The Complete Hush, Hush Saga

by Becca Fitzpatrick

  “I swore an oath not to talk. That was part of the deal.”

  “Could you have asked for anything in exchange for your silence?” I asked quietly.

  Patch tensed, and I sensed he’d guessed the direction of my thoughts. “Does it matter?” he said blandly.

  It did. Now that Hank was dead, the haze shrouding my memory was burning off like clouds under the sun. I couldn’t remember entire reels of memories, but pictures were there. Flashes and glimpses that grew stronger by the minute. Hank’s power, and control over me, was dying alongside him, leaving me wide open to remember everything Patch and I had struggled through together. The tests of betrayal, loyalty, trust. I knew what made him laugh, what set him off. I knew his deepest desire. I saw him so clearly. So breathtakingly clearly.

  “Could you have asked them to make you human?”

  I felt him exhale slowly, and when he spoke, there was a raw honesty in his voice. “The short answer to that question is yes. I could have.”

  Tears blurred my vision. I was overcome by my own selfishness, even though rationally, I knew I hadn’t made Patch’s decision for him. Still. He’d made it because of me, and my guilt tossed and churned as stormily as the sea below.

  Upon seeing my reaction, Patch made a sound of disagreement. “No, hear me out. The long answer to that question is that everything about me has changed since meeting you. What I wanted five months ago is different from what I want today. Did I want a human body? Yes, very much. Is it my top priority now? No.” He looked at me with serious eyes. “I gave up something I wanted for something I need. And I need you, Angel. More than I think you’ll ever know. You’re immortal now. And so am I. That’s something.”

  “Patch—,” I began, shutting my eyes, my heart hanging from a thread.

  His mouth brushed my earlobe, a searing flutter-weight pressure. “I love you.” His voice was straightforward, affectionate. “You make me remember who I used to be. You make me want to be that man again. Right now, holding you, I feel like we have a shot at beating all odds and making it together. I’m yours, if you’ll have me.”

  Just like that, I forgot that I was thoroughly soaked, shivering, and poised to be the next leader of a Nephilim society I wanted nothing to do with. Patch loved me. Nothing else was important.

  “Love you back,” I said.

  He bowed his head into my throat, groaning softly. “I loved you long before you loved me. It’s the only thing I have you beat at, and I’ll bring it up every chance I get.” His mouth, pressed to my skin, took on a devilish curve. “Let’s get out of here. I’m taking you back to my place, this time for good. We have unfinished business, and I think it’s time we do something about it.”

  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.

  CHAPTER

  34

  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.”

  I waded through this information. A thought struck me. “They released you because you knew how to find me—Hank’s next in line?” I guessed, eyeing Dante and Tono warily. Scott might trust them, but I had yet to make up my own mind.

  “Like I said, these guys are clean. They’ve already confessed loyalty to you. We have to get as many Nephilim behind you as possible before this falls apart. The last thing we need right now is a coup.”

  I felt light-headed. Actually, a coup sounded pretty appealing. Someone else wanted this job? Fine by me.

  Dante spoke again. “Prior to his death, the Black Hand notified me that you agreed to take on the role of commander upon his death.”

  I swallowed, not having expected this moment to arrive so quickly. I knew what had to be done, but I’d hoped for more time. To say I’d been dreading this moment was an understatement.

  I looked all three of them in the eye in turn. “Yes, I swore a vow to lead Hank’s army. Here’s what’s going to happen. There isn’t going to be a war. Go back to the men and tell them to disband. All Nephilim who’ve sworn an oath of fealty are bound by a law that no army, no matter how great, can overthrow. To go into battle at this point would be suicide. Fallen angels are already planning retribution, and our only hope is to make it clear we aren’t going to fight them. Not this way. It’s over—and you can tell your men that’s an order.”

  Dante smiled, but his expression held an edge. “I’d rather not discuss this with a fallen angel hanging around.” He leveled his eyes at Patch. “Give us a minute?”

  I said, “I think it’s pretty obvious that asking Patch to leave is pointless. I’m going to tell him everything.” At Dante’s sore expression, I added, “When I swore the oath to Hank, I never said anything about breaking up with Patch. That’s right. Your new Nephil leader is dating a fallen angel.” Let the talk begin.

  Dante’s curt nod was anything but accepting. “Then let’s get one thing straight. This isn’t over. Stalled, maybe, but not over. The Black Hand stirred up a revolution, and calling it off isn’t going to be enough to settle the dust.”

  “I’m not worried about settling the dust. I’m worried about the Nephilim race as a whole. I’m thinking about what’s best for everyone.”

  Scott, Dante, and Tono shared a silent look. At last Dante seemed to speak for all three. “Then we have a bigger problem. Because Nephilim think rebellion is best for them.”

  “How many Nephilim?” Patch asked.

