The Banished Gods Box Set: Books 1-3

by L. A. McGinnis

  Tyr smelled the creatures as they closed in. The stench of rotting flesh assaulted his nose as he launched himself over the wall, both knives angled down, one catching the creature in the side of the neck, the blade barely penetrating the thick hide. Although its huge, clawed paw missed Tyr’s head, another swipe caught his side, and he felt blood soak in, despite the Kevlar. Rolling, he was up on his feet before the monster turned, using its thick, heavy arms as leverage. A roar, a flash of teeth, and it came fast, a freight train of teeth and talons, while Tyr ducked, evaded. This time the knife did bite in, found a soft spot under the arm, and he drove it in deeply to the hilt as black blood spilled over him.

  The creature foundered, stumbled, and then collapsed.

  One of them had Loki by the arm, teeth sunk in deep as Loki fought, stabbing and hacking at it; the other one had Balder down on the ground. Tyr hit that creature like a linebacker, and while it didn’t budge, it did, at least, rise up off of the golden god. And then he slammed both knives straight into its heart.

  Loki finished the other off with magic, and they made it halfway to the circle, just in time to watch Fen decimate another.

  But the horde of Dark Elves, monsters bred to consume worlds, voracious, relentless and merciless, were already disappearing into the city.

  “Later,” Loki told him, “we deal with them later. For now, we need to get inside that.” He pointed with his knife to the churning cloud of darkness, a tornado contained in a tight circle.

  Tyr agreed and started down, feeling the tug of magic, the clash between the two, the dark and the light as the world seemed to fragment with every pounding, crushing blow that shook the earth beneath their feet. “We’re going to get Mir out. And Sydney.” His face was grave. “If we can.”

  Something in his heart didn’t hold out much hope, not as another resounding boom echoed out of the dark cloud and over the lake.

  And a fainter, deeper one echoed back.

  Chapter 44

  After pouring all of her power into the doorways, Sydney released Mir’s hand.

  They were shut, the magic every bit as effective as a lock and key.

  Her magic. Mir’s magic. Combined into something entirely new. And something completely unbreakable.

  Even if he killed her, the Orobus couldn’t open the doors now.

  It was done and it was finished, and as she grinned up into Hel’s raging face, she didn’t care what happened next.

  Chapter 45

  Tyr hit Hel from behind, Fenrir circling in from the left, blending in with the shadows now fading away from the circle. Painfully, Mir crawled over to the red-haired woman still sprawled on the ground, and reached across her, covering her with his body.

  The Orobus’s power seemed to be ebbing now that the circle was emptied of monsters and elves. Ebbing because he’d failed, or perhaps because he’d used so much energy opening the doors, protecting his armies. But there was no doubt he was diminishing before their eyes. Fading away with every passing moment.

  Snarling at them all, unable to admit defeat, Hel muttered, “Doesn’t matter.” She waved sloppily toward Sydney, who was, impossibly, still alive. “She’ll be under his control again soon enough, and then we’re back in business.”

  The mortal laughed, teasing an exhausted smile from Mir, who managed to raise his head while Sydney wrapped a protective arm around him, her eyes hardening as they locked onto the goddess.

  “That’d be a neat trick, I suppose.” Sydney’s mouth twisted into a parody of a smile as she purred, “I’d like to see you try it, when the both of you are running with your tails between your legs.” A blink of Sydney’s green eyes and Hel stumbled back a step. She and Mir clambered to their feet, bloody and ruined but…

  If Tyr didn’t know better, he’d say they were…happy.

  No, it was more than that. Went deeper than that. And for a moment, a single moment, Tyr felt a stab of jealousy. A pang of regret for all he’d missed. And what he would miss, still, because he’d never allow himself to be put in this position. Mortals were dangerous. They twisted you up and made you want things you could never have…

  “Go back to your Underworld, and take that”—Sydney nodded to the swirl of shadow lingering inside the circle—“with you when you go.”

