Shadow Marked Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  EPILOGUE

  Teaser chapter

  Praise for the Novels of Anna J. Evans

  “Evans pens a tale that is hot, scary, and sweet all at the same time. The protagonists … will keep you turning the pages long into the night, and the happy ending is emotional enough to please any romance fan.”

  —Romantic Times (4½ stars)

  “Anna J. Evans weaves a tale full of passion, intrigue, betrayal, and friendship that will leave readers in awe of the raw power behind the words.”

  —Romance Junkies

  “Enough sexual heat to create an avalanche.”

  —Fallen Angel Reviews

  “Arousing, amorous … pulled me right into their sexual encounters…. Ms. Evans’s storytelling ability was amazing, without a single flaw.”

  —The Romance Studio

  “A powerful story about the deep and undeniable connection between soul mates…. The love scenes were so primal and raw that you’re going to want to keep a spare pair of dry panties, a bucket of ice, and extra batteries nearby.”

  —TwoLips Reviews

  “Extraordinary…. I didn’t put this down until it was read all the way through.”

  —Romance Divas

  SIGNET ECLIPSE

  Published by New American Library,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto

  Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Book Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2,

  Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)

  Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell,

  Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)

  Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 CommunityCentre,

  Panchsheel Park, New Delhi -110017, India

  Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632,

  New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue,

  Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices:

  80 Strand, London WCR2 0RL, England

  First published by Signet Eclipse, an imprint of New American Library,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  First Printing, May 2010

  Copyrights © Stacey Iglesias Fedele, 2010

  Map by Cristina Gupta

  All rights reserved

  SIGNET ECLIPSE and logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

  Evans, Anna J.

  Shadow marked: a demon bound novel/Anna J. Evans.

  p. cm.

  “A Signet Eclipse book.”

  eISBN : 978-1-101-42739-2

  1. Blind women—Fiction. 2. Psychics—Fiction. 3. Demons—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3605.V363S53 2010

  813′.6—dc22 2009051310

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  This is a work of fiction. Namer, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidential.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their contents.

  The scanning uploading, and distribution of this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  For Mike. Again.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Big thanks to Kerry Donovan and the production team at NAL. You all are a joy to work with! Thanks also to my agent, Caren Johnson, to my wonderful, supportive family, and to my amazing readers. I couldn’t do any of this writing stuff without you.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Samantha Quinn wasn’t afraid of the dark.

  Even when she was walking the edge of the ruins, where the demonic infestation had transformed New York City’s Greenwich Village into a maze of rubble inhabited by bloodthirsty predators, the darkness could be an unexpected ally.

  The scary things got cocky in the shadows. Careless. They made noise—claws on the concrete, rough skin scraping along crumbling brick, eager breath rasping through thickly scaled lips—things even a sighted person could hear if they were really listening.

  To a woman who’d been legally blind since the age of six, the sounds of an approaching demon were like gunshots—impossible not to notice, and easy to avoid if you had practice ducking and covering. Which she did. A girl couldn’t grow up on the south end of the island without learning how to run and hide.

  Or when to pay attention to the feeling that something bad was going to happen.

  “I’ll be there in ten, fifteen minutes, tops.”

  “Wonderful! We can’t wait to—”

  “Gotta hang up. Bye.” Sam tapped the bud clipped to her ear, ending the phone call without waiting for Mrs. Choe to say her good-byes.

  Ellen and her husband, Chang-su, had lived in the neighborhood for forty years and raised four children in the wake of the infestation twenty years before—when demons emerging from caves beneath the Atlantic Ocean had found the densely populated, burrowlike habitats they sought in the cities of New York and Boston. The Choes knew there were times when safety dictated the rude termination of a phone call. But they wouldn’t be worried. Demons were easy to avoid if you stuck to the main streets and made a run for it on the rare occasions when the creatures prowled too near to the edge of the ruins.

  The descendants of the ancient dinosaurs weren’t particularly quick. They had to rely on their prey being careless and letting them get close enough to employ the demons’ various deadly natural weapons. Sam wouldn’t let them get close. She had these streets memorized, and her ability to distinguish areas of light and dark kept her from running into any large obstacles. Sure, she had her share of spills, but she felt confident she could take care of herself, even on the city streets.

