“What?”
“I just thought of something.” She wiggled away to sit up.
I kept my hands around her waist, wondering if I looked as confused as I felt.
“You said you never finished school,” she said, smiling.
“So?”
“So, now you can finish. You can go to school with me.”
The light in Emma’s eyes was too much, glittering with possibility and happiness. I didn’t say what I was thinking—that I’d rather reap a soul than go back to high school. Instead, I groaned and buried my face in Emma’s stomach. “School? Really?”
Emma laughed and scratched the back of my head. “For me?”
I grinned and lifted up the hem of her shirt so I could rest my ear against her heart. Listened to it beat until my breathing matched its soothing rhythm. I knew in my heart, down to the pit of my soul, that I’d die for that sound. I’d die for this girl. I looked up at Emma and she arched a brow at me.
“For you?” I asked, brushing my lips against hers. “For you I’d do anything.”
Acknowledgments
There are so many people involved in the process of getting a book from the mind of the author into the hands of the readers. And I have been blessed with the team that helped make this book a reality.
First, a big thank-you to my editor Heather Howland. When she made the decision to take a chance on me and this series, she made a dream come true. I will be eternally grateful for the hard work she put into this book. Also, hugs and thanks to assistant editor Tahra Seplowin and the entire Entangled team for helping to make this book shine. And to my publicist, Jaime Arnold, for helping me get Inbetween out into the world.
Never-ending thanks to my critique partners on this book, Mya Konstanti and Brock Adams. Mya, you are my writing rock and biggest supporter. I don’t know what I’d do without you. And thank you to Brock for doing the math and helping me figure out that Finn, Anaya, and Easton couldn’t do it on their own.
To my sister-in-law, Ashley, for reading my books before they are good enough to be called a book and cheering me on every step of the way.
To Elizabeth Yates and Julee Greenan. You were my best friends when I was a kid and you’re still my best friends today. Thank you for supporting me and believing in my dream as much as I did.
Thank you to my mom and dad. There aren’t enough words to say how thankful I am. I love you both more than words can say. Thank you to my grandmother. I wouldn’t be the writer or woman I am today without her.
Thank you to my friends who cheer me on and keep me sane: Molly, Amber, Crystal, and Carolyn.
And to some of the most amazing writers and friends I’ve ever known: Rachel Harris, Melissa West, Lisa Burstein, and the entire Entangled Teen crew. Thank you for your love and support. I seriously love you girls and am so lucky to have you with me on this journey.
And last but certainly not least, thank you to my husband, Jared, and my two sons, Colten and Caden. It’s easy to write about an epic love when I have you to show me what that feels like every single day. I love you.
Keep reading for a sneak peek of Shea Berkley’s The Marked Son
“Reading Shea Berkley is like watching magic unfold before your eyes. THE MARKED SON is written with such intrigue and depth, I could not get enough of this delicious tale.”
- Darynda Jones, author of FIRST GRAVE ON THE RIGHT Seventeen-year-old Dylan Kennedy always knew something was different about him, but until his mother abandoned him in the middle of Oregon with grandparents he’s never met, he had no idea what.
When Dylan sees a girl in white in the woods behind his grandparents’ farm, he knows he’s seen her before…in his dreams. He’s felt her fear. Heard her insistence that only he can save her world from an evil lord who uses magic and fear to feed his greed for power.
Unable to shake the unearthly pull to Kera, Dylan takes her hand. Either he’s completely insane or he’s about to have the adventure of his life, because where they’re going is full of creatures he’s only read about in horror stories. Worse, the human blood in his veins has Dylan marked for death…
Dreaming I was eight the first time I saw the girl.
Mom freaked when I told her, said I was letting a girl terrorize my dreams, but I didn’t get it. They were dreams, not nightmares. I don’t remember ever waking up afraid. Not back then. So when the dreams kept coming, year after year, each one more vivid than the last, I held onto them like a skydiver clutching his ripcord. No way would I let Mom take them away from me.
It’s been years since she’s asked me about the girl, but lately Mom’s been curious. I tell her I haven’t had a dream in awhile. She eyes me like I’m lying.
So what if I am? I may not remember everything about my dreams when I wake up, but I do know when I’m about to have one.
My scalp tingles, like tiny bugs zap, zap, zapping along my skin. The darkness behind my lids turns smoky. I’ve tried to pull away at that point but it’s no use. I don’t fight it now. Instead I sink into the thick air and come out the other side into a world that is nothing like the one I know...
Yet, it’s familiar.
Tonight, the smoke fades, and the girl appears in a thin, white gown. I’m lying in a meadow surrounded by deep woods, one hand tucked behind my head—shirtless and shoeless and wearing a pair of old, ratty jeans. I can hear the TV I left on fading in the distance until only the sound of the meadow fills the air.
She’s suddenly beside me, beautiful beyond words, her long, dark hair spilling over her shoulder as she bends to touch my hand.
Her cool fingers rest more like mist than flesh in my palm. The rough corset she’s wearing cinches the fabric snug to her hips. She’s got a definite Victorian vibe going, but it suits her. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it.
Her violet eyes darken, revealing the silent plea that carries a hint of desperation, and she tugs, urging me to get to my feet. She wants me to run, to escape. In the last two weeks, we’ve tried, running so long and so hard that we’re sure we’ll never find our way home again. We’ll be lost together forever. It’s what she wants. It’s what I need. But it always fails. We eventually wind up back at the meadow.
Tonight, I’m content to pull her down beside me, lie in the soft grass, and stare at the sky. Our fingers intertwine, our shoulders touch. We’ve both gotten older since the first time we met. There were years when we rarely saw each other, but lately, our time together has intensified. There’s a feeling of impending doom that wasn’t there when we were younger, as if this perfect place of dreams is about to shatter, and we’ll never see each other again.
There’s so much I want to know. Why do I only dream about her when I need her most? Am I insane? I don’t ask. I’m afraid to. I want her to be real. Just a few months more, maybe a year, then I’ll grow up and cut this strange, imaginary cord. I can’t lose her smile, not yet, or her lips against my cheek—one of her butterfly kisses that’s gone before it’s begun.
Her silence has never bothered me before. Tonight, all I want is one word.
My name.
I touch her hair, her cheek. I know the tilt of her head and the tip of her lips. I know when she’s sad and when joy fills her to overflowing. I’ve tried painting her in art class, but I’ve never been able to capture her perfection, because when I wake, her face dissolves with the dream. If she’d just talk to me, I’d remember everything about her. I would.
As we lie there, night and day flash by. One minute the sun warms my skin, the next the stars color it silvery bright. Flowers open and close. Birds sing. An owl hoots. The girl turns and lays her head on my chest. I wrap a protective arm around her and pull her closer, yet it’s never close enough. She’s my one comfort in life, but being with her is like holding onto sand that keeps slipping through my fingers. Time is running out, and I can’t figure out why.