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,”

“Jesus, mom, just scare the sleep right outta me, don’t ya.”

and the tilt of her lip. Comfortably leaning against the door jamb, she waited until Clare finally got up

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

straight black hair tied by Chinese forks on the top 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

was somehow ingrained in her to wear boots and always choose practicality over fashion. Unfortunately there was no way of confirming how

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

looks, style, or temperament. The things that kept Clare from believing her presumptions true was first, Michelle’s height, she was almost as tall as Clare’s six-foot figure. Which was relatively rare for American women, so it had to count for

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

didn’t answer her mother. Not that she didn’t want to, she didn’t know the

sperm donor. She had no recollection of her father or even his name. Her relationship with him

paler skin and a sharp jawline to match unnaturally dark

must've inherited also from her dad, Clare moved well. She was solid on her feet. So what if she couldn’t pull off the grace that Michelle possessed. She could tackle a ball from between opponents’ legs without losing a step.

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