hands over her, bury her underneath him. But he stayed right where he was, holding her hand, a respectful distance away.

  “That was different. What you saw wasn’t the change, it was a melding of me and the beast, an amalgam of the temper rising in us both. When I remain on this plane for too long without visiting the Otherworld, then my beast becomes difficult for me to control. The wolf is a monster, Celine. He’ll kill anything and everything in its path. Including you.”

  Her eyes softened as she laughed. “You wouldn’t kill me, Fen, I know…” He gripped her arm and tipped her face up so she looked at him in the eye.

  “You need to listen to me. I was created to be a monster with only one purpose, to bring about the end of Asgard. Transformed, the wolf does not have the capacity to choose, Celine. It has no empathy. It only kills. You might think you know me, but I am not the beast, and the beast is not me.” His voice grew harsh, even demanding, as he told her, “If there is ever a day I tell you to run from me, Celine, promise me just one thing.” Her eyes did not break from his. “That you will run.”

  “All right, I promise. What about the chain?” Celine traced a finger slowly around his corded, muscled neck, feeling him shudder in the wake of her touch. “You left it in my bedroom, Fen.” Yeah, he’d have to go and get that.

  “That’s Odin’s little insurance policy. After what happened during Ragnarok, the chain prevents me from changing, bound by a powerful magic. But it’s painful.” Hurts like a bitch and knocks me out on my ass, was what he might have said, but he didn’t want her to worry. Too much.

  “So you turn into a giant monster if you don’t go to the Otherworld to calm down, and Odin puts a chain on you in case things get out of hand? That hardly seems fair.”

  Not if you knew what happened last time, he wanted to tell her.

  “And if you ever tell me to run, then I should run, right? So you don’t kill me?”

  “Yeah, pretty much.” Wow, that sounded so much more fucked up when she said it.

  “Okay, got it.” She stretched out beside him. “And I have some kind of ancient, evil god making me take shorthand for him while I sleep, so he can use me as a portal to come destroy the world.” She curled her fingers around his and pulled his hand against her heart, a small, secret smile on her mouth as her eyes slipped closed. “We really are the perfect pair, you know that?”

  He watched her face relax into smooth, even contours, wondering how the hell he had fallen for her so fast. Tucking the blanket around her, Fen left her sleeping and went to find Mir.

  The War Room had turned into a fucking beehive of activity. Usually everyone was dragging their bloody, sorry asses home after hunting in the streets all night, but since it was a time of peace, apparently every hand was working the problem before the problem worked them. Fen set his back against a wall and stared down at the piles of papers stacked in front of Mir. Each one covered in the rows of symbols. “So how long does she have?”

  Mir didn’t even look up. “Still not sure. A lot of it’s similar to the gibberish off those old Irish rune stones we found on Svartheim after the war, and it bears a likeness to a language once spoken on Alfheim before even we existed. But it definitely is an incantation of some kind.” He looked up. “But if I had to guess, I’d say he’s close. Really close.”

  “Yeah. That’s how I feel too.” Fenrir never bothered much with all the tech that Mir was so obsessed with, or the Old Ways like Loki, his father, or the little whispered secrets that the ravens carried on the winds to Odin. He trusted his instincts, which had never failed him. And right now he felt the noose tightening, as if he was going to lose everything. The worst part was, how do you kill something you can’t get even sink your claws into?

  “Will the runes on my room keep him out of Celine’s dreams?”

  He didn’t like the look Mir shot him when he said, “Your guess is as good as mine, brother.”

  He found Tyr running offensive strategy in the War room, Vali and Thor plotting possible access points into this realm, arguing ease of defense, the potential of human loss if the thing came through. All of it just supposition, really.

  If a power like they were talking about was unleashed on the world, and if such a power used Celine as a portal? Fen’s heart raged, a murderous, thunderous beat. It would surely kill her. And then even the end of the world wouldn’t matter. At least, not for him.

  Close to his ear, Tyr’s growl broke through the endless loop he’d fallen into. “Where the hell is your chain?”

  Figured he’d notice, since Tyr was more closely attuned to how dangerous the beast was than anyone else. Ever since that time Fen had bitten off his hand during Ragnarok.

  “Fenrir, where the hell is your chain?” But the question shook him out of his mind fuck and back into reality.

  “Back at Celine’s apartment. I’d best go get it.” They had a little over an hour left until sunrise, plenty of time for him to ghost down there and back. He bared his canines in a great, big smile, just to fuck with the God of War. “Poor baby. I know how nervous you get when I d
on’t have my bling on.”

