Invision - Sherrilyn Kenyon Page 0,25

in this dismal realm scurrying for a hole to vanish into. Almost seven feet in height, the ancient primal god held an insidious beauty that only the source of all evil could possess.

His black hair and eyes were as soulless as his actions. And there was a wicked light that flickered in the depths of those cold eyes that seemed to match his dark burgundy demonic armor. He tossed his bloodred cape back over his shoulder. “Are you trying to piss me off?”

“No, but that would be a sweet bonus.”

Noir actually laughed. Something that caused all the demons around them to run away like rodents fleeing a pending explosion—which was most likely what they thought that unnatural sound portended. The ancient god reached out and grabbed Grim’s pale hair.

His mouth curled into the semblance of a cruel, twisted smile before he jerked Grim against his chest and gave him a bone-shattering embrace. “I’ve missed you, boy.” He placed a kiss on the top of Grim’s head, then released him. Quicker than Grim could blink, he backhanded him so hard that Grim saw stars from it. “But if you back talk me again, I’ll rip out your entrails and throw them to the slug demons to eat.”

Wiping the blood from his nose and mouth, Grim forced himself not to show how much that blow had staggered him. Or the fact that he still wasn’t seeing straight from it as his face continued to throb and ache to distraction.

Holy crap, for an old fart whose strength had waned, Noir could pack a wallop.

He passed an angry pain-filled glare to Laguerre who held absolutely no sympathy for him in her cold, dark eyes.

But then, she was Noir’s daughter.

He grimaced at the blood on his hand. He’d forgotten just how much he hated being around Azura and Noir. Now being that he was virtually trapped with them and dependent on them …

If he ever laid hands on that sniveling Malachai, Gautier would know pain unimaginable.

When people talked about having bad in-laws, they had no idea what true misery meant. They should have to spend a weekend with his.

These two ancient beings were a large part of why he’d left Laguerre centuries ago. As much as he’d once loved her, and as much fun as they’d had in war together, it wasn’t worth tolerating her demented, psychotic parents and their volatile tantrums.

Not even for a dinner date.

And he’d forgotten just how much Laguerre favored her father. But now that they stood side by side, the resemblance was uncanny. Same coal-black eyes that held no feeling or regard for anyone else. Same patrician features, smug expressions, and dark hair. Only while Noir’s was short, Laguerre’s fell to her waist in spiraling curls.

Just like her father, she’d sprang from her mother’s womb, sword in her hand, ready to kill any- and everyone who happened into her path. No wonder the ancient humans had once deemed her the Fire Bitch of the Gods. Herit-Anat, Anat the Terror, et cetera. Back then, she’d gone by many names and even more epitaphs.

Ancient humans had left her untold offerings in their temples, hoping to buy her favor so that she’d leave them alone.

As if …

Instead, the two of them had led untold wars and conquests throughout the human lands. Everywhere they went, slaughter followed. For centuries, they’d been an invincible team. Laguerre as the goddess of war, and he as the god of death. Their army of demons and damned had torn up the entire earth.

How Grim missed those days of freedom, and bloody fun.

Now …

Grim pressed his thumb against the tooth Noir’s blow had loosened. He was trapped here. Useless and bored.

Worse, he was irrelevant. He, who had once so terrified humanity to the point they couldn’t think his name without shaking in terror and dying of fright, was now reduced down in this modern age to a cartoon character who made appearances in video games and on birthday greeting cards. They’d turned him into a chibi!

The indignities never stopped.

Laguerre sighed. “The Malachai still has five of his šarras by his side. Removing one won’t make much difference.”

Noir slid an intolerant grimace toward his daughter. “Patience, Anat. Have you learned nothing out in the human world?”

“Only how much I loathe the mortal vermin and wish to see them crushed beneath my hooves again.”

Suddenly, Noir leaned his head back and took a deep breath as if he were in the throes of ultimate pleasure.

After a few uncomfortable minutes, he opened his