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.”

place is sounding more and more like a refugee camp.” Her throat was parched, which was totally understandable considering that she had been walking for hours with nothing to drink. She looked at

“That princess is for you to decide.” What did it mean, was it really all up to her, did he feel the connection as she did when he held

walks on,

in green grass and shoed with sandy floors and generous slopes, as they stretched over the hilltops covering the bottom. Parts

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, instead of in its place were tattoos of small S’s locked in one another. A bit dramatic in appearance to the common eye

greeted him but he ignored her. She brushed it off, not taking

head. The Caster hit his 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 to form an architecture that was exquisite