Becca Fitzpatrick: Silence

I hesitated, one big question looming in my mind. Sex was a big deal. I wasn’t sure I was ready to complicate our relationship — or my life — that way, and that was only top on a long list of repercussions. If a fallen angel who slept with a human created a Nephil — a being that was never meant to inhabit Earth — what happened when a fallen angel slept with a Nephil? Based on what I’d seen of the icy relationship between angels and Nephilim, it probably hadn’t happened yet, but that only made me more leery of the consequences.

As much as I’d been content in the past to make the archangels out as the bad guys, a shred of doubt crept into my mind. Was there a reason angels weren’t supposed to fall in love with mortals, or in my case, a Nephil? An archaic rule meant to divide our races … or a safeguard against tampering with nature and destiny? Patch had once said the only reason the Nephilim race existed was because fallen angels sought revenge for being forced out of heaven. To get even with the archangels for banishing them, they’d seduced the very humans they had previously been charged to protect.

They’d gotten revenge all right. And stirred up an underground war that had been raging for centuries: fallen angels on one side, Nephilim on the other, and human pawns trapped in the middle. Even though it scared me to think it, Patch had promised it would end with the annihilation of an entire race. Which one was yet to be seen.

All because a fallen angel wandered into the wrong bed.

“Not yet,” I said.

Patch arched a dark eyebrow. “Not yet to leaving, or not yet to leaving with me?”

“I have questions.” I gave him a meaningful look.

A smile tugged at his mouth, but it didn’t mask a wavering note of uncertainty. “I should have known you’ve only been keeping me around for answers.”

“Well, that and your kisses. Anyone ever tell you you’re an incredible kisser?”

“The only person whose opinion I care about is right here.” He tipped my chin up to level our eyes. “We don’t have to go back to my place, Angel. I can take you home, if that’s what you want. Or, if you decide you want to sleep at my place, on opposite sides of my bedroom with a Do Not Cross line drawn down the middle, I’ll do it. I won’t like it, but I’ll do it.”

Touched by his sincerity, I hooked my finger under his shirt, trying to find the right gesture to show my appreciation. My knuckle brushed toned skin beneath, and desire shattered me. Why, oh why, did he make it so easy to feel too much, all sensation, blazing and devouring, and forget reason?

“If you haven’t guessed it already,” I said, something fervent and resonating slipping into my tone, “I need you, too.”

“Is that a yes?” he asked, pushing his fingers through my hair, fanning it out around my shoulders and searching my face intently. “Please let it be yes,” he said with a gravelly edge. “Stay with me tonight. Let me hold you, even if that’s all it is. Let me keep you safe.”

As my answer, I slipped my fingers between his, twining us together. I met his kiss with unrepentant boldness, greedy and reckless, feeling his touch loosen my joints, melting me in places I didn’t know existed. Breaking me down, one kiss at a time, reeling me further and further out of control, casting me into solid heat, dark and provocative, until there was only him, and only me. Until I didn’t know where I stopped and he began.

THE SUN HAD BURNED THROUGH HALF THE DAY BY the time Patch parked his motorcycle in front of the farmhouse. I swung off, a silly smile plastered on my face, a warm glow permeating every inch of skin. Perfection.

I wasn’t naive enough to think it would last, but there was something to be said about living in the moment. I’d already decided to file dealing with my new purebred Nephilim blood, and all the consequences that were bound to come with it, including how my transformation would manifest itself and ruling Hank’s army, under future concerns.

Right now, I had everything I could ask for. It wasn’t a long list, but it was a very satisfying one, starting with the love of my life back in my arms.

“I had fun last night,” I told Patch, flicking off my chin strap and handing over my helmet. “I’m officially in love with your sheets.”

“That the only thing you’re in love with?”

“Nope. Your mattress, too.”

Some smile crept into Patch’s eyes. “My bed’s an open invitation.”

We hadn’t slept with a Do Not Cross line drawn down the middle of the bed, because we hadn’t slept together, period. I took the bed and Patch got the sofa. I knew he wanted more from me, but I also knew he wanted my head in the right place. He’d said he could wait, and I believed him.

“Give me an inch, I’ll take a mile,” I warned. “You should be worried I might confiscate it.”

“I’d consider myself a lucky man.”

“Only downside to your place is the disturbingly low amount of extraneous toiletries. No conditioner? Lip gloss? Sunscreen?” I jerked my thumb toward the front door. “I need to brush my teeth. And I need a shower.”

He grinned, hopping off the bike. “Now that is an invitation.”

Reaching up on my tiptoes, I kissed him. “When I finish, it’s D-day. I’m going over to Vee’s to pick up my mom, and I’m telling both of them the truth. Hank is gone, and it’s time to come clean.”

I wasn’t looking forward to the conversation, but I’d waited long enough. All this time I’d told myself I was protecting Vee and my mom, but I was using lies to keep them from the truth. I was forcing them into the darkness because I was scared they couldn’t handle the light. Even I knew the logic was messed up.

I unlocked the front door, tossing my keys into the dish. I hadn’t made it three steps before Patch snagged my elbow. One look at his face, and I knew something was wrong.

Before Patch could shield me behind his body, Scott stepped out from the kitchen. He made a beckoning gesture, and two other Nephilim moved into the hallway beside him. Both appeared about Scott’s age. Tall and muscular with hard-bitten features. They eyed me with open curiosity.

“Scott,” I said, dodging around Patch and hurrying toward him. I threw my arms around him, hugging him fiercely. “What happened? How did you escape?”

“Given the circumstances, it was decided I’d be more effective on the front lines than locked up. Nora, meet Dante Matterazzi and Tono Grantham,” he said. “Both are first lieutenants in the Black Hand’s army.”

Patch crossed to us. “You brought these men into Nora’s home?” he said, eyeing Scott as though he’d like to snap his neck.

“Easy, man. They’re cool. They can be trusted,” Scott said.

Patch’s laugh was low and predatory. “Reassuring news coming from a known liar.”

A muscle in Scott’s cheek contracted. “Sure you want to play this game? You’ve got just as many skeletons in your closet.”

Oh boy.

“Hank’s dead,” I told Scott, not seeing any reason to put it gently, or give Patch and Scott further time to swap testosterone-fueled insults.

Scott nodded. “We know. Show her the sign, Dante.”

Dante stepped forward. He was over six and a half feet tall and swarthy, and his Latin looks lived up to his name. He extended his hand. A ring identical to the one Scott had tossed into the ocean fit his index finger snugly. It glowed blue and wild, and the light seemed to skitter behind my eyes even after I’d shut them. “The Black Hand told me this would happen if he died,” Dante explained. “Scott’s right. It’s a sign.”

Scott said, “That’s why I was released. The army is in pandemonium. Nobody knows what to do. Cheshvan is almost here and the Black Hand had plans for war, but his men are restless. They’ve lost their leader. They’re starting to panic.”