Finale hh-4

by Becca Fitzpatrick

  I kissed him, frantic and bold, my mouth crushing forcefully to his. I pressed deeper, drowning in his taste. His hands tightened around my back, pulling me closer. I shaped my palms to his shoulders, to his arms, to his thighs, feeling his muscles work, so real and strong and alive. His mouth ground against mine, bright, needy pressure.

  “I want to wake up with you every morning and fall asleep beside you each night,” Patch told me gravely. “I want to take care of you, cherish you, and love you in a way no other man ever could. I want to spoil you—every kiss, every touch, every thought, they all belong to you. I’ll make you happy. Every day, I’ll make you happy.” The antique, almost primitive band he held between his fingers caught the sunlight, glinting silver. “I found this ring shortly after I was banished from heaven. I kept it to remind myself of how endless my sentence was, how eternal one small choice can be. I’ve kept it a long time. I want you to have it. You broke my suffering. You’ve given me a new eternity. Be my girl, Nora. Be my everything.”

  I bit my lip, snagging a smile that threatened to split my face. I checked the ground to make sure I wasn’t floating. “Patch?”

  He scraped the rough edge of the ring on his palm, raising a thin trail of blood. “I swear to you, Nora Grey, on this day, from now and forever, to give myself to you. I am yours. My love, my body, my soul—I place in your possession and protection.” He held out the ring, a single offering, a binding promise.

  “Patch,” I whispered.

  “If I fail my cove fail mynant, my own misery and regret will be my endless punishment.” His eyes pinned mine, a stripped sincerity clear in his gaze. But I won’t fail, Angel. I won’t fail you.

  I accepted the ring, about to slice the edge across my palm the same way Patch had done. And then I remembered Basso’s cryptic admonition. Sliding the ring higher, I slashed the pencil-like marking on the inside of my wrist, which I’d been born with—a mark of my Nephilim heritage. Bright red blood smeared my skin. I fit my incision snugly against Patch’s hand, feeling a warm pins-and-needles sensation where our blood mingled.

  “I swear to you, Patch, to take your love and cherish it. And in return, to give you my body and my heart—everything I possess, I give to you. I am yours. Wholly and completely. Love me. Protect me. Fulfill me. And I promise to do the same.”

  He pushed the ring onto my finger.

  Patch jerked unexpectedly, as though powerful voltage had coursed through his body. “My hand,” he said, low. “My hand is—”

  His eyes locked with mine. A slow burn of confusion filled his expression. “My hand is tingling where you mixed our blood.”

  “You feel it,” I said, too scared to believe it might be true. Scared of raising my hopes. Terrified that the trick would fade, and his body would once again shut mine out.

  No. This was Basso’s gift to me.

  Patch, a fallen angel, could feel. All my kisses, every touch. My warmth, the depth of my response to him.

  He made a sound that was trapped between a laugh and a groan. Amazement lit his eyes. “I feel you.” His hands roved up my arms, hastily exploring my skin, catching my face. He kissed me, hard. He shuddered with pleasure.

  Patch scooped me into his arms, and I shrieked with joy. “Let’s get out of here,” he murmured, his eyes blazing with desire.

  I wrapped my arms around his neck and nestled my head on the curve of his shoulder. His body was solid assurance, a warm counterpoint. And now he could feel me, too. A flush of anticipation burned under my skin.

  This was it. Together. Forever. As we left it all behind, the sun warmed my back, lighting the way before us.

  I knew of no better omen.

  EPILOGUE

  THREE YEARS LATER

  THE HODDER VALLEY, LANCASHIRE, ENGLAND

  OKAY, YOU WIN,” I BREATHED, PUSHING OUT OF my chair and staring at Vee with admiration as she entered the church’s vestry, carrying the hem of her floor-length pewter silk gown. Light from the stained-glass window seemed to set the fabric aflame with glittering, metallic color. “I know I told you to stick with traditional white, but I was wrong. Vee, you are stunning.”

  She twirled, showing off combat boots I hadn’t seen since high school. “Something old,” Vee said.

  I bit my lip. “I think I’m going to cry.”

  “You’re gonna catch my bouquet, right? And then give it back to me when no one is watching so I can have it professionally dried and framed—and then you can mock me for the rest of my life for being such a sap?”

