The Irin Chronicles Box Set

by T. G. Ayer

  A little bit of overkill there in imprisoning her.

  Even her hands had been bound, preventing her from massaging the sore spot on the back of her head.

  Given that members of her species were known to lose their marbles every so often, the Masters of the Irin would know the methods of controlling all the angelics--the spawn of the angels. One such method of restraint was the Angel Bonds which were currently strapped around Evie’s wrists.

  Which meant Evie was going nowhere fast.

  It was said that the splicing of human genes with those of angelic beings wasn't at all a perfect comingling of DNA. Yes, the combination had created nephilim, while gargoyles, who were considered less powerful, more brutish and a few rungs down on the genetic ladder from nephilim, were the second best of the half-breed spawn of angels and humans.

  Which would explain the age-old war.

  The third type of angelic being was of course, the demons. Not your regular demonic being, but the true Demons, who were still children of Heaven. The thought brought her back to Barry and she scowled to herself, unsure of how to call him for help.

  It had been a long time since Evie had felt pain. Nephilim were built stronger, harder than the humans who birthed them, and Evie, just like all the other angelics, possessed a strength incomparable to mortals.

  And yet, her head had ached--throbbed with the kind of pain she’d rarely felt in her long lifetime. Even her eyeballs had hurt though the pain had faded somewhat by the time she’d received her first visitor.

  That the Master of the Irin had come to see her in person hadn’t been a surprise, given that Evie was a senior warrior of the Irin. The identity of the new Master, though, had been a shock. Pleasant enough, but a shock nonetheless.

  The standard-issue hooded cloak had shielded the woman’s face when she’d entered the room, but when she’d stepped closer Evie had seen her new boss clearly enough.

  Mykia Goodwin was an arresting sight, with her shock of ebony spiral curls, her rich brown skin and almost-golden eyes. And like Evie, she was a warrior with a reputation. But, where Evie’s warrior skills and Father Patrick’s patronage were spoken of across the Brotherhood in awe and envy, Mikya’s gentle and just nature had been both lauded and criticized.

  Seemed people were never happy, no matter what they were given.

  Despite her pleasure at a woman being appointed Master, Evie’s doubts refused to be quashed. What if Mykia were merely a mouthpiece--like Marcellus had been, simply doing someone else's bidding, with no real power or control?

  Worse, during her conversation with Mykia, Evie had made a grave error and had lost her temper. A small show of her latent fury, but it had been enough. Even that tiny loss of control was a bad beginning for her, but the news she was awaiting trial for murder hadn’t been an easy thing to accept. Master Goodwin had been firm and aloof, though she’d seemed open to hearing Evie’s side of the story.

  A story that Evie was still waiting to tell.

  Evie was still waiting to find out who she’d been accused of killing. She’d wanted to speak to someone, to find out more about who she was meant to have killed, but nobody had come. Surely Mykia wouldn’t send her to her death without allowing Evie to prove her innocence.

  After the new Grand Master of the Irin had left, Evie had found plenty of time to ponder her situation.

  She’d come home with an interesting story to tell the masters, news that would set everything within the brotherhood on its head. But instead of revealing Marcellus’ greed and Daniel’s betrayal, Evie had ended up in the dungeons beneath Greylock Estate...in jail.

  Funny how that had worked out.

  Chapter 2

  A part of Evie’s mind kept whispering that this was all just a bad dream. A part of her suggested, quite adamantly, that she’d simply fallen and hit her head when she’d arrived back into the EarthWorld from Hades.

  She chuckled, the sound dark and filled with a humorless mirth. How idiotic that she’d given in to wishful thinking? She’d never been the flighty sort, the kind of female partial to plucking elaborate explanations out of thin air and actually believing her excuses.

  Perhaps she was losing her mind. That whole adventure in Hades must have addled her brains. Perhaps her journey to the Underworld, her initiation as the new Hades, even the deliciously sexy Julian--who was now her co-ruler--had been a convoluted construction of her overly active imagination.

  Bur Evie had a strong feeling something dark and sinister was afoot, something that reached for her with icy fingers, ready to reassure her that nobody within the walls of the estate was going to come to her aid.

  That something had turned the loyalties of the Brotherhood. Had it also turned the loyalty of Evie’s fellow warriors?

  And if they now found out what Evie was? To what she’d been transformed? Still, Evie was changed now; more powerful, more knowledgeable. More...different.

  Her skin still tingled where the dark shadow-tattoos skimmed her arms, a silent constant reminder of who she was now...Hades. Evangeline was ruler of the Underworld, though she held that position alongside the previous, and current, owner of the title.

  For which she was supremely grateful.

  Julian. Ancient prince of Rome, current holder of the title of Hades, and probably one of the sexiest males Evie had had the pleasure to encounter in all of the centuries she’d lived. And she’d left Julian behind in Hades, with far more reluctance than she’d felt at her departure from the Underworld itself.

  She still felt a magnetic pull toward him, a deep longing to return to his side, a sense that she’d only ever be whole again if she went back to him. Could sharing the Marks of Hades be pulling her to him, the spirit of the power ever needing to be joined together? Or was her need more to do with her feelings for Julian?

