House Of Legions (The Angel Descendants book 1)

Clare watched Caidrian walk leisurely beside her, at first glance he was the epitome of an underdog warrior, long torso, solid statue, not too broad shoulders. One would think he looked very young to be her father, but not to her, she could see the wisdom hidden in his eyes. The pain and loss which hardened his features and emotions could only have come from years of horror.

“Stop staring at me Clare, you do that to the wrong descendant they'll see it as a challenge of dominance.”

She was tired and her feet ached, applying unwanted pressure on the blisters forming underneath her feet wasn't helping. Nor was Caidrian who carried on talking, expecting her to keep up, “The mark on your stomach is a seal, most Lightwatchers have many of those if the demon dies the mark goes away eventually, but a Tempters mark, never fully heals, so it’s not wise to stare, some are marked on their faces.

Also, I must warn you, over the years our kind have mixed with other species, they called Fuized, but our ANGELIC blood remains strong, no matter how different some may seem. Unfortunately, some Lightwatchers don’t feel that way, so keep your mouth shut if you hear anything, or see one of them.”

with nothing to drink. She looked at her packets, her eyes widening a fraction in the hope of remembering the muffins she’d gotten, but she’d forgotten it in the car. And even

the set of blue eyes that clouded her mind, as the strangers words played in her head, “That princess is for you to decide.” What did it mean, was it really all

walks on, you’re

forever, with born landscapes of tall mountains clothed in green grass and shoed with sandy floors and generous slopes, as they stretched over the hilltops covering the bottom. Parts of the mountain covered in forests of greenery whilst others were embedded with solid rocks and caves. The sun touching on the tips of the mountain beds as it set.

attired in a white leather coat and a green grass stick mixed with gold bindings attached to his left hand. Older in age, an easy fifty years or so, his eyes, black, no eyebrows,

not taking it as an insult more of

stick twice on the ground and a high stretched golden door became visible before her very eyes. It was like watching a photo drawn from thousands of small dots joining together