  “I’m Nephilim. I’ll have those flowers in my hands before the brains of your other friends have registered that you’ve tossed them.”

  Vee gave a happy sigh. “Babe, I’m so glad you came.”

  “It would’ve taken a lot more than three thousand miles to keep me from my best friend’s wedding.” I smiled suggestively. “Where are you honeymooning?”

  “Gavin won’t tell. It’s his big secret. He’s got the whole thing planned out. I told him I only had one request: a hotel with doughnuts on the room-service menu. We’re gone ten days. When we get back, we’ll both start looking for jobs.”

  “Do you ever think of moving back?”

  “To Coldwater? Heck, no. England suits me fine. These Brits love my accent. The first time Gavin asked me out it was just to hear me talk. Lucky for him, it’s one of the things I do best.” All teasing left her eyes. “Too many memories back home. Can’t drive down the street without thinking I see Scott in the crowd. Do you think there’s an afterlife? Do you think he’s happy?”

  My throat grew slippery, too raw to speak. Not one day had passed since Scott’s death that I hadn’t taken a small, quiet moment to send up gratitude for his sacrifice.

  “He should be here. I wish like hell he was,” Vee said, bowing her head and chipping at her freshly painted nails.

  “Me too.” I squeezed her hands.

  “Your mom told me Marcie died a couple months ago.”

  “She lived longer than anyone expected.”

  “A rotten apple to the end?”

  “My mom went to her funeral. Five people total, including Marcie’s mom.”

  Vee shrugged, unsympathetic. “Karma, alive and well.”

  The arched oak door across the room opened, and my mom poked her head in. She had flown out a week ago to play wedding coplanner alongside Vee’s mom, and I think she was secretly reveling in the role. She’d finally accepted that Patch and I—a pairing she’d gradually warmed to over the years—had sworn our vows under heaven, sealed in blood, and were never doing the big, white wedding thing, and this was her chance. The irony of it all. Who would have guessed Vee would go a more traditional path than me?

  My mom beamed at us. “Dry those eyes, my darling girls, it’s almost time.”

  I fussed o mover Vee’s bun, teasing loose a few more strands to frame her face, and pinned fragrant stephanotis flowers at the crown. After I finished, Vee flung her arms around me, rocking me back and forth in an animated hug, when we both heard a seam rip.

  “Dang it ALL,” Vee said, twisting around to examine the ripped seam on her dress. “I ordered a size smaller, planning to lose ten pounds for the wedding. I wouldn’t call myself fat, but I could stand to lose a little Nephilim bulk. Trouble was, there was never a shortage of Twinkies in my cupboard.”

  I couldn’t help it; I burst into a fit of giggles.

  “I see how it is. I’m gonna have to walk in front of all those people with my undies waving in the air, and you don’t even care,” Vee said, but she, too, was grinning. She took a Band-Aid from her purse and slapped it over the torn fabric.

  We laughed so hard we turned red in the face, gasping for air.

  The door opened a second time. “Places! Hurry!” my mom said, ushering me out. Organ music drifted in from the chapel. I shuffled to the back of the line of bridesmaids, who all wore identical yellow taffeta mermaid dresses, and accepted my bouquet of white lilies from Vee’s brother, Mike. Vee took her
place beside me and sucked in a long breath.

  “Ready?” I asked.

  She winked. “And willing.”

  Attendants stationed on either side of the massive, engraved doors pulled them open. Arm in arm, Vee and I walked inside the chapel.

  After the wedding, we took pictures outside. A bright afternoon sun spilled light over green pastures with picturesque sheep grazing in the distance. Through it all, Vee glowed, looking more serene and radiant than I’d ever seen her. Gavin held her hand, caressed her cheek, whispered in her ear. Vee hadn’t told me he was human, but I knew right away. Since Vee hadn’t sworn fealty, they’d grow old together. I didn’t know exactly how her aging, or mine for that matter, would work, since up until now, it was unheard of for a Nephil to live indefinitely without being forced to swear fealty. Either way, she was immortal. Someday Gavin would die, never knowing his wife wouldn’t follow him into the next world. I didn’t hold Vee’s omission against her; I admired her for carving out happy memories, period. I hadn’t met Gavin before today, but his adoration and love for her was obvious, and really, what more could I ask for?