  “Only a god can command another god, girl. And you don’t…”

  A flick of her wrist, half of a thought, and Sydney sent Hel tumbling into the circle with the liquid darkness of the Orobus. Leaning on Mir, Syd limped over and quickly laid a hand on the nearest stone, and the circle was wrapped in magic. White, impenetrable magic. With the smallest, coldest smile Tyr thought he’d ever seen on a mortal face, the magic barrier began to throb. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say it was singing.

  “It sounds like music,” Balder murmured, stepping up behind him. “A melody. I’ve heard it before, except, I’m just not sure where…” He frowned.

  Within the circle, Hel began to scream.

  “Now. You are going back to the Underworld. And taking that thing with you.” Sydney’s voice was even. “I don’t care where you put it, or what you do once you get there, but you are leaving my world. Leave or die. Those are your choices.”

  The Orobus’s dark power began hammering at the barrier, cleaving at the shimmering magic with a dark axe until a sliver of him broke through, a thin whip of his dark power lashed out, aiming straight for Tyr’s heart. Sydney threw herself in front of Tyr, hands raised.

  And it stopped.

  Tyr didn’t have magic. Not in the way some of the others did. Not like Odin or Mir or Loki. Not ice or fire. Not Fen’s shifting nor Thor’s strength. What he did have was wiles born of years of combat, shrewdness in knowing his enemy, and a keen eye for weapons. None of which prepared him for the knife-sharp dagger of malice that speared toward him. Would have most likely pierced him through, if not for that damn woman.

  With a groan, Sydney’s shoulders tightened and light exploded from her as she pushed. Pushed that thing back within the circle. Shoved it into its cage. And again, slapped her hand onto the stone and tightened the white-hot cage of magic around the two otherworldly beings she shouldn’t have had the strength to face.

  Odin appeared from the dark, Thor in tow, the both of them covered in black, glossy blood. And together, they all watched as Sydney Allen, a mortal from upstate Washington, forced the Goddess of Death and the God of Chaos back into the Underworld, out of sheer stubbornness.

  Chapter 46

  Her body felt like every cell was bruised. No, worse than that.

  Maybe every cell was broken.

  Was that even possible?

  “It’s not physically possible,” Mir mumbled beside her, his head shoved under the covers. “Because then you’d be dead, and I’d actually be sleeping.”

  “Stop reading my mind.”

  “Stop thinking so loud. You’re keeping me awake.” But he ran a warm hand down her, just to check. He’d been doing that a lot.

  “How soon before I feel normal again?” It had been two days, and she wasn’t entirely sure she felt any better than day one. Wiggling her toes, she was pretty sure she felt worse.

  Keeping her body as still as possible, she wondered out loud, “And why don’t you feel as bad as I do?”

  “Trust me, I’m in as much pain as you are, you just don’t hear me whining about it.” Another sweep of his hand, another warm, gentle caress. She sighed. She swore she felt better with every touch, almost as if…

  “You’re healing me, aren’t you?”

  “Trying to. If you’d stop whining and wiggling so much, this would go faster.” His hand stopped, rested on the small of her back, his thumb making small circles against the final phase of her moon tattoo. “I love this, you know. It’s beautifully done.” Tracing a finger up along her spine, her skin shivered in its wake.

  “I’m in no shape for that, so now you’re just a tease.” She moaned and shifted, threw an arm across him. Grasping her wrist,
he pressed his lips to it, her pulse beating frantically, right at the end of the thick tattooed line running from where his mouth touched her, all the way up to her elbow.

  Noting where his gaze landed, Sydney whispered, “It’s my thesis in micro text, I had it tattooed onto my arm the day after I wrote it. Because I never wanted to forget where I came from.”

  Mir smiled. “That must be some thesis. What’s it about?” It looked strangely out of place, and what he’d first thought was a broad, solid line was double lines of text, so tiny it was barely readable. His thumb massaged her wrist, just where her pulse beat, as he waited for her to explain.

  “The thesis is what led me to find the stones. It’s based on two things, an ancient piece of writing I found that I attributed to a scholar from the eleventh century.” She stopped, her eyes brilliant, “And a prophecy from before I was born, handed down in the coven my parents belonged to.”