  Only a fool would call Tyr’s smile a smile. “Tell you what, asshole, I’ll go with. It’s driving me bat shit crazy staring at these monitors. C’mon.”

  The city by the lake never slept, but it did slumber. The streets were dark but not empty. Delivery trucks hauling ass to get out before things got crazy, the occasional siren echoing through the buildings while a thin rain fell, hazy against the streetlights. It took a while for spring to arrive this year, a few barely green trees and the bright, contrived plant boxes the only life they passed on their trek to Celine’s apartment. By the time they reached the bottom steps of the building, the strange scent of men pushed up Fenrir’s nose like a foul odor, half remembered but potent. It took a second, maybe two before the smell clicked, but when it did, he leapt up the steps in three long bounds and snapped the door from its hinges on the way in.

  “What the fuck, Fenrir?” Tyr was right on his ass, all the way inside.

  Fen quested the air, but the scent was already hours old. And when Tyr flipped the switch, there was no doubt about the intent. Celine’s carefully ordered arranged life had finally been reduced to the chaos she’d secretly wished for.

  There was nothing left.

  Her entire life had been destroyed searching for whatever they’d been looking for. Fenrir picked through the splintered debris in her room, finally coming up with his chain under the bedframe.

  “Thank the gods you still have that,” Tyr muttered. “And at least they didn’t get her computer.”

  Or her, Fenrir thought, feeling a shudder go through him. “The scent’s at least an hour old. But let’s head out, see if we can catch up to them.”

  The answering grin on Tyr’s face was positively wicked.

  Tracking the scent, he lost it at the intersection of 51st and State. By then, dawn had arrived and the streets were filling up with office drones and tourists. He and Tyr attracted plenty of attention, even doused with Tyr’s glamour, so they headed back to Celine’s apartment.

  Fen gathered what he could. It wasn’t much. But he filled a trash bag with a few clothes, some stuff from the bathroom and her hair brush. Ghosting back to the Tower, he grabbed Tyr’s arm before he headed upstairs. “You know what this means, right?”

  “She wasn’t attacked in that alley at random.” Tyr’s voice was a harsh growl beside him, and Fenrir tuned into that anger, letting it feed his own. “So why didn’t they take her laptop or any of her stuff that night? Why leave it all at the scene?”

  Fen didn’t have a clue, but he’d be asking Mir as soon as they got upstairs. The second after he checked on Celine.

  Rage pushed the words out in a rush. “Because she wasn’t finished yet? Because someone or something was waiting for her to finish? Who else even knew about this? Maybe they’ve been tracking her all along, trying to figure out how far along she was. Fuck if I know. All I know is that they got to her once and would have again.”

  “Shit, Fenrir, if you hadn’t brought her to the Tower yesterday when you did...” Tyr didn’t have to finish. Fenrir knew. She’d either be dead or kidnapped or worse.

  “She’s not to leave the Tower, nor our sight, understand?”

  “Crystal clear, brother mine. Crystal clear.” They locked eyes for a minute, and Fenrir knew Tyr would watch over her. “So what did you smell? Human?”

  Fenrir nodded thoughtfully. “Human, yes, but something else too. Something that shouldn’t be in this realm, Tyr.” And the worst part was, the other scent he’d caught, powerful, distilled and strong, was one he hadn’t smelled in an age. Certainly one that shouldn’t be here on Earth. Still, he had to be sure before he brought such an accusation before any of them, especially Tyr.

  Standing over the bed, Fenrir assured himself Celine was fast asleep, warm and most definitely alive, before he lay down beside her with the best intentions of only curling up for a minute, just to make sure she was safe.

  A minute later he was dead asleep right beside her, walking through the mists of the Otherworld, searching for her. He had to check. To see that she was as safe in her dreams as in his bed. But he couldn’t find her. He was just nearing the river, when he was yanked out of the whiteness of the Otherworld into the long, black passage that often marked the hellish transition through a portal to another world.

  As he was sucked away from the only person he really gave a shit about, he raked at the darkness for purchase, but couldn’t find anything concrete to sink his claws into.

  Chapter 19

  Fen was still clawing when his ass landed in the wet grass. Nice, soft, evenly green grass, the kind only found in one place. Fenrir shook himself off and looked up at the sky. Perfectly blushed a pinkish-blue, marked by a couple of clouds that cut dark crimson tracks across a newly minted sunrise. It looked like it had been painted masterfully, and it had, by one of the gods known as the Vanir.

  “Probably the fucker who brought me here,” Fenrir muttered.

  Bastard could have just asked. And he might have even come. Eventually.