  “Thousands. Enough to fill a city.” Dante’s eyes cut toward mine. “If you don’t lead them to freedom, you’ll break your vow. In short, your head’s on the line, Nora.”

  I stared at Patch.

  Stand your ground, he spoke calmly to my thoughts. Tell them the war is off and there’s no room for negotiation.

  “I swore an oath to lead Hank’s army,” I told Dante. “I never promised freedom.”

  “If you don’t declare war on fallen angels, you’re going to instantly make enemies with thousands of Nephilim,” he responded.

  And if I do, I thought weakly, I might as well declare war on the archangels. They’d allowed Hank to die because Patch promised them I’d quell the uprising.

  I returned my attention to Patch, and I knew we were sharing the same grisly thought. Either way, war was coming.

  All I had to do now was decide my opponent.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  This is always the most humbling part of writing a book.

  First and foremost, a big shout of appreciation to my family for offering up support, encouragement, and most of all patience 365 days a year. Justin, I’m sure calling you my biggest cheerleader isn’t the manliest of endearments, but very fitting. You are my better half.

  Thanks to the many friends who’ve helped out in immeasurable ways, from babysitting to reading early drafts of Silence to reminding me that laughter really is the best medicine. Sandra Roberts, Mary Louise Fitzpatrick, Shanna Butler, Lindsey Leavitt, Rachel Hawkins, Emily Wing Smith, Lisa Schroeder, Laura Andersen, Ginger Churchill, Patty Esden, Nicole Wright, and Meg Garvin—I am blessed to know you.

  I’d be remiss if I didn’t say how grateful I am to Jenn Martin and Rebecca Sutton, the dynamic duo behind FallenArchangel.com. Thank you for keeping my fans in the know, and in a much more timely manner than I’d ever hope to accomplish. Your dedication truly astounds.

  Thanks to James Porto, the creative genius behind my books’ stunning cover art.

  Buckets of gratitude to Lyndsey Blessing, my foreign-rights agent, who has helped get my books into the hands of readers across the globe. Thanks to my agent, Catherine Drayton, for … everything (including talking me into buying that particularly stunning pair of shoes in Bologna).

  As always, I am so very fortunate to have a devoted team behind me at Simon & Schuster BFYR. Thanks to Courtney Bongiolatti, Julia Maguire, and Venetia Gosling for your editorial prowess. Many thanks to Justin Chanda, Anne Zafian, Jenica Nasworthy, Lucy Ruth Cummins, Lucille Rettino, Elke Villa, Chrissy Noh, and Anna McKean for bringing so much excitement into my life. I truly feel that I have the easy job in all this.

  A nod of appreciation to Valerie Shea, copyeditor extraordinaire. Without you, this book would be far more humorous. And not in a good way!

  A big thank-you to Dayana Gomes Marques and Valentine Bulgakov for christening Silence characters Dante Matterazzi and Tono Grantham.

  Last but never least, thank you to my readers, near and far. Writing for you has been immeasurably thrilling and satisfying. I
’ve loved sharing Patch and Nora’s story with you.

  ALSO BY BECCA FITZPATRICK

  Hush, Hush

  Crescendo

  AND NOW … A NEVER-BEFORE-SEEN LOOK AT

  THE REAL FIRST TIME PATCH AND NORA MET …

  FROM PATCH’S POINT OF VIEW!

  Patch rocked his chair back on two legs, stretched out his arms, and folded them behind his neck. His gaze was nailed to the doors leading inside Enzo’s Bistro. He’d asked for a table at the back, in a shadowy corner where the light didn’t quite reach. A votive candle flickered on every other table, but Patch had snuffed his between his fingers upon sitting. Across the table, Rixon was sprawled in his chair, eyes tracing the ceiling in overdone boredom.

  “I’ll wait for you till I turn blue,” Rixon sang in a mutter. “There’s nothing more a man can do. Ya drank with demons straight from”—he broke off and, arching a suggestive eyebrow, pointed beneath his feet—“hell. They almost nearly won as weeeell.”

  Patch smiled. “Warming up for your American Idol audition?”

  Rixon kicked him under the table. “When are you going to tell me what you’re up to?”

  A waitress swept past, dropping off two coffees.

  Patch took a drink. “Up to?”

  “We’ve been coming here—Enzo’s, is it?—every Thursday night round eight. Five weeks in a row. And you thought I didn’t notice.”

  “Four weeks.”

  Rixon gave a theatrical eye roll. “The lad can count.”

  “They have good coffee.”

  “Right, then. Trouble with that is, you can’t taste it,” Rixon pointed out. “Moving on to lie number two, then?”

  “I like the atmosphere.”

  Rixon’s eyes bugged with astonishment. “Every girl in this place is under twenty. What do you say we scam up some birds a little closer to our own age … seven hundred, at least.”

  “I’m not here for the girls.” Just one of them. His eyes flicked to his watch, then back to the doors. Any minute now.