  Mir’s eyes grew ancient. “What prophecy is that?” Please, he thought, please don’t let this be the one Lordes told me about.

  “It’s based on Irish legend. Of a girl who will open a doorway between worlds and bring about the end of this one.” Sydney bowed her head. “I never wanted it to be real, you know. But the way I was born, my whole life, and then after what happened with my father? It seemed like the farther away I ran from it, the harder it nipped at my heels.

  “Even without my magic, I couldn’t escape it. This tattoo was a way to meld them together, or at least, my small attempt to. My new life and my old one. The scholar and the witch.”

  For the longest time neither of them spoke, until Mir finally asked, “How much do you know about the prophecy?”

  And it was even longer before Sydney answered.

  “Everything.” She sighed. “My father told me everything.”

  She managed a small smile. “None of it was supposed to happen. They weren’t supposed to fall in love or have a child. But they did. So Dad taught me everything he could. Because he knew I’d need it. Because he knew I’d have enemies, that Lordes would try to stop me, was afraid of me, and rightly so.”

  “He has no need to be afraid of you, Syd, none at all.”

  “He has every need to fear me. I’m not just a strong witch, Mir.” Her eyes grew enormous.

  “I’m a High Priestess. And I have been, ever since I turned sixteen. It’s what we were fighting over, that night.” Her face fell. “Well, we were fighting over a lot of things, but mostly that. The prophecy, me taking my place within the coven, assuming more responsibility, working harder on my control, things like that. Except I didn’t want any of it. I just wanted to have fun, you know?”

  Mir smiled when she added, “I was sixteen.”

  She wormed her feet between his, wiggling closer. “And sixteen is just the wrong age to be taking on any sort of responsibility. And then…everything happened.

  “After Dad died, I went to school, did work hard, did take on a bunch of responsibility, found proof the prophecy existed, and yeah, ended up outside the Tower with a cardboard sign.” Her gaze was unflinching.

  Something welled up in him. Tenderness for this woman who had never really belonged, always one foot into whichever world she lived. And one foot in another. Mir kissed her, his lips gentle, the barest brush of velvet. “I love you. All of you. All the parts of you, mortal, witch, and everything in between.”

  Her eyes grew dark. “He’s not gone, and he’ll be back. I feel it in my bones, and next time, it won’t be so easy to shove him back in his box.” She traced the fading bruise on his face. “How do you feel?”

  “Like I was pounded into the ground by a being as big as the universe. You?”

  “About the same.” She sighed. “But alive. Very much alive.” She nestled closer and hummed, just a bit. “Well enough, I suppose, for this.” She ran a hand up his hip and met his eyes, desire swamping hers until they glowed.

  Just seeing what simmered in those peridot depths, Mir hardened then rolled, pressing her beneath him, her legs widening, and he plunged in, sinking deep as she closed about him, tight and wet, until he couldn’t stop, couldn’t think of anything except the feel of her against him, the feel of him inside her, the feel of them together. The delicious hot slide that he prayed would never stop.

  She didn’t take her eyes off him, reaching up and drawing him down to her lips to whisper, “You’re mine, and nobody is ever going to take you away from me.” And as she laughed softly against his lips, he roared, coming so hard he saw stars, and when he collapsed upon her, the only thing in the silent dark was the sound of their breath twining together.

  Epilogue

  Hel strode down the last of the circular stone steps to the dungeons, her feet already aching. She hated witches. Made her yearn for the days when mortals burned each other and took care of her problems for her.

  The red-haired witch might have magiked her from the Earth.But Hel was damned if she was going to stay down here. She’d worked her ass off, for eons, to escape this place. Setting up the she circle, the doors, the timing. Just building armies of monsters had taken an eternity.

  Throw one uncooperative mortal and a dash of free will into the mix, and it all went straight to shit. “Ah, there you are.”

  The Orobus faintly swirled, his energy all but depleted by the battle, and down here? Well, it was the Underworld after all. Not a lot of life force for him to draw energy from.