  It’s just dumb luck, Sam. Someday you’ll fall at the wrong time and something will get you.

 
Ah, Stephen. Brother, friend, voice of doom. Why was it always his voice that got going in her head at night, when she was trying to pull off the “brave New Yorker” thing?

  Because I’m right. You know I’m right. You should move back in with me so you’ll have someone looking out for you, so you won’t—

  Sam did her best to banish her brother’s voice, focusing on where she was going, not where she’d been, increasing her speed until her sandals made tiny scraping noises against the concrete as they chased the white cane tapping ahead. She was on her own now. She had her own place, her own life, and she didn’t need anyone taking care of her, no matter what her brother thought.

  The Choes hadn’t been surprised to hear she’d finally gotten her own apartment. But then, they’d never treated her like an invalid or an oddity. To them, she was just another girl from the neighborhood, and the only florist they wanted to handle their daughter’s wedding. Sam was gradually making a name for herself above the demon barricade, but Hand Picked was already the hottest thing going below Fourteenth Street. Arranging flowers based solely on smell and texture created some fairly fantastic-looking combinations.

  Obviously Sam had never seen any of her own arrangements, aside from the occasional silhouette when the sun shone brightly through her shop window, but she took her clients’ word for it that they were stunning. Old friends or not, the Choes wouldn’t hire less than the best for their daughter. They’d finally gotten Sin Moon hooked up with a nice Korean boy who owned a house in the suburbs, far from the dangerous community where they’d been trapped when property values plummeted in the wake of the infestation. They meant to stage a wedding celebration worthy of such an event. And they wanted to approve every last detail months in advance.

  Hence the centerpiece Sam was presently cradling with her left arm. She’d promised to bring the sample arrangement over as soon as she finished cleaning up the shop for the day, no matter what the hour.

  But as the pungent smell of fresh demon waste mingled with the scents of lavender and wild roses, she began to doubt the wisdom of journeying out alone after seven o’clock. Demonic attacks had been on the rise in recent months. Attacks always increased in the spring, when the warmer temperatures brought certain breeds out of their winter hibernation, but this year it was worse than usual.

  Just like her dreams—worse than usual.

  She’d been tortured by nightmares since the night she lost her sight when she was six years old. At this point, she couldn’t remember what a good night’s sleep felt like. She was accustomed to bolting awake two or three times a night, soaked in sweat, screaming for the giant, shadowy fingers that crept through her dreams to stop hurting people.

  It would have been bad enough if the dreams were just dreams, but they weren’t. Once the shadow fingers touched someone, it was only a matter of time. Cancer, the loss of a family member, the loss of that person’s own life—it was impossible to guess what tragedy would befall the touched, but Sam no longer doubted that tragedy would come.

  Knowing suffering was on the horizon was her “gift.”

  Her best guess was that what she’d gone through as a child had somehow caused her ability, but she had no idea how to make it stop. Or how to help the people she dreamed about, even when she was able to guess their identity from the brief flashes she recalled upon waking. That had been awful when the dreams were filled with shadows and frightened voices crying out for help, but lately her nights had grown worse.

  She dreamed she was a man turned inside out by some kind of animal, a girl beaten in a dark corner, a woman with blood running down her face. Each dream was more vivid, more horrific than the last. She hadn’t been able to identify any of the people, but still …

  Knowing those things might happen to someone made her crazy, but she didn’t know who to turn to for help. Stephen had never believed in his sister’s ability to predict the awfulness coming to people in the near future, no matter how much proof she presented. Still, Sam could tell when a bad dream was more than just a nightmare.

  She could smell it on the air. Taste it on her tongue, sharp and bitter.

  “Crap,” she whispered under her breath as the wind shifted, carrying a hint of damp ocean mixed with garbage from the Chinese restaurant down the block, along with something cold and spicy and … evil smelling.

  The last note wasn’t something she could define, but she’d smelled the scent before, two nights ago, while running through a nightmare that had left her shaking, drenched in sweat but too terrified to get up and change her nightgown. It was the smell of pure horror, a smell that reminded her of the time when her parents had plucked her from her warm bed and carried her out to the barn in the middle of the night.

