House Of Legions (The Angel Descendants book 1)

Clare entered the room, her vision taking time to adjust to the darkness. Narrowing her gaze to the only thing she could make out, a king-size bed, which she could barely see as it was, besides its shape.

Everything else was camouflaged in darkness, the curtains that draped the windows sealed, she couldn’t see anything else.

Annoyed,

She tried looking for the light switch by the door. Searching the walls with her fingers. The walls felt SMOOTH under her fingertips, unlike the cold marble they had in the bathroom.

No switch.

She was so tired, her eyes burned from exhaustion. The shower helped but not much in freshening her up, as she hoped it would. Instead, it reminded her of how she just wanted the day to end.

She drank the bathroom water from the taps in desperation for some long-needed rehydration. It was delicious. It wasn’t magical like she’d hoped, it didn’t cure the hunger pangs or the heartburn from the emptiness in her belly. And it definitely didn’t ease the constant cramps she had to endure until the moon ceremony was completed.

relax her aching feet from all that walking in the forest and maybe have a nap. While she laid on her stomach and forgot this day

ago, but not her mother, not her death. That would always be something too sudden, too fresh, something that altered Clare’s life in so many ways. The moment it happened, it marked her heart with an obsidian marker that would continue to leave its scar every day, in the

drop, she squealed in pain and surprise as her body hit a hard surface. The pain shot right up her back as she let out a string

of how tired she really was

on something soft and cushy. Nonetheless, there was something hard on the bed, directly beneath her. She touched it with her hands, FLESH, “Shit.” It was another person under the sheets, and the victim's touch was blistering hot, which meant only one

and straightened it as fast as her life depended on it. Tightening the towel as tight as she could whilst her hand stung and burned from the heat of

voice yelled from under

and the curtains opened and lights went

in, with lustful heat, but there was something in the way he stared her down, something that made her take a step back. He did not look happy, scratch that, he looked

muttered, “Kalbreal,”

him since the afternoon. Her mind puzzled about what to say, how to say it. He was an Angel, she didn’t know what powers Angels had, but looking into his orange and red sunrise eyes she couldn’t see anything Angelic about him. He was more like a bad boy, a satanic