  And certainly no place for such a beautiful creature, since he seemed to be slipping away by the hour. Somebody had to do something. The elves were still up top, reigning terror across Chicago. A handful of her Grim may still be skittering about. She hoped at least one or two of the larger creations had escaped the carnage, enjoying all the Earth had to offer.

  The Orobus swirled before her, a cloud of dark malice.

  “Let me ask you something…” Hel set her hands on her fabulous hips. “Have you ever heard of a place called New York City?”

  The Banished Gods Series

  continues with DEATH’S DAUGHTER

  Keep reading to find out what happens next….

  DEATH’S DAUGHTER

  Chapter 1 / The Outcast

  Somehow, Hunter always knew she’d end up here.

  Even though it was the last place she wanted to be.

  She hated Chicago. More so, now that it was burning to the ground. But she didn’t have a choice. So here she was, on the doorstep of the last person she ever wanted to see. Leaping down from her vantage point, she landed on broken asphalt before making her way towards the tall, silent Tower on the edge of Lake Michigan.

  Twenty minutes later she arrived in front of the golden sandstone building, working out possible entry points. Barely a month ago, the immortals inside had allowed the dark God of Chaos to escape their grasp and begin his reign of terror, straight across the northeast. After which, he’d ended up right at her front door.

  And she’d watched him decimate her city.

  She’d slaughtered her way out of New York. Stolen cars and scavenged ammo and weapons to fight through the hordes of demons and Dark Elves spread across the rust belt, and now she was sporting more injuries than she cared to note. It had taken her a week and every ounce of energy to get here.

  But she’d made it.

  Frowning, she gazed at The Tower’s gothic arches, gaze fixed on the carved stone owl crowning the buildings highest gable. “Wisdom is it?” She allowed herself a wry smile. “What’s wisdom gotten us so far in this war?”

  No, she thought, when the world was on fire, and the end drew near, only steel and blood would buy it back. And for that, she had an immortal god to see. It had been a thousand years and ten lifetimes, but she still remembered every line of his face, the faint scar marking his cheek, his whiskey-flecked eyes, and the set of his stubborn jaw.

  After all these years, she doubted he even remembered her name.

  ****

  Tyr, God of War, rolled his shoulders and felt the dull ache of fatigue
. Months had passed since the God of Chaos had blown through a cosmic portal onto earth and begun waging his deadly war.

  And they were losing. People. Ground. Blood.

  “I fucking hate losing.”

  The map before him displayed proof of their failures. Their enemy’s path of destruction cut a stark, black swath from Chicago all the way to the east coast, a wide slash of evil straight across the northern United States. Fingers of death crept out from that blackness like a cancer, stretching toward Fort Wayne, Lansing, Columbus, Philadelphia. Cities wiped from the map forever.

  Proof the dark god’s reach grew longer every day.

  Modern tech was useless against the Orobus’s powers, against the sheer numbers of his otherworldly army. Fuel was growing scarce. Ammo, too. Food would be rationed, starting today. Punching a fist though the concrete wall, Tyr barely felt the impact. The blood dripping from his knuckles however, was an unwelcome surprise. A testament to the fact he was exhausted and his magic nearly depleted. “Fucking perfect.” Distracted, he rubbed it off on his pants.

  His eyes darted over the map again, surveying the carnage portrayed by daily updates, where every message sent seemed to tell of one catastrophic failure after another.

  He’d best recall Thor, Balder and the rest of the gods from the eastern edge of Pennsylvania, where they’d been maintaining some semblance of a front line. Sending them to attack the Orobus’s rearguard had, perchance, slowed him down, but hadn’t stopped him. Word had come in yesterday—New York city was under seige. Who knew what was next?

  Certainly not Odin. Their king had given up. Hiding in his Throne Room, chugging Laguvalin like the expensive scotch was water, Odin had effectively removed himself from day-to-day operations. Ever since Odin lost his gift of foresight, he’d decided to drink his troubles away. And sure, Tyr would love nothing more than to march in there, yank the bottle out of the pompous bastard’s hands and demand the king get his head back in the game.