Eve of Destruction Read online

  Table of Contents

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  APPENDIX

  EVE of

  DESTRUCTION

  TOR BOOKS BY S. J. DAY

  Eve of Darkness

  Eve of Destruction

  Eve of Chaos*

  *Forthcoming

  EVE of

  DESTRUCTION

  S. J. Day

  A TOM DOHERTY ASSOCIATES BOOK

  NEW YORK

  NOTE: If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  EVE OF DESTRUCTION

  Copyright © 2009 by Sylvia Day

  All rights reserved.

  A Tor Book

  Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC

  175 Fifth Avenue

  New York, NY 10010

  www.tor-forge.com

  Tor® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.

  ISBN: 978-0-7653-6042-7

  First Edition: June 2009

  Printed in the United States of America

  0 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  To all our soldiers serving in the United States military: Thank you. You are respected and deeply appreciated.

  For those of you on foreign soil: Come home safe. We love and miss you.

  • •

  My time in the military was deeply enriched by the soldiers who crossed my path. From Foxtrot Company, 229th Military Intelligence Battalion: Oglesby, Frye, Antonian, Doughty, Anderson, Edmonds, Calderon, McCain, Slovanick, and Pat.

  Christine: You will always be the sister of my heart.

  I love you, guys. Never Quit.

  My deep gratitude goes to:

  My editor, Heather Osborn, for giving me the time I needed and for all the cheerleading she does behind the scenes to support this series.

  Nikki Duncan (www.nikkiduncan.com) for the McCroskey name and enthusiasm over Eve of Darkness.

  Jordan Summers, Karin Tabke, Sasha White, and Shayla Black for always being there for me. You rock, ladies!

  Melissa Frain at Tor for loving the first book enough to clamor for this one.

  Seth Lerner for breaking one of his cardinal rules. I’m honored.

  Denise McClain and Carol Culver for assisting me with the French dialogue.

  Giselle Hirtenfeld/Goldfeder, whose first name I gave to a nightmare in this book. The real Giselle is actually a dream to work with.

  Susan Grimshaw of Borders Group, Inc., whose last name I appropriated for an alpha werewolf. Far from being villainous (like my Alpha turns after the loss of his child), Sue is one of my heroes. Thank you, Sue, for all the support you have given to me and my books over the years.

  My father, Daniel Day, for his help with the Italian dialogue. Thanks, Dad!

  PROLOGUE

  Therefore whosoever slayeth Cain, vengeance shall be taken on him sevenfold. And the Lord set a mark upon Cain, lest any finding him should kill him.”

  —GENESIS, 4:15

  Anno Domini 2008

  Class R4AD08

  Student/Origin:

  Callaghan, Kenneth: Scotland

  Dubois, Claire: France

  Edwards, Robert: England

  Garza, Antonio: Italy

  Hogan, Laurel: New Zealand

  Hollis, Evangeline: United States

  Molenaar, Jan: Holland

  Richens, Chad: England

  Seiler, Iselda: Germany

  Number of Graduates:

  CLASSIFIED

  Number of Casualties:

  CLASSIFIED

  Status:

  PENDING INTERNAL REVIEW

  CHAPTER 1

  Evangeline Hollis woke to the scents of Hell—fire and brimstone, smoke and ashes.

  Her nostrils flared in protest. She lay on her back, unmoving, willing her brain to catch up with her circumstances. Licking her lips, she tasted death, the bitterness coating both her tongue and mouth in a thick, immovable wash. Her muscles shifted in an attempt to stretch and a groan escaped her.

  What the hell? The last thing she remembered was . . .

  . . . being burnt to a crisp by a dragon.

  Panic assailed her with the memory, quickly followed by her mind lurching into full awareness. Eve jackknifed up from her sprawled position, sucking in air with such force it was audible. She blinked, but only inky darkness filled her vision. Her hand reached up to her arm and her fingertips found the raised brand there. The Mark of Cain—a triquetra surrounded by a circlet of three serpents, each one eating the tail of the snake before it. The eye of God filled the center.

  The mark burned whenever she took the Lord’s name in vain—which was often—and whenever she lied, which was less often but useful on occasion. When dealing with Satan’s minions, playing dirty leveled the playing field.

  Where the fuck am I? In her upright position, the smoky stench in the air was magnified. Her nose wrinkled.

  Maybe I’m in Hell? As a longtime agnostic, she still struggled with facing the reality of God. Heaven, Hell, souls . . . They were concepts that couldn’t be explained with reason.

  Besides, if there was a merciful God and a Heaven, she’d be there. She had only been cursed with the Mark of Cain for six weeks and she hadn’t yet been properly trained in how to kill Infernals, but during that short time she had eradicated a tengu infestation, killed a Nix, and managed to vanquish a dragon. She’d also helped put a lid on a major new threat to the good guys—a concoction of some sort that allowed Infernals to temporarily hide in the guise of mere mortals. And she’d managed to get Cain and Abel to work together for the first time since they were kids.

