Extraits

Ses doigts agrippèrent les miens un instant avant que sa voix affaiblie ne pénètre mon esprit.

Mon ange.

Deux mots, et mon coeur bondit de joie dans ma poitrine.

Je suis là. Tout près. Je t'aime, Patch. Je t'aime tant, soufflai-je dans un sanglot.

- Je ne sens pas ton contact, Nora, mais ton amour, si. Il est en moi et représente tout pour moi. J'aimerais pouvoir éprouver les mêmes sensations que toi, Nora, mais je dois me contenter des sentiments. Et rien n'es plus puissant. Certains traversent l'existence sans jamais connaitre les émotions que as suscitées en mois. C'est le genre de chose qu"on ne peut pas regretter.

Les premiers invités arrivèrent vers dix-neuf heures. Roméo et Juliette, Antoine et Cléopâtre, Elvis et Priscilla franchirent le seuil de la ferme. Côté humour, j'aperçus même la Moutarde et le Ketchup - un couple déguisé en bouteilles jaune et rouge.

« - Avis aux garçons du monde entier : ça, c'était un baiser. »

- C'est l'heure !

Cette fois, c'est un véritable grognement qui m'échappa.

- Je ne peux pas m'entraîner aujourd'hui, Dante. Je suis malade.

- La plus vieille excuse du monde. Allez ! Debout ! Reprit-il en m'agrippant la jambe.

- Si je vomis sur tes baskets, tu me croiras ?

- Il en faut plus que ça pour m'impressionner. Je veux te voir dehors dans moins de cinq minutes. Et attention, on ne traîne pas. Chaque minute de retard, ce sera dix kilomètres de plus.

Tâchant de me remémorer le chemin, je me mis à genoux et rampai pour échapper à la fumée. A chaque respiration, j'étouffais et toussais furieusement. Enfin à tâtons, je trouvai la porte et son gros anneau. Elle s'ouvrit lentement et une colonne plus dense encore vint grossir celle qui envahissait déjà le couloir.

Entre les vapeurs noirâtres, j'aperçus l'effroyable spectacle hypnotique des flammes qui dansaient et tressautaient: des langues or et sang montaient entre les volutes sombres. De sinistres craquements et sifflements emplissaient le cachots tandis qu'un feu infernal dévorait l'immense tas qui l'alimentait. Scott m'empoigna par les épaules, m'obligeant à passer derrière lui pour me protéger.

Une seconde à peine s'écoula avant que je pousse une hurlement de terreur

Nous étions à la veille d'un conflit lourd et dangereux. Il était inutile de se voiler la face ou de chercher une échappatoire. J'étais décidée à me battre. Pour la liberté des néphilims et pour la mienne.

J'envoyai un SMS à Patch.

Nora -DEVINE Où JE SUIS !

Patch -PAS BESOIN DE DEVINER. TU AS LA PUCE, répondit-il.

Patch -DONNE MOI 20 MIN. DANS QUELLE PIèCE ES-TU ?

Nora -TA CHAMBRE.

Patch -ALORS 10 MIN.

A half hour later, I pulled into my driveway. I live with my mom in a quintessential Maine farmhouse, complete with white paint, blue shutters, and a shroud of ever-present fog. This time of year, the trees blazed fiery shades of red and gold, and the air held the crisp smells of pine sap, burning wood, and damp leaves. I jogged up the porch steps, where five portly pumpkins watched me like sentinels, and let myself in.

“I’m home!” I called to my mom, the light in the living room giving away her location. I dropped my keys on the sideboard and went back to find her.

She dog-eared her page, rose from the sofa, and squeezed me in a hug. “How did your night go?”

“I am officially drained of every last ounce of energy.” I pointed upstairs. “If I make it up to bed, it will be by sheer mental power alone.”

“While you were out, a man stopped by looking for you.”

I frowned. What man?

“He wouldn’t leave his name, and he wouldn’t tell me how he knew you,” my mom continued. “Should I be worried?”

“What did he look like?”

“Round face, ruddy complexion, blond hair.”

Him, then. The man who had a bone to pick with Patch. I fabricated a smile. “Oh, right. He’s a salesman. Keeps trying to get me to commit to senior pictures with his studio. Next thing you know, he’ll want to sell me graduation announcements too. Would it be completely disgusting if I skipped washing my face tonight? Staying awake an extra two minutes at this point is pushing it.”

Mom kissed my forehead. “Sweet dreams.”

I climbed to my bedroom, shut the door, and flopped spread-eagled on my bed. The music from the Devil’s Handbag still pulsed at the back of my head, but I was too tired to care. My eyes were halfway shut when I remembered the window. On a groan, I staggered over and unlatched the lock. Patch could get inside, but I wished him luck trying to keep me awake long enough to elicit a response.

I pulled my blankets up to my chin, felt the soft, blissful tug of a dream beckoning me closer, let it drag me under—

And then the mattress sank with the weight of another body.

“Not sure why you’re so enamored with this bed,” Patch said. “It’s twelve inches too short, four feet too narrow, and the purple sheets aren’t doing it for me. My bed, on the other hand . . .”

I opened one eye and found him stretched out beside me, hands clasped loosely behind his neck. His dark eyes watched mine, and he smelled clean and sexy. Most of all, he felt warm pressed up against me. Despite my best intentions, the close proximity was making it increasingly difficult to concentrate on sleep.

“Ha,” I said. “I know you don’t care how comfortable my bed is. You’d be fine on a pallet of bricks.” One of the downsides of Patch being a fallen angel was that he couldn’t feel physical sensation. No pain, but no pleasure either. I had to be content knowing that when I kissed him, he felt it on an emotional level only. I tried to pretend it didn’t matter, but I wanted him to feel electrified by my touch.

He kissed me lightly on the mouth. “What did you want to talk about?”

I couldn’t remember. Something about Dante. Whatever it was, it seemed unimportant. Talking in general seemed unimportant. I snuggled in closer, and Patch stroked his hand down my bare arm, making a warm tingly sensation shoot all the way to my toes.

source : http://novelnovice.com/2012/09/17/exclusive-excerpt-from-finale-by-becca-fitzpatrick/

"Do one last thing for me. Come home safe tonight."

"Scott bumped the stereo up a few notches. 'I don't kiss and tell'."

"Look around. This isn't place you want to call home. You won't last a week of initiation."

"If we go through with this, you can't contact me. Not in heaven. All communication goes dark until I finish."

Source:

http://claire-darkangel.blogspot.fr/2012/04/finale-de-becca-fitzpatrick-que-de.html