House Of Legions (The Angel Descendants book 1)

Clare entered the room, her vision taking time to adjust to the darkness. Narrowing her gaze to the only thing she could make out, a king-size bed, which she could barely see as it was, besides its shape.

Everything else was camouflaged in darkness, the curtains that draped the windows sealed, she couldn’t see anything else.

Annoyed,

She tried looking for the light switch by the door. Searching the walls with her fingers. The walls felt SMOOTH under her fingertips, unlike the cold marble they had in the bathroom.

No switch.

She was so tired, her eyes burned from exhaustion. The shower helped but not much in freshening her up, as she hoped it would. Instead, it reminded her of how she just wanted the day to end.

She drank the bathroom water from the taps in desperation for some long-needed rehydration. It was delicious. It wasn’t magical like she’d hoped, it didn’t cure the hunger pangs or the heartburn from the emptiness in her belly. And it definitely didn’t ease the constant cramps she had to endure until the moon ceremony was completed.

All she wanted to do now, looking at the bed, was get into it, relax her aching feet from all that walking in the forest and maybe have a

her flight and the morning at the church. She had almost forgotten about that. Everything which happened from the time she’d seen Nathan, seemed so long ago, but not her mother, not her death. That would always be something too sudden, too fresh, something that altered Clare’s life in

at her burning eyes, succumbing to her desire. Clare threw herself on the bed without wasting a single thought. Expecting a soft drop, she squealed in pain and surprise as her body hit a hard surface. The pain shot right up her back as she let out a string of curses,

boggled with the idea of how tired she really was AND the bed she imagined was not

she touched on something soft and cushy. Nonetheless, there was something hard on the bed, directly beneath her. She touched it with her hands, FLESH, “Shit.” It was another person under the sheets, and the victim's touch was blistering hot,

the soft cloth and straightened it as fast as her life depended on it. Tightening the towel

growling voice yelled from under the sheet,

his hands and the curtains opened and lights went on, brightening the room, “What

blazed eyes and furrowed eyebrows taking her in, with lustful heat, but there was something in the way he stared her down, something that

She muttered, “Kalbreal,”

him since the afternoon. Her mind puzzled about what to say, how to say it. He was an Angel, she didn’t know what powers Angels had, but looking into his orange and red sunrise eyes she