Becca Fitzpatrick - Hush Hush ( CHAPTER 1-5 )

hush, hush
BECCA FITZPATRICK


This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictxitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Summary: High school sophomore Nora has always been very cautious in her relationships, but when Patch, who has a dark side she can sense, enrolls at her school, she is mysteriously and strongly drawn to him, despite warnings from her best friend, the school counselor, and her own instincts.


[1. Supernatural — Fiction. 2. Angels — Fiction. 3. Dating (Social customs) — Fiction. 4. Best friends — Fiction. 5. Friendship — Fiction. 6. High schools — Fiction. 7. Schools — Fiction.] I. Title.





For Heather, Christian, and Michael.
Our childhood was nothing if not imaginative.
And to Justin. Thanks for not choosing
the Japanese cooking class — love you.






… GOD SPARED NOT THE ANGELS THAT SINNED,
BUT CAST THEM DOWN TO HELL,
AND DELIVERED THEM INTO CHAINS OF DARKNESS,
TO BE RESERVED UNTO JUDGMENT …

— 2 PETER 2:4



PROLOGUE
LOIRE VALLEY, FRANCE NOVEMBER 1565


CHAUNCEY WAS WITH A FARMER’S DAUGHTER ON the grassy banks of the Loire River when the storm rolled in, and having let his gelding wander in the meadow, was left to his own two feet to carry him back to the château. He tore a silver buckle off his shoe, placed it in the girl’s palm, and watched her scurry away, mud slinging on her skirts. Then he tugged on his boots and started for home.

Rain sheeted down on the darkening countryside surrounding the Château de Langeais. Chauncey stepped easily over the sunken graves and humus of the cemetery; even in the thickest fog he could find his way home from here and not fear getting lost. There was no fog tonight, but the darkness and onslaught of rain were deceiving enough.

There was movement along the fringe of Chauncey’s vision, and he snapped his head to the left. At first glance what appeared to be a large angel topping a nearby monument rose to full height. Neither stone nor marble, the boy had arms and legs. His torso was naked, his feet were bare, and peasant trousers hung low on his waist. He hopped down from the monument, the ends of his black hair dripping rain. It slid down his face, which was dark as a Spaniard’s.

Chauncey’s hand crept to the hilt of his sword. “Who goes there?”

The boy’s mouth hinted at a smile.

“Do not play games with the Duc de Langeais,” Chauncey warned. “I asked for your name. Give it.”

“Duc?” The boy leaned against a twisted willow tree. “Or bastard?”

Chauncey unsheathed his sword. “Take it back! My father was the Duc de Langeais. I’m the Duc de Langeais now,” he added clumsily, and cursed himself for it.

The boy gave a lazy shake of his head. “Your father wasn’t the old duc.”

Chauncey seethed at the outrageous insult. “And your father?” he demanded, extending the sword. He didn’t yet know all his vassals, but he was learning. He would brand the family name of this boy to memory. “I’ll ask once more,” he said in a low voice, wiping a hand down his face to clear away the rain. “Who are you?”

The boy walked up and pushed the blade aside.