Disclaimer: None of these characters is mine. Neither is the plot. It is all Fitzpatrick's.

AN: Ok. So, I read Hush, Hush last week after buying it a month ago (and I can't believe I waited to read such a great book). Anyway, I love Patch dearly (who wouldn't-he's HOT plus he's an angel with a motorcycle and abs…I have a fetish for angels, motorcycles and abs ^_~) and thus decided to write his point of view for the book. Hopefully, you want to see what's going on in this bad boy's head just as badly as I do.

"But what will not ambition and revenge Descend to? who aspires must down as low As high he soar'd, obnoxious first and last To basest things" Paradise Lost (bk. IX, l. 168)

Prologue

Loire Valley, France

November 1565

It was a stormy night, perfect conditions for what he had planned. It seemed as if even He was trying to aid him. Really, who was he to go against what He said yet again?

The darkly colored boy shook his head, spraying water from his black hair against the monument. He had watched his prey with dedication for the past month and now knew him like the back of his own hand.

Chauncey, the "Duc de Langeais," was currently making his way from the banks of the Loire River, after doing deeds with a farmer's daughter. The dark boy frowned with jealousy, wishing he could only do the things his prey could.

There wasn't any fog that night, but there was an infinite darkness and a harsh downpour of rain. It acted as a black veil, hiding the dark boy in the cemetery until Chauncey's footsteps reverberated through the area. Chauncey was walking through the graves as if he were king of the world; his cocky attitude surrounded him like a dark light.

The boy, camouflaging as an angel on a monument, thought that he would not feel guilty at all. Chauncey was not a saint, not an innocent, and neither was the boy. He was already damned to existence on the earth, already stripped of wings, hurled down like common villain. One more sin wouldn't make a difference. He didn't want to be in Heaven anyway.

The boy stood to full height, catching the attention of the human boy Chauncey. The dark boy jumped down from the monument as gracefully as feather falling from the sky. His hair dripped rainwater onto his face, or at least he assumed it did. He couldn't feel it.

Chauncey's hand instinctively searched for his sword, and upon finding it said in the toughest voice he could, "Who goes there?"

The dark skinned boy almost smiled with amusement. Chauncey thought he had a chance.

"Do not play games with the Duc de Langeais" Chauncey attempted to warn the boy again. It was to no avail, for the boy could sense the fear radiating off of Chauncey in waves. "I asked for your name. Give it," he ordered.

"Duc? The boy, still amused, asked as he leaned against a tree. "Or bastard?"

He didn't flinch when Chauncey drew his sword, didn't move. "Take it back!" Chauncey demanded, both angry and nervous. "My father was the Duc of Langeais. I'm the Duc of Langeais now."

The words sounded flimsy to the boy. He corrected Chauncey nonchalantly with a shake of his head. "Your father wasn't the old duc." He enjoyed the angry that seeped out of Chauncey. He was an easy prey.

Chauncey pointed his sword at the boy, his arm shaking with a mixture of outrage and hidden doubt. "And your father?" The boy watched as Chauncey wiped the rain from his face and said in a low voice, "I'll ask once more. Who are you?"

The boy was beginning to tire of the game. He moved from the willow tree and walked up to Chauncey, pushing the silly blade aside. "One of the Devil's brood."

Chauncey, it seemed, was adamant in trying to live up to the name of a duc. "You're a raving lunatic" he said through clenched teeth. If only he knew. "Get out of my way."

The boy, aggravated and impatient, struck, making Chauncey fall to the ground in fake pain, that seemed excruciatingly real. The boy crouched down, allowing both of their eyes to be on the same level. "Listen carefully," he said, each word filled with power. "I need something from you. I won't leave until I have it." He stared at Chauncey with cold eyes. "Do you understand?"

Chauncey remained defiant, shaking his head, much to the boy's annoyance. He then tried to spit at the boy, but failed miserably as drool slid down his chin.

The boy grasped Chauncey's hands, burning them, and Chauncey cried out in pain. "I need your oath of fealty," the boy commanded, his voice as serious as death. "Bend on one knee and swear it." When Chauncey attempted to defy him once again, the boy made Chauncey's right knee buckle. Chauncey stumbled forward into the mud and then vomited into said mud. "Swear it." The boy forced pain onto Chauncey as a form of blackmail.

The boy saw Chauncey's expression change to one of realization, along with pain and anger. "Lord, I become your man," Chauncey spit out.

The boy released Chauncey from his invisible prison, feeling content. "Meet me here at the start of the Hebrew month of Cheshvan. During the two weeks between new and full moons, I'll need your service."

"A…fortnight?" Chauncey began to tremble with rage, but it was too late. He had already sworn an oath, and the boy had control over him. "I am the Duc de Langeais!"

The boy watched Chauncey with a smile. Not anymore. "You are a Nephil." You are now my Nephil.

Chauncey, not realizing the seriousness of the matter, spoke icily, "What did you say?"

"You belong to the biblical race of Nephilim. Your real father was an angel who fell from heaven. You're half mortal." The boy was looking straight into Chauncey's eyes, dark eyes against dark eyes. "Half fallen angel."

"Who are you?" Chauncey asked, his voice broken, but the boy had already turned around, his mission complete.

He walked through the rain, ignoring Chauncey calling out to him, "Are you-fallen? Your wings have been stripped, haven't they?" They had indeed, but the boy continued walking, knowing that the answer was obvious. "This service I'm to provide! I demand to know what it is!" Chauncey yelled through the rain.

The boy answered with dark, low laughter as he thought of the irony of it all. Not long ago, he had abhorred being enslaved by someone who ordered him around, who thought He was greater than the boy was. But now, it was the boy, the boy who had been thrown out of the sky like Hephaestus for rebelling, who enslaved a being.