  But returning to Hades didn’t appear to be an option in the near future. Not until she got herself out of this particular mess.

  Evie sighed, scanning the stone walls around her, the leather straps digging into her skin--she hated the vulnerable position the bindings put her in.

  Evie had been left in the cold cell since the Master’s visit. Tension had built within her gut for every second she’d spent within the cell, for every alternate scenario of the moment she’d been struck unconscious, all the possible ways she could have defended herself so she wouldn't be in this position right now. But, she knew well enough it was pointless.

  Hindsight and all that.

  And there seemed no sign of anyone, including the new Grand master, coming by to fill in the blanks for her. Evie certainly had a lot of questions but she’d have to settle for waiting patiently until someone came to tell her what in Hades was going on.

  Now, long hours later, Evie paced the uneven stone floor, ears straining to catch the slightest hint of the Master’s return.

  Evie blinked, plucked from her reverie as the loud thunking of boots on stone echoed along the corridor outside her door, two sets of the thick rubber soles pounding hard onto the rock floor, the sound no doubt a deliberate attempt to instill fear in the hearts of the prisoners. Although, Evie was pretty certain she was the only occupant of the dungeons. Should she be honored or just panic?

  So many things were so not normal.

  The boots stamping upon the stone came to a slow stop outside Evie’s cell. She paused and waited as the ancient metal key rattled in the door’s ancient lock. The hinges groaned and squealed as the door swung open to reveal the two guards standing on the threshold.

  The pair wore gleaming black armor, curved obsidian-blade swords swinging at their waists. Long-sleeved blood-red shirts, black leather pants, and skin covered in silvery whorls and lines that faded away to a deep navy, or muted by glamor when normal humans were in their company.

  The first guard met Evie’s gaze and paused, wavy soot-black hair cut in line with his earlobes, eyes swirling with silvery sparks. He held a tray of covered plates in his hands and looked around the room for a place t
o set it down.

  His eyes hardened for a moment, lips tightening into a thin line. Then he let out a breath and set the tray on the floor in front of the ancient chair, his expression filled with distaste.

  Evie felt a little hurt to know the guard felt such a level of distaste at her presence but she pushed the feelings away as the silent guard stepped closer to her and began to unbuckle the leather straps around her ankles and her wrists that held her to the arms and legs of the chair.

  She couldn’t identify the level of relief she’d felt the moment her skin left contact with the wood of the chair, a strange relief that seemed a little illogical to her. Perhaps it was more to do with knowing she was freed from at least one form of imprisonment.

  She lifted the lids off the plates and found a simple vegetable stew as well as a hunk of fresh bread. Along with the stew, Evie had been given a glass of water and a mug of weak cider.

  The two men left the cell and shut the door, then stood waiting outside while Evie finished her meal. She sat on the floor, cross-legged in front of the tray, feeling the ice-cold of the stone seep into her bones. She didn’t rush her meal, though she didn’t race through it either.

  Evie felt listless as she thought about the guards. The gargoyles were damned good at their jobs. Lethally good—should the need arise.

  At the slightest of sounds, the coldest of whispers, the gargoyles would descend upon their targets, gleaming elvin steel knives and daggers at the ready. The very sight of their inky tattooed skin would send any prisoner into a quiet fear.

  But, when Evie had left for Hades, the Level 2 Nephilim team had patrolled the Greylock dungeons. And now the gargoyles held the role.

  Why had the Brotherhood transferred dungeon security to the Gargoyle Night Watch? Had there been word of a new threat? Were they expecting to soon fill the cells with such dangerous criminals that the gargoyles fearsome power was required?

  Afterward, the silent guard had strapped her again to the wooden chair, though she wasn’t at all sure what difference it would make. It wasn’t as if she was capable of leaving the cell without outside help anyway.

  Though he hadn’t spoken to her, he’d held her gaze a moment or two longer than was necessary, silvery eyes sending her a message, though its contents were unknown to her.

  Was he warning her? Comforting her?

  If he’d meant to convey his utter dislike of Evie and her kind, he needn’t have bothered because she knew all too well what gargoyles felt toward angels. But at least his presence had provided her with some company, a sense that she existed, that she was still alive.

  Other than the food, she had received no more information, no visitors, no further explanation, and no meeting with Mykia.

  Head still throbbing, Evie felt like she was slowly losing her mind.

  She had to come up with a plan. If she could get word to Barry, her Demon Overlord friend, or even to Julian perhaps, they’d surely help her get out of this mess. Desperation and worry grabbed hard at Evie’s heart, slowly strangling a little more of her hope.

  She forced herself to breathe, to blink away the sting of tears behind her eyes. Then her gaze fell on her cuffed wrists, giving her something else other than despair to add to her pile of troubles.

  The SHC held the spelled cuffs in a secret location, one which even angel eyes cannot find. And, as the only organization to manage the nephilim in current times, the Irin Brotherhood had been given access to the Angel Bonds. The only thing was, the Irin Master would have had to make a formal request for its use, a submission so strong and irrefutable that none of the Supreme High Council members would rule against its use.

