Prologue

Loire Valley, France: November 1565

I am waiting quietly for him. I need him, well, I need his body. I reviewed the plan in my head. It was really was a simple one. Step one: wait for him to be alone, and step two: force him to give me what I want. And I will get what I want, I always do. I need to feel again, whether it's pain or the soft touch of my silk shirt. The last thing I felt was so unbearable it hurts to think about.

Here he comes; Chauncey is saying goodbye to a farmer's daughter. He gives her a shoe buckle and waits for her to scurry off before he turns and walks through the cemetery. There is no one around, no one to hear the screams that could occur if he doesn't cooperate. I am standing on top of a monument that has a statue of an angel on it. The darkness and rain probably make me appear as a statue. I jump down in an effort to startle him, it works.

"Who goes there?" Chauncey asked aloud as he nervously played with the hilt of his sword.

My lips twitch upward.

"Do not play games with the Duc de Langeais," Chauncey warns, "I asked for your name. Give it."

"Duc?" I ask as I lean against a twisting willow tree, "Or bastard?"

That did it, I see him crack. He draws his sword trying to look fierce, but with his arms shaking it is more comedic than anything. Plus, he couldn't kill me if he wanted to. I'm immortal.

"Take it back! My father was the Duc de Langeais. I'm the Duc de Langeais now," he mutters clumsily.

I shake my head at him, "Your father wasn't the old duc."

Chauncey was obviously beyond his patience. This is exactly how I wanted him, impulsive and judgment impaired. "And your father?" he seethes. He raises his sword and makes eye contact with me, like he's trying to decide if he knows my family name. "I'll ask once more," he says brusquely as he uses his hand to clear his face from the rain droplets, "Who are you?"

I walk up to him and push the arm with the blade downward. The way his eyes widen as he appraises me tells me that he hadn't realized my physical condition. I look as old as or maybe even older than him. "One of the Devil's brood," I revealed.

I watch as fear envelops Chauncey. Teeth bared he says "You're a raving lunatic, get out of my way."

I place an image inside his head, the ground is tilting, red and gold bursts pop behind his eyes. He hunches over in pain, gasping and panting, he looks at me with hate and questions swimming in his eyes. His mind is in my control now.

I crouch down to his eye level, "Listen carefully. I need something from you. I won't leave until I have it. Do you understand?"

He shakes his head and tries to spit at me, but it dribbles down his chin instead. I don't do defiance. My hands are quickly wrapping his throat, the heat within them burning him. "I need your oath of fealty," I hiss, "Bend on one knee and swear it."

He is still fighting it, bad decision. Within seconds he is struggling against an invisible force that has him doubling over onto one knee.

"Swear it," I repeat.

Chauncey is out of options, I can tell he hates me and himself for doing it, but he does.

"Lord, I become your man," he chokes out.

I raise him to a standing position and then say, "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."

His frame trembles uncontrollably, "A…fortnight?" His rage is tangible, "I am the Duc de Langeais!"

I smile a little bit, "You are a Nephil."

"What did you say," he says with icy venom.

You belong to the biblical race of Nephilim. Your real father was an angel who fell from heaven. You're half mortal," He raises his eyes to meet mine, "Half fallen angel." I am laughing to myself while he tries to comprehend what this means.

"Who are you?" He asks, more in fear than in rage now.

I walk away, he cannot follow me. But he still calls out, "Are you- fallen?" Shit, forgot I didn't have a shirt on. He saw the scars on my back.

Chauncey called out, "Your wings have been stripped, haven't they?" I didn't answer nor turn around, but I knew that he knew that he was right.

Again he called after me, "This service I'm to provide, I demand to know what it is."

The sound of my laughter bounced off the trees and headstones, filling the late night air.