"I'm a nephilim, huh?" I asked as I sat down on the edge of Lucas' unmade bed.

Movie posters covered the walls, everything from the original Star Wars to Quentin Tarantino's Kill Bill. I was pretty sure I spied some action figures peeking out from under the bookcase—a bookcase that needed a few more books.

Lucas kicked some dirty clothes toward the heap already in the corner. "Uh, yeah. Sorry about that."

I ran my hand across the crumpled sheets, wondering when the last time they'd been washed was.

He grinned, noticing my unspoken criticism. "What's the point of making a bed if you're just going to mess it up again later?"

"Appearances?"

He shrugged. "I don't care what people think."

"Then why did you hide what I am?"

He sighed and sat down next to me, his knee brushing mine. The simple touch, probably unintentional, made my gut clench and my brain go to mush.

He put his finger under my chin and turned my head, forcing me to get lost in his blue-gray eyes. "I didn't want him to judge without getting to know you first. His, well, our, experience with your kind is limited to rumor and hearsay."

I nodded, unable to come up with an argument while the smell of citrus overwhelmed me. I wasn't sure if it was just the cologne he used, or if his natural scent made him smell like a pleasant floor cleaner.

He was too close, too there, and I didn't like the effect it had on me. I stood and meandered over to the bookcase, curious what kinds of books a teenage nephilim enjoyed reading.

It came as little surprise that every one of them was some movie tie-in. I estimated more than half were simply Star Trek novels.

"You need to broaden your horizons," I said.

"My comics are in the closet to keep them safe."

"I think they're safe. I'm pretty sure if someone broke into your house, they'd take one look at your room and slowly back out."

He snickered as my eyes found a photo stuck between two books. I pulled it out. A couple holding the hand of a toddler beamed at me in the frozen moment. My throat constricted. A happy, whole family.

Lucas snatched the picture from my hand, his body tense.

I backed away. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't--"

"It's okay."

I expected anger at my nosiness. Instead, yearning laced his voice. Still clutching the photo in his hand, he used the other to grab mine and led me back to the bed.

I didn't ask who they were or who the toddler was. I didn't need to.

His eyes had a glassy shine. He never let go of my hand. "They're my parents."

"You don't have to talk about it." I didn't know what else to say. What did you say to someone in a moment like this? Sorry? Sucks your parents are gone? At least you have your health?

He put down the picture and looked at me. "I don't talk about it. Never have. After…" He cleared his throat. "Dad put me in therapy, but I never talked there either."

I had gotten a close enough look at the picture to know the man in it wasn't Robert. I wanted to ask questions, dig further, but I couldn't. Not everything was about me.

He closed his eyes and sighed. "My mother was a nephilim, and my dad was an angel. The only thing more forbidden for an angel than being with a human was to be with a half-breed. They didn't care.

"I don't remember much. I was seven, and I guess the mind protects itself and everything. I was in bed, but there was shouting and banging from the living room. I went to look, and…"

His voice broke. Wrapping my arms around his shoulder, I pulled him close. He stopped fighting against the pained memory. The muted choked-off sobs broke my heart.

"He was already bleeding," Lucas said, his head still resting against my chest. "Standing in front of my mother, shielding her from that monster. But he couldn't. It cut him down."

I stroked his hair as he clung to me. A part of me wanted to make him stop. I didn't want to hear this. I didn't want him to go through the pain of reliving this, either. But maybe he needed it. To let it out. Maybe then he could start to heal.

"At least my father died fast. It… it was going to take its time with my mother. Maybe if I'd done something, something more than stand there watching, maybe she wouldn't have gone through so much pain."

"You were seven. What could you have done?"

"It noticed me eventually. Maybe I made a noise or something. Probably. I'll never forget its face. The hatred directed at me. I could feel it."

My mother didn't let it get me. She used her magic to hurt it, hurt it bad enough it ran. She saved me, but I couldn't save her. It was too late. Robert took me in, adopted me, hid me. Part of the nephilim connection. Without him, the sentinels would have gotten me."

"How do you not hate me?" I asked. "Hate what I am?"

He looked up, confused. "Why would I?"

"How can you stand to be around anyone with demon blood after what happened?"

Understanding dawned on his face. "A demon didn't kill my parents."

