Demon's Mark Books 1-6

By: Nora Ash
The Complete Series

Demon’s Mark Books 1-6


He is everything she fears - She is everything he needs.

Book 1-6 of the paranormal romance series Demon’s Mark.

After a lifetime of seeing demons, Selma Lehmann thought she had learned to tune them out and pretend like she was perfectly normal. As long as she stayed inside after dark and never looked one of them directly in the eye, she thought she would be safe.

She was wrong.

After a vicious attack, Selma finds herself locked in a psychiatric facility and at the mercy of her worst nightmare - a handsome young psychiatrist with a devil’s horns and eyes like fire.

He will do anything to break her, until she submits her body and soul to him.

The only person who can save her from the ruthless doctor is a Demon Lord with a tortured past and darkness in his heart.

But his price for saving her turns out to be far dearer than what Selma ever suspected.

In return for his protection, he wants her heart.

Demon’s Mark is a dark and very spicy paranormal suspense romance. The series contains mature content and is unsuitable for readers under the age of 18.


It had never been easy, being like this.

As a child everyone had assumed that her imagination was just a bit vivid, that maybe the fairy tales read to her before bed were what caused the nightmares and unexplainable daytime terrors. When she hit puberty and the frequency worsened, assumptions of imaginative illusions were dismissed in favor of concern for her mental health; no teenager should believe that the shadows under the bed truly hid monsters, or that the physics teacher was something not-quite-human.

Her fourteenth birthday, and the incident she now silently recalled as ‘The Bogeyman and the Tea Party’, marked the beginning of a few years of sifting through therapists and, eventually, more than seven months in and out of mental institutions until she’d finally learned to keep quiet. It had taken more than a little practice to not flinch or stare at the inhuman features of some of the people walking freely around the city, seemingly leading perfectly normal lives.

However, when the nervous tics started to be less obvious, the monsters seemed to become less noticeable. It wasn’t exactly that they went away, but where before they had stared at her, followed her, they now seemed to ignore her, making it exponentially easier to do the same in return. For years she had actually managed to keep up an appearance of being ‘cured’, to her parents’ great relief. And she had felt... if not cured, then in control; like her illness was managed and manageable.

The young woman sighed softly, leaning her forehead against the cool glass panel, brown eyes staring past the trickling raindrops on the other side of the window and into the gardens of Ravenswood House. She had been perched on the window ledge for a few hours, waiting.

It had been a horrible episode; the worst yet. Maybe if she hadn’t been so unprepared... so much time had gone by without incident that she had let herself believe there would be no more lapses, but that group... It had been dark, which hadn’t exactly helped. Ever since childhood she had been wary of the dark and the things it hid, and as an adult she usually stayed inside after sunset, if at all possible.

Of course, in the wintery half of the year that inclination got more troublesome, and thanks to her supervisor’s poor demonstration of time management skills they were once again behind at work. She’d had to put in some overtime, resulting in emergency grocery shopping hours after the sun had set.

There had been three of them, and they all looked like the dangerous kind; early on she’d noticed a certain pattern in the others, something about their appearance that hinted at what kind of monster they were. It was something in their eyes, and the slight shimmer around them, though she found it hard to pinpoint exactly what. It was most definitely there, though, that dangerous darkness, and before she had learned to hide her fear they had been the ones to go so far as to chase her and, sometimes, harm her. She still had a scar down the back of her left calf from the claws of a horned one that had stalked her for days when she was eleven, seemingly enjoying her terror.

If she’d just ignored them, thrown her groceries in the trunk and hurried into her car, she would have been home and safe within twenty minutes, which was exactly what she would have done under normal circumstances; the core part of keeping her illness under control was avoidance at all costs.

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