  The reception, too, was outside, under a large white tent. With the camera’s flash still popping behind my eyes, I made my way over to the bar and asked for sparkling water. Couples were dancing to the live orchestra, but I hardly noticed them. My focus turned singularly on Patch.

  He’d cleaned up for the wedding, wearing a tailored black tux and his best depraved smile. The tux framed his athletic build, and the smile put a shot of adrenaline into my heartbeat. He saw me, too, his black eyes warming with affection and desire. A flush of anticipation burned under my skin. I’d been separated from him most of the day, and now I wanted him. Badly.

  Patch made his way over, sipping from a wineglass. His tuxedo jacket was slung over his shoulder, his hair curling rakishly from the humidity. “There’s an inn just down the road. A barn behind those trees over there, if you’re feeling frisky,” he said, clearly having no doubts as to the direction of my thoughts.

  “Did you just say ‘frisky’?”

  Patch’s hands fell on my hips, pulling me close. “Yeah. Need a demonstration?” He kissed me once. Then again, drawing it out with a few inventive maneuvers of his tongue. “I love you.”

  “Words I’ll never grow tired of hearing.”

  He brushed my curls back off my face. “I never pictured my life so complete. I never thought I’d have everything I want. You’re everything to me, Angel.”

  His words filled my heart to the brim. I loved him in a way I’d never be able to express in words. He was part of me. And I was part of him. Tethered together for the rest of eternity. I leaned in and kissed him. “I just might take you up on your offer. A quaint countryside inn, you say?”

  Cadillac is parked out front, or I’ve got a motorcycle out back, Patch spoke to my thoughts. Traditional departure or escape?

  I, personally, had had enough tradition for one day. Escape.

  Patch scooped me into his arms, and I shrieked with joy as he carted me toward the back of the church. We swung onto his motorcycle and rocketed up the road, flying over the green hills toward the inn.

  Inside our cozy, private room, I reached up and tugged on his silk necktie, undoing the knot. “You dress to impress,” I said approvingly.

  “No, Angel.” He leaned in, his teeth softly grazing my ear. “I undress to impress.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  My heart is filled with gratitude for the people who have made writing the Hush, Hush series possible. First, to my family for their unfailing support. Every day I am amazed to be surrounded by people who love me so unconditionally.

  Many thanks to my agent, Catherine Drayton, for her leap of faith.

  I consider myself lucky to work with some of the industry’s finest: Courtney Bongiolotti, Julia Maguire, Zareen Jaffery, Justin Chanda, Anne Zafian, Jenica Nasworthy, Lucille Rettino, Elke Villa, Chrissy Noh, Jon Anderson, and Valerie Shea.

  Thanks are owed to Anna McKean and Paul Crichton for many, many hours of work behind the scenes—and for taking such great care of me while I’m on the road.

  I’m grateful for the friendships I’ve made during this journey, particularly with Jenn Martin and Rebecca Sutton, the savvy sisters behind FallenArchangel.com. Keep calm and call Patch!

  Lyndsey Blessing, Charlie Olsen, and the rest of the team at InkWell Management—thanks for having my back.

  I love my books’ covers, and applaud James Porto and Lucy Ruth Cummins for their artwork and creativity.

  Thanks to Lisa Martin, fan extraordinaire, who bid on a character name to benefit Kids Need to Read—your generosity is appreciated, and now you’re immortalized in this book!

  To the many booksellers and librarians working on the front lines: If you’ve ever shared Hush, Hush with a reader, I owe you a high five. In the meantime, consider this thank-you just for you.

  Since Hush, Hush was published, I’ve had the amazing opportunity to travel abroad and meet readers all over the world. None of this would have been possible without my international publishers. Special thanks to my friends at Simon & Schuster UK, Simon & Schuster Australia, Simon & Schuster Canada, Piemme Freeway, and Lattès.

  Finally, a note to my readers. What an amazing three years! Thank you for being such a fun audience to write for. Thank you for your letters of support, for coming to my events, and for falling in love with Patch, Nora, Vee, and Scott. I look forward to writing for you in the future.

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