I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. "Then what did?"

"An angel."

You know when there was one piece of the puzzle missing and you searched everywhere for it? Then finally you found it, clicked it into place, and for a split second, the feeling of joy at the accomplishment infused your body? That was until you looked down and saw the horrifying picture you just completed.

It was a riddle older than dirt. What hated a nephilim more than a sentinel?

Lucas must have understood where my thoughts had led. "Yeah, it crossed my mind, too."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

He looked down, and I felt like a bitch.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

All I wanted to do was take just a little bit of the pain away however I could. I pulled him back toward me, wanting to make up for the harsh words.

He nuzzled against my neck, hot breath and wet cheeks tickling the sensitive skin. I shivered.

He looked up at me, concern in his eyes. "Are you cold?"

I was the opposite of cold. Cupping his face in my hands, I lowered my head and pressed my lips against his.

Heat suffused my body as his mouth eagerly responded. Hands gripped my waist. He lifted me into his lap. I straddled his waist, pressing my body into his as if the contact was all that was keeping me alive.

Warm fingers slipped under the hem of my shirt, tracing circles in the small of my back. He ran his tongue against the seam of my lips, begging access. My lips parted as the ache between my legs intensified. He moaned as I rubbed against his hardening dick.

He flipped me onto my back amidst the tangled sheets. He pinned my wrists above my head and trailed wet kisses down my neck with an occasional nip to keep me on my toes. Not that I could feel my toes at the moment—all the blood had rushed to my core.

In the back of my mind where logic still existed, I worried his dad would walk in on our forbidden tryst, prematurely ending bliss. I needed his mouth back on mine to soften the sounds of my desire. Didn't need to attract attention.

His hands let go of my wrists. They smoothed down my sides before lifting the bottom of my shirt, exposing my stomach. My gut clenched, insecurity rearing its ugly head. What if he didn't like what he saw? What if I disgusted him?

Thoughts fled as he sprinkled kisses across my abdomen. Two seconds later, my shirt joined the rest of the dirty laundry on the floor. His lips roamed over the tops of my breasts as he inched the fabric of my bra down to expose stiff nipples. His mouth encircled the sensitive buds, his tongue swirling before sucking hard.

My cheeks burned, a mixture of embarrassment and ecstasy rushing to my head. No amount of self-pleasure came close to this.

My hands tangled in his thick hair as he continued to lavish attention on both breasts. I wanted to touch him. Explore the taut muscles of his body with fingers and tongue. Bring him to the brink of oblivion as he was doing to me.

I didn't though. The fear that my inexperience would ruin the moment kept me frozen.

I was his, his prisoner, captive to overwhelming sensations I didn't want to fight.

His fingers dipped below the waistband of my pants. They stroked the wet fabric of my underwear, the only thing between his exploration and my treasure. He rubbed small circles with expert precision, bringing me to the peak right before the roller coaster raced down the track.

I bit my lip to keep from crying out. His mouth devoured mine, smothering the cries I couldn't keep contained. Dopamine infused my head, a higher high than I'd ever experienced before.

It wasn't enough. My body needed more, not content until his pleasure surpassed mine.

What could I say? I was an overachiever.

My hands fumbled with the button on his pants, unable to perform the easiest of tasks. He tried to help, but I pushed his hand away. If he couldn't handle my awkward attempts, he wasn't the guy for me.

He chuckled against my lips. A chuckle that morphed into a moan as I bested that damn button, slipping my hand inside and around his thickness.

I might not have done this before, but I had the Internet.

His hips moved in rhythm with my hand. His eyes closed and his breath quickened.

There was a power in controlling someone else's pleasure, drinking in their surrender, being the only thing that existed in their world, even if it was just for a moment.

A familiar noise interrupted the moment. Why was the Tardis here? I took a couple of seconds to realize I wasn't getting an unexpected visit from the Doctor, but rather my phone was ringing.

"Maybe you should answer that," Lucas said, out of breath. "It's the third time they've called."

Reaching into my pocket, I glanced down at the caller ID. Wes the cock block.

"Hello?" I didn't hide the frustration in my voice. Someone better be dead or something.

"You need to get your ass to the morgue right now. Damian's hurt."

He hung up before I could ask any questions.