This Ring Belongs To The Black Hand.

You Belong To The Biblical Race Of Nephilim. Your Real Father Was An Angel Who Fell From Heaven. You're Half Mortal." The Boy's Dark Eyes Lifted, Meeting Chauncey's. "half Fallen Angel." Chauncey's Tutor's Voice Drifted Up From The Recesses Of His Mind, Reading Passages From The Bible, Telling Of A Deviant Race Created When Angels Cast From Heaven Mated With Mortal Women. A Fearsome And Powerful Race. A Chill That Wasn't Entirely Revulsion Crept Through Chauncey. "who Are You?

"this Isn't Over," I Said. "after Everything We've Been Through, You Don't Get The Right To Brush Me Off. I'm Not Letting You Off That Easily." I Wasn't Sure If It Was A Threat, My Last Stab At Defiance, Or Irrational Words Spoken Straight From My Splintered Heart. "i Want To Protect You," Patch Said Quietly. He Stood So Close. All Strength And Heat And Silent Power. I Couldn't Escape Him, Now Or Ever. He'd Always Be There, Consuming My Every Thought, My Heart Locked In His Hands. I Was Drawn To Him By Forces I Couldn't Control, Let Alone Escape. "but You Didn't".

Have You Finished Your Column For Tomorrow's Headline?" It Was Vee. She Came Up Beside Me, Jotting Notes On The Notepad She Carried Everywhere. "i'm Thinking Of Writing Mine On The Injustice Of Seating Charts. I Got Paired With A Girl Who Said She Just Finished Lice Treatment This Morning.

You Keep Life On A Short Leash.” “what’s That Supposed To Mean?” “you’re Scared Of What You Can’t Control.

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.