You Laugh, But You Haven't Seen Me

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?

It Was A Smile That Spelled Trouble. With A Promise.

She Likes You, She Just Doesn't Understand You.

I'm Not Good," He Said, Piercing Me With Eyes That Absorbed All Light But Reflected None, "but I Was Worse.

He Tasted Deeper, Holding Himself Over Me, And Suddenly He Was Everywhere; His Knee Trapping My Leg, His Lips Grazing Warm, Rough, Sensuous. He Splayed His Hand At The Small Of My Back, Holding Me Tightly, Driving Me To Sink My Fingers Deeper Into Him, Clinging To Him As If Letting Go Would Mean Losing Part Of Myself.