  Instead, he started the long walk down the hill toward the empty harbor of Vanaheim. They’d called this The Shipyard once. In the olden days. But now the harbor sat empty, the worn, gray docks rotting away, tired of waiting for those long forgotten ships to return and tie up. The pilings had disappeared into the salt, along with what had once been a bustling city. But not the bastard’s Great Hall, Fenrir noted. High golden spires caught the first rays of the sun as they broke over the clouds, and he picked up the pace and began jogging toward them. He didn’t know how long Celine would sleep, and he sure wasn’t going to waste a minute more here than he had to.

  When he pushed open the doors he wondered, as always, what is it with these assholes and their huge egos? Once again, he made the impossibly long walk to the carved wooden dais that Njor sat on, and once again, he did not bow, even though he knew they’d go through their bit of posturing. His teeth ground at the squandered time. At the thought of Celine waking up, possibly frantic at being left alone in the Tower.

  “I’m here. What do you want?”

  “Kneel, wolf.”

  “Yeah, not going to happen. I’m not your fucking errand boy, and I’m in the middle of something, Njor, so I’ll ask again, what do you want?” The Vanir had aged these past millennia. He was fully gray now, deep wrinkles fanning out around those far-seeing slate-gray eyes, his nose hooked, his cheeks sunken.

  The old god frowned, a small weakness that told Fenrir that all was not right in his perfect little world. “I’ve had a vision. Something evil lurks on the horizon, wolf.”

  “No shit, Sherlock. That’s kind of what I’m in the middle of. So help me or get the fuck out of my way.”

  “There is no need to be rude, beast. That evil is the reason I brought you here. So I could...help.”

  Fen frowned. Something about this just didn’t feel right. Vanaheim had once been a prosperous world, filled to capacity with humans, ruled over by the race of gods called the Vanir. Now it sat empty, and Njor was last of that race. Once considered the strongest of the Vanir, he was an oracle who could see into the future, further than even Odin. Further than any being who had ever existed.

  Which was exactly why he was sitting all by his lonesome in his hall. The Fates had confined him here, to keep him contained. His powers were such that even those three women were afraid of what he was capable of. His power threatened them.

  But more importantly, and perhaps more to the point, was that in all the time Fen had known Njor, this asshole had never helped anyone. Ever. The fact he was doing so now either meant things really were spiraling out of control in the universe, or the Vanir was up to something. As if on cue, the old man said, “There is a threat to the balance of the worlds. And that threat needs to be eliminated.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know. So how about you tell me how to stop it, and I’ll go along my merry way?” Fenrir studied the man’s face, his eyes. No signs of latent insanity. Whic
h meant Njor was holding up pretty well for being isolated, for what? Three thousand years, now? One would think he’d have gone a bit mad, but hey, maybe he liked the solitude.

  “I’ve foreseen no means of defeating the dark god once he has entered one of our worlds. However, there might be a way of preventing him from ever crossing over.”

  Fenrir looked closer. Njor was a crafty bastard, he’d give him that. There might not be madness in those eyes nor a hint of it on him. But there was something…not right about this. A wrongness Fen felt in his very gut. Shrewd eyes studied him right back, as clear as the sky overhead, flanked by a trim, graying beard and brows atop a body as fit and muscled as ever.

  “You already know, don’t you? You’ve seen what’s going to happen,” Fen countered angrily.

  The small, sly smile that quirked Njor’s thin mouth was answer enough.

  “There are a million paths, all leading to different destinations. Which one would you like me to relate to you?” His graying brow quirked higher. “Or we could sit here and I could tell you each, one by one. But you seem pressed for time, wolf.” The Vanir’s eyes frosted over. “How long do you think we have?”

  The bastard knew. The fucking Vanir knew exactly what was going to happen, and he was going to toy with him, waste precious time while he played some game. Fen forced himself to calm the fuck down. The Vanir might be an oracle, and he might have information Fen needed, but getting him to reveal it would be difficult. Still. The gods all had their little weaknesses. It was just a matter of figuring out what Njor’s was.

  “So, just for the sake of argument, how do you plan to”—Fen lifted his hands—“help us?”

  “It would require me to leave this place.” Njor leaned in, intent on Fen. “I need to be on Midgard, in order to truly assist you. A meeting with Odin, perhaps?”

  “And if I could arrange that?” There was the slightest shifting in the Vanir’s face, a releasing of tension, a relaxing of control that told Fenrir everything he needed to know. The Vanir wanted to be on Midgard. No, even more than that, Njor needed to be on Midgard.