House Of Legions (The Angel Descendants book 1)

“Your immortality will bring Infinity to your knees.” Her captor whispered in her ear, the tip of his tongue wetting her earlobe, making her stomach wrench, at the sickly sweet scent assaulting her nose, “Too bad I have been ordered to kill you. If it was up to me, I’d make you my consort.”

She snarled, “Bastard,” through clenched teeth, not wanting Nathan to lose it. The crushing sound of her wrist bone-breaking weakened her. Clare ignored her body’s need to release the pain by screaming, and snorted, her whimper just a whisper, “With your putrid breath I won't even let you kiss my ass.”

She felt it rather than saw it first, like an invisible shield going up before her mother appeared from nothing but smoke, her eyes blazing with blue flames, that sparked like a live wire. The same licks of firelight caught on her mother’s hands in the color of a blue flaming torch. A scenario that should've caused her captor to loosen his hold, or let her go. But not him, this one was determined to finish the job.

This woman no stranger to her eyes, but Clare knew she was really seeing her mother for the first time. There were so much rage and anger, so much strength in those flame-filled eyes that resembled a warrior. And all of it focused on the man who held Clare captive.

Franchesca grabbed the metal rope from the man’s hand but he tightens it just in time, slicing all of Franchesca's fingers open in the process. Red liquid sprayed out, Franchesca clenched her bleeding hand in a tight fist, showing no sign of pain, the only sight of pure anger and determination.

neck. Franchesca screamed in pain, her

back, and spun around in seconds, kicking the guy with enough momentum that it lifted him in the air, and back down, only to land on his feet. Franchesca

turned red, his body turning into a fever so high his eyes protruded as they stared daggers on Franchesca who still stood in mid-air standing guard, like an avenging angel, her fingers sliced almost completely off,

the dagger in the man’s carotid and grabbed Clare’s arms, shaking her, so she'd look at him, but

yelled, “Let’s get out of here,” went like liquid through Clare’s ears, as she stood there, mouth open, watching. The man’s head spinning, his neck-breaking, a huge sharp thing protruding from his back. Inching closer toward him, involuntary,

out of the man’s back got bigger and more visible, until she

the darkest shade of green wings were now visible, with jagged edges and unsightly oozing blood dripping from the bottom, bedded in millions of thorns. The right-wing disfigured and for some unknown, unexplainable reason she felt sorry for the guy, why? It looked painful.