  It had been a spring night like this one. She’d been sucking her thumb as she snuggled into her dad’s flannel shirt, even though she was supposed to be breaking the habit. She was six years old, and big girls didn’t suck their thumbs. Only babies like baby Emma, her new little sister, sucked their thumbs. Mom and Dad said so.

  Mom and Dad also said that the elders were just playing a game when they put her in the middle of a circle drawn in red, next to the wooden box her archaeologist father had brought home from his last dig. They were tying her hands and feet only to make sure she didn’t smear the markings, they said. No, it wouldn’t hurt, they said. “Yes, baby, you’ll be fine.” But it had hurt and she hadn’t been fine.

  Luckily, the police from the town nearby found out what the grown-ups were doing and came to take all the kids on the compound away. But not before it was too late, not before the cold, awful-smelling thing had invaded Sam’s body, wriggled inside her mind, and stolen her sight.

  The doctors she’d visited couldn’t explain how it had happened. Not a single one could explain why Sam couldn’t see. According to their fancy equipment and sophisticated tests, nothing necessary to sight had been damaged. One doctor had even suggested Sam’s blindness was psychosomatic.

  She’d kicked that guy in the shin, twice, before her brother pulled her away.

  She’d been nine years old and unsure what “psychosomatic” meant, but figured it wasn’t something good. She could read condescension loud and clear, even as a child, and had known the doctor was wrong.

  Her parents had been demon worshipers, members of one of many cults that believed the emergence of the animalistic demons heralded the coming of hell on earth. Ancient artifacts discovered near the various caves from which the demons had emerged foretold a world where invisible demons lived within human hosts, possessing them so completely that the human soul vanished.

  And she knew the invisible demons her parents had summoned were responsible for her blindness. Sam’s parents had believed in this terrifying new world. They’d been archaeologists themselves and sworn the little wooden box they’d pulled from the ground during their last dig in China left them no choice but to believe. And to fear. But they’d been sure the invisible demons were intelligent beings—unlike the animal-like demons that had infested the major cities—and that they would reward those who helped them become flesh with exemption from infestation and positions of power in the new world order.

  Sam hadn’t understood all that at the time, but her studies the past few years had helped her to make sense of her parents’ beliefs. Her parents’ madness, Stephen would say. But Sam wasn’t sure that her parents had been mad. Her memories told her something different from her brother’s.

  The last thing she remembered seeing with her six-year-old eyes was the rafters of the old barn wavering like pavement on a hot day. The air had been filled with alien screeching as she yelled for her mom and dad and then for her blankie, a part of her sensing her pale pink blanket with the faded hearts would offer more comfort than either of her parents.

  She’d heard Stephen yelling, too, begging for mercy for their baby sister, who howled as she was placed within the circle of blood. He’d pleaded for one of the grown-ups to do something, to—

  Somewh
ere, deep in the ruins, a young girl screamed, startling Sam from her memories and nearly making her drop the flowers she’d worked on all afternoon.

  “Damn it.” She stumbled to the side, regaining her grip on the basket, but clocking her shoulder on something big, hard, and foul smelling in the process.

  A Dumpster, but one that wasn’t used much. The stink wasn’t fresh, but more the lingering sourness of ancient vegetables mixed with rotted meat and coffee grounds. Gross, but it was probably the best hiding place she was going to find around here.

  After using her cane to check the area behind the Dumpster—grateful for once for the smaller demons that had all but eliminated the city’s rat problem south of the barricade—Sam set the centerpiece on the ground and turned back to the ruins. She’d never ventured inside by herself and had dared take the shortcut between her apartment and her brother’s bar only when accompanied by half a dozen of his biggest, burliest friends, but for some reason she had to follow to its source the cold, slippery energy oozing across her skin.

  The scream hadn’t come again, but the smell was stronger than ever, as was the certainty that something horrible was happening. A woman had screamed in her dream and there had been blood, so much blood. She’d felt it as if she were in the woman’s skin. It had oozed down her face, hot and wet, slipping between her lips before she could think to shut her mouth.

  She’d had her share of portentous dreams, but never anything so violent. She was positive that if she didn’t find the woman who’d screamed before whatever hunted her did, blood would be spilled and an innocent person would die. For once, she had a chance to do something to prevent the awful thing she’d seen from happening. There was no way she could live with herself if she didn’t at least try.