  If all that wasn’t enough to save her soul, she would take her chances with the Devil. Maybe he’d have a better sense of fair play.

  As Eve’s mind struggled to catch up with her present, the sound of singing penetrated the fog of her thoughts. She couldn’t understand a word, but it was familiar all the same. The language was Japanese; the voice, her mother’s.

  The idea of sharing Hell with her mother was oddly both comforting and chilling.

  Eve’s hands clenched tentatively, testing the soft surface beneath her, attempting to discern where she was. She felt satin, like the sheets on her bed. A cool breeze touched her brow and Eve’s vision exploded into living color. She jerked violently in surprise.

  She was in her bedroom, sitting atop her king-size bed. As if her senses had been muted, the steady crashing of waves against the Huntington Beach shoreline increased in volume. The soothing rhythm drifted down the hall from her living room balcony and brought welcome relief.

  Home. As her tension dissipated, Eve’s shoulders relaxed. Then, a brief glimmer in the periphery of her vision made her turn her head.

  Lifting her arms to shield her eyes from the blinding light, she barely made out the silhouette of a winged man standing in the corner between her bleached pine closet doors
and her dresser. Eve blinked back an unusually thick wash of tears. She risked another glance at the angel and found that, once again, her mark enhancements knew what to do even when she didn’t. Her arms lowered. She could see him now without damage to her vision.

  The angel was tall, with brawny arms and legs displayed by a knee-length, sleeveless robelike garment. The gown was white and belted with a tan braid. The black combat boots with wicked spikes running up and down the outside were a surprise, as was the impossible perfection of his features. His jaw was square and bold, his hair dark and restrained in a queue at his nape. His irises shimmered like blue flame, and he had an air about him that warned her to keep on his good side.

  His gaze lowered to her chest. Hers followed. She was nude.

  “Yikes!” Grabbing the top sheet, Eve yanked it up to her neck.

  Miyoko Hollis appeared in the doorway, buried in an armful of laundry.

  “Hey, you’re awake,” her mother called out, her voice flavored with a Japanese accent.

  “I guess so.” Eve was so happy to see her mom, her eyes burned. “It’s good to see you.”

  “Eh, you say that now.” Striding toward the bed with the brisk stride of a retired nurse, Miyoko was a compact whirlwind of energy, a tornado that often left Eve feeling exhausted. “You didn’t move a muscle for a while. I nearly thought you were dead.”

  Eve had been dead, that was the problem. “What day is it?”

  “Tuesday.”

  Another noxious breeze assaulted her nostrils and Eve waved a hand in front of her face. Her gaze found the source on her dresser—an incense stick.

  “Whatever fragrance that is,” Eve muttered, inwardly reeling that she had lost two days of her life, “it stinks.”

  Miyoko moved to the end of the bed and dumped the still-warm pile of clothes onto the comforter. She wore Hello Kitty pajamas—pink flannel pants and a T-shirt that had a giant Hello Kitty face on the front. With her black hair in pigtails and her unlined face, she looked more like Eve’s sibling than a parent. She also acted as if she owned the place, which she didn’t. Darrel and Miyoko Hollis lived in Anaheim—home of Disneyland, California Adventure, and Eve’s childhood. Still, whenever her mother visited, Eve found herself fighting for her place as alpha female in her own house.

  Eve watched her mother walk right past the angel without batting an eye. Standing with crossed arms, widespread legs, and folded wings, he was impossible to ignore . . .

  Unless you couldn’t see him.

  “Aromatherapy aids healing,” Miyoko pronounced.

  “Not when it smells like shit. And why are you doing my laundry again? I wish you could come over and just relax.”

  “It’s not shit. It’s jasmine-chamomile. And I am doing your laundry because it was piled up. Can’t relax in a messy house.”

  “My house is never messy.” Her mom did laundry every time she came over, despite the fact that at twenty-eight years of age Eve was perfectly capable of doing her own. No matter how spotless her condo might be, her mother cleaned it—rearranging everything to her liking in the process.

  “Was, too,” her mother argued. “You had an overflowing basket by the washing machine and a sink full of dirty dishes.”

  Eve pointed at the boxer briefs, men’s shirts, and towels in the pile. “Those aren’t my clothes. The dishes aren’t mine either.”

  She wondered what her mother would do if she learned that she was washing Cain and Abel’s clothes. The brothers went by the names Alec Cain and Reed Abel now, but they were still the siblings of biblical legend.

  “Alec has been using all the towels and leaving his clothes on the bathroom floor.” Miyoko’s tone was starkly chastising. No man was good enough for Eve. They all had some flaw in her mother’s eyes, no matter how small. “And both he and your boss get new glasses every time they have a drink.”

  “Alec lives next door. Why doesn’t he go mess up his place?”

  “You’re asking me?” Her mother snorted. “I still don’t know why Reed spends so much time at your house. It’s not natural. Or why your boyfriend is CEO of a corporation like Meggido Industries, but I’ve never seen him in a suit.”

