House Of Legions (The Angel Descendants book 1)

Chapter 2 (Clare)

It wasn’t as bad as not remembering the first ten years of her life, so she always said, “If I can handle not knowing, I can handle anything.”

She thought back to when her mother started rambling about how some time away from ‘London’s cold’ would be great. Just the thought of it stirred up her anger at how foolish she was for the lack of concern. Clare presumed her mother was blowing off steam, or some psychological bullshit after whatever happened to her. Fearing it was rape Flare could only hope not, because she’d seen the after effect, especially on people like her mother, who liked control. A shudder went through her at the vision of her mother ending up like her friend Stacy’s.

What Clare couldn’t understand about the whole ordeal was what was so damn important that she had to drop school and leave straight away, two weeks before her interview with Oxford University. That was what stayed on her mind, unsolved as she finally drifted off.

***

Clare open her sleep filled eyes. Her stiff neck begging to be stretched as her lower back felt like it was run over by a train, leaving her groaning in discomfort. Lifting her head, a wave of lead greeted her before the constant pound of drumming made her want to drill a nail in her skull and dig her brain out. Talk about an alcohol free hangover.

Side effects of awkward sleeping, ‘shit,’ she swore inwardly. She scrunched her face and slowly straightened her long legs.

Five minutes into stretching her body on the sofa she felt great. Well not that great but totally what she needed.

“Honey,”

falling side first to the tiled floor, “Jesus, mom, just

her brow and the tilt of her lip. Comfortably leaning against the door jamb, she waited until Clare finally got up off the floor, no doubt frowning. Flagging a menu

to her. And it wasn’t the first time that she had really looked at her mother.

of her mother’s head could mean either two things- they were getting a visitor, or the visitor was her mother. Judging from the flushed freckles on Michelle’s cheeks and the slight frown to her brow, Clare figured neither. Her mother had already been the visitor. Which meant that she must’ve slept for hours, no wonder her body felt

stance; of course doing it in a timeless grace and elegance that was an innate part of her, something that Clare herself couldn’t even feign. It was somehow ingrained in her to wear boots and always choose practicality over fashion. Unfortunately there

normally dressed for comfort herself, with loose slacks or chinos. She never showed too much skin even though she was five foot eleven and fit comfortably in a European eight. That night which changed everything was the exception. The one and only time Clare could remember seeing her mother in a slim black fitted figure-hugging dress,

if she was adopted. They had nothing in common when it came to looks, style, or temperament. The things that kept Clare from believing her presumptions true

both shared, surprise, surprise. Those weren’t the deciding factors. No, that was left to the obligation that Michelle always saw her as. Clare wasn’t a child wanted in Michelle's mind, but one to protect. She doubted her mother would’ve kept her if it wasn’t for the blood ties, and that hurt. But Clare always told herself, “If I can handle not knowing, I can handle anything,” and that was exactly

why are you looking at me like that?” She didn’t answer her mother. Not that she didn’t want to, she didn’t know the answer, so she just kept on staring.

like him. The mystery sperm donor. She

A rugged brown hair man, with paler skin and a sharp jawline to match unnaturally dark green eyes. She could almost see him, the male version of her. After all her looks had to

what if she couldn’t pull off the grace that Michelle possessed. She could tackle a ball from between opponents’ legs without

The Novel will be updated daily. Come back and continue reading tomorrow, everyone!

Comments ()

0/255