  Evie's blood stilled. If this was a plan to contain her for some reason, or to get rid of her, the plot must have gone all the way up to the highest level. Of course, even a supernatural on the SHC was capable of betrayal if they were self-serving enough, dishonest enough. Far too many people would break the rules should it benefit them in some way.

  Which brought Evie back to the first of her questions: what was she accused of and why was someone after her?

  And now she couldn’t stop staring at the angelic script burned into the leather straps binding her wrists, cuffs that trapped her here in the dungeons beneath the estate which was her home. She swallowed hard to stop the hiss of pain that threatened to spill out. Was Greylock home to Evie anymore?

  How easily life turned around and punched you in the gut.

  Evie’s initial joy on her return home had been cruelly doused by a blow to her head, and then the ice of murder charge, ending quite aptly with the chill of the stone cells of the Irin dungeons.

  Chapter 3

  Even though the Marks of Hades still swam across Evie’s skin, a constant reminder that when it came to those strange shadows, she wasn’t at all alone, she didn’t feel comforted.

  The guard had been careful to avoid making his eye-contact with Evie too obvious though she wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t as though the cell had CCTV in operation or something.

  When the guards left, the entire dungeons had fallen silent. Only the drafts kept her company, rushing through cracks and crannies and filling the cells with keening cries, suitably mournful background music for Evie’s current predicament.

  Evie had been relieved when he’d left. But, even though she was alone again, her skin still crawled as though someone was watching her.

  Another sense inside her, an almost instinctive awareness began to swirl inside Evie, consuming her slowly from her solar plexus outwards. Heat surged and undulated on her skin as the Marks of Hades began to shift around on her forearm. Why they were agitated, Evie wasn’t sure, and that uncertainty only made her worries even worse. She shook her head, trying to focus, her mind and her emotions a mess right now.

  Evie was biting the inside of her lip as the feeling inside her continued to build, power and anxiety ready to explode within her body. And suddenly, the air within the cell began to vibrate, appearing to turn into liquid, as though the ether surrounding her had transformed into water.

  Was the ward around the dungeons malfunctioning? Or perhaps something was affecting the protective barrier around the Greylock Estate itself? Even so, why would anyone want to tamper with the Irin wards?

  Was Evie some sort of scapegoat? Or was her involvement with the Seals now making her a target? There were a number of reasons why someone wanted her dead, but she didn’t have time to think about them.

  The air around her thickening and her ears filled with a bubbling rumble. A cool sensation began to burrow into Evie’s skin and her eyes widened. The cold pressure was like being wrapped inside a wet blanket. Her first thought was that she'd just been immersed in a pool of water.

  Oh, holy hell’s bells.

  The air within the stone cell had turned to water? Was that even possible?

  Evie shook her head. Of course, it was possible that wards around the dungeons had been nulled by a powerful spell. Then any mage worth his salt could turn the air into water. For what reason, Evie couldn’t yet fathom.

  Now, cool moisture began to seep further and further into Evie's body, making its way through clothing and skin, burrowing deeper into her flesh until it reached bone. And she shuddered. She wasn't feeling cold, in the basic meaning of the word, but rather she sensed the sinister nature of the spell that swirled within her cell.

  And then Evie shook her head. What in God's name was she doing? Calling for help should have been the first thing she thought of. Evie took a deep breath, bringing forth the power of her angelic blood to boost her vocal cords, and she screamed, "Help! Guards!"

  And then Evie stiffened, shock dousing her with an even icier reality.

  The scream that left her mouth wasn’t the high-pitched, resonating boom of an angel’s roar. No, her scream was garbled, dampened as though Evie was submerged inside a pool of water.

  No! Evie shook her head, her peripherals catching movement that made her want to gasp. From the corner of her eye she sp
otted strands of her hair hovering around her, rising from her head as though gravity had disappeared.

  The rest of her garments remained stuck to her skin, her seated position allowing even her leather coat very little room even to flutter as though in a sluggish breeze.

  No wonder she hadn't noticed what had been happening around her. There was nothing else within the cell that would have given her a hint that the air was filled with water.

  No, not filled. The air in the cell had been transformed into water, probably as a means to drown Evie where she sat, tied to the ancient chair.

  Was this the reason she'd been returned to the chair and then belted fast to the arms and legs? So some mage could fill the room with water and drown her before she could defend herself against murdering someone. Whoever they were--she still hadn’t been told.

  Had this been the reason for the gargoyles strange eye-contact? Had he been attempting to warn her? She’d felt no malice in his expression, no anger, no venom, no triumph either. So it made more sense that he’d been trying to tell her to watch her back.

  A lot of help that had been.

  Chapter 4

  Evie scolded herself for being ungrateful. The gargoyle’s intentions had been honorable--if he’d really intended to warn her. She ought to be grateful because at least she’d remained alert and on guard instead of relaxing and having things take her by surprise.

  Now, all she had to do was to stay alert, to try and remain alive long enough for the next patrol to come by. Surely someone would notice something soon.

  Like water flowing out of her cell, maybe?

  While she waited, Evie counted seconds, blinking and shaking her head to get the floating strands of hair out of her face. How was the water remaining inside the cell instead of leaking through the gaps and channels within the stone walls?