  The thought of Alec in a suit made Eve smile. “When you run the place and you’re good at it, you can wear whatever you want.”

  Eve stretched gingerly, wincing at the lingering tenderness in her spine. Then, she hollered, “Alec!”

  “Don’t yell.”

  “It’s my house, Mom.”

  “Men don’t like to be yelled at.”

  “Mom . . .” She heaved out a frustrated breath. “What do you care, anyway? He leaves towels on the bathroom floor.”

  It was a pet peeve of Eve’s, too, but she didn’t think it made a man unsuitable for marriage.

  “It’s inconsiderate,” Miyoko groused. “And unhygienic.”

  Eve glanced at the angel, embarrassed to have him witness their squabbling. His burning gaze met hers, then his nose wrinkled.

  “Mom!” Eve’s tone was more urgent. “Put that incense out, please. I’m serious. It stinks.”

  Miyoko grunted, but moved to tamp out the incense stick. “You’re difficult.”

  “And you’re stubborn, but I love you anyway.”

  “You’re awake,” Alec interjected, walking through the open bedroom door. He stared at her with fathomless eyes, his gaze darting over her in search of any cause for concern. “You scared me, angel,” he said gruffly.

  Angel. It was a pet name only he ever used. Every time she heard it, her toes curled. Alec’s voice was velvet smooth and capable of turning a reading of Hawking’s A Brief History of Time into an orgasmic experience.

  Dressed in long shorts and white tank, he looked hotter than most men did in a tuxedo. His black hair was a little too long and his stride boasted a bit of a swagger, but no matter what he wore or how casually he moved, he looked like someone you didn’t want to piss off. It was the hunter in him, the predator. Alec killed for a living and he excelled at it.

  He was the reason she’d been marked. He was also her mentor.

  His brother Reed entered the room behind him. Their features were similar enough to betray them as siblings, but they were otherwise as different as night and day. Reed favored Armani suits and sharp haircuts. Today he wore graphite gray slacks and a black dress shirt open at the throat and rolled up at the wrists. He was her superior.

  Every Mark had a handler, a mal’akh—an angel—directly responsible for assigning them to targets. Reed had once likened the mark system to the judicial system. The archangels were the bail bondsmen, Reed was her dispatcher, and she was a bounty hunter. She wasn’t a very good one . . . yet. But she was learning and trying.

  In the meantime, Reed was responsible for her assignments and for peripherally ensuring her safety. As her mentor, Alec’s sole responsibility—under usual circumstances—was keeping her alive. But God had been unwilling to lose the talents of his most established and powerful enforcer. Alec cut a deal to be with her, and the result was that Reed often had more liability where she was concerned. Considering the festering animosity between the two brothers, the setup was fucked all around.

  “Welcome back to the land of the living, Ms. Hollis,” Reed greeted. He smiled his cocky smile, but his dark eyes held an uncertainty Eve found endearing. He had no idea what to make of his feelings for her. Since she was in a relationship with his brother, she couldn’t help him with that. She tried not to think about her feelings for him. It was just too complicated. Her life was already a disaster of biblical proportions.

  Both men spotted the angel in the corner, who stood unmoving. They bowed slightly in deference.

  Because Miyoko was too busy glaring at Eve, she failed to catch the gesture. Eve used her job as an interior designer as an excuse for Reed’s frequent visits. As far as her family knew, she worked from home most days and if Reed wanted to see what she was up to, stopping by was the best way to do it. But Miyoko didn’t believe the l
ie. She assumed all male interior designers were gay and Reed was most definitely not. Eve had no idea what her mother thought was really going on, but she knew the obvious animosity between the two men was fodder for suspicions.

  Alec’s smile warmed her from the inside. “How are you feeling?”

  “Thirsty.”

  “I’ll get you some ice water,” Reed offered.

  She smiled. “Thank you.”

  Alec bent and pressed his lips to her forehead. “Are you hungry?”

  “A banana would be nice.” She caught his wrist before he could draw away. “I had a dream. A nightmare. I was killed by a dragon.”

  “Your subconscious is trying to tell you something,” her mother interrupted. “But you couldn’t have dreamt you died. I heard if you die in your dreams, you die in real life.”

  “I think that’s a myth.”

  “There is no way to know,” Miyoko argued as she folded laundry. “If it happened to you, you would be dead and couldn’t tell us.”

  Alec sat on the edge of the bed, watching Eve with an alert gaze. He knew she couldn’t say what she meant while her mother was in the room.

  “It’s over now,” he soothed. “You’re safe.”

  “It was so real . . . I don’t understand how I’m sitting here now.”

  “We’ll talk later, after you’ve had a chance to eat.” He squeezed her hand. His expression held the softness he showed only to her. “Let me get you that banana.”

  He left, and her mom returned to the side of the bed. Leaning over, Miyoko whispered loudly, “He fights with your boss. About everything. You would think they were married. Too much testosterone in those two. Not enough brains.”