House Of Legions (The Angel Descendants book 1)

Chapter 66 (Clare)

She looked wide-eyed at him “Tell me something about the Angels, something I’d find interesting.”

His jaw ticked, and his demeanour changed, she was almost certain that he wouldn’t say anything, he’d close off, but Kalbreal surprised her, “We don’t do marriage like the deceptors, we take consorts, most of the time by a blood binding to seal the bond, but in the Infinity, there are those of highest rank, they are…” he paused, “different. If they find their true consort, their destined mate and complete the mating a true bond is formed, and the said beings’ Gazool is multiplied. But if he comes into contact with his true consort, and neglects the pull, until the bond is formed he’s Gazool or energy as some call it, cannot be easily controlled. The more powerful the being is, the worse the side effects. Which will be catastrophic if that said someone was to be roaming on this earth, which is why when they normally meet their true consorts they seduce them to hasten the bond.”

Kalbreal stared at her until she started feeling uncomfortable, was he trying to tell her something, he should just say it, why did he always have to be so evasive. The way he sat, the way he moved, she was beginning to see him as an Angel, a perfected being, almost flawless if it weren’t for his mouth. She smiled at the thought, arrogance suited the bastard though she’d give him that.

“What?” she snapped unable to stop squirming under his patronizing gaze that saw more than she wanted to reveal.

“There’s a rumour going around that Franchesca Draiken’s youngest born is the son of Azazy-el, and Azazy-el being a prince means, that he is of the highest rank, a cadre of hell, your mother could be his consort.”

She sat there staring at him, pretending he hadn’t just told her that her mother could be the consort of the prince of hell himself, “I know Caidrian and her split up after I was born.”

He faced front, eyes still drawn on her, “Franchesca was on a mission a year or so after you were born, she fled to Egypt landed in some trouble, and ended up in the mountain of Dudael.” He stopped, waited

for a response but she remained silent, knots forming in her stomach, “Azazy-el would’ve known that there was a connection, a few have been known to deny the true consort bond, but he isn’t the type, your mother would’ve felt it too. A long time in a mountain, trapped with your true consort, the mortal mind can do crazy things, it’s possible. I wasn’t around that time, I asked William about it, knowing the twins wouldn’t speak, but he didn’t exactly answer my question, but a lot of the descendants believe that story.”

At the mention of Williams name, she stiffened, but quickly brushed it off not wanting Kalbreal to notice her infatuation, because that’s what it must be right, to her faceless Caster, “Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” she asked incredulous, “because I’m not buying it.”

His gaze was compensative, when he replied, in that deep masculine voice, “It could be a partial truth, you must understand the truth is not what you convince people in believing, it’s that which is forged.”

There he went with the evasive again, she did not doubt that he already knew the truth, it was those fire-coloured gazes that had given him away. She also knew that most of what Kalbreal said had significance. When he spoke, it was always with that slight smile, the arrogance of knowledge. A permanent expression that he mastered, his, not fake like some humans but real. She was certain that whatever questions she had, Angel-boy held the answers to most, but he wasn't going to tell her, at least not yet. She had to play his game, understand him, but she also needed to listen as a student listening to a teacher.

Clare looked at Kalbreal blankly, she not only changed the subject, but she altered its course, when she asked, “What’s so special about Calub that a Tempter or someone else would want him and not kill him?”

Kalbreal sighed, not meeting her face, “Your brother isn’t easy to kill unless you are an Irin or higher, he has a certain type of protection, one similar to the mark of Cain, but whereas Cain’s was bestowed on him, Calub was born with it and learnt to harness the gift at a young age. We shouldn’t be discussing

this now.” His eyes pierced her with an ire of warning; she had yet to see on Angel-boy. They glowed a mica of black and orange volcanic eruption, “You can’t tell anybody about this,” she gasped at his feral growl, her eyes widened by the fear that crept in her, the tremor that rattled her hands.

She nodded abruptly, and dropped her gaze, and gulped. Kalbreal had so much Gazool flowing off him that she was overwhelmed; this was no minor Angel as Caidrian said. Clare was certain that Kalbreal was more powerful than he wanted people to believe, much more. This meant he must have had an important position in the Infinity. The question which had never occurred to her now lingered in her mind, like a rattling snake hissing in her ear-

What was he doing on the earth for the past eight years, there WAS a reason, and she was going to find out.

Clare squinted to get a better view as a lady, wearing a royal blue robe, walked toward a glass microphone, which stood in the centre of the court. Behind the lady sat the four people in the green robes.

Arexandra the Elvan queen was the first seated, with her platinum hair shining down her back, it wasn’t hard to guess from so far up. Next to her was Jayden Pyn, and three other men, amongst them, sat Vincent, with unmasked confidence. Underneath his open robe, he wore black leather pants and a powdered blue shirt. The sleeves of his robe folded up, revealing black strings and beads wrapped around his wrist as if he sensed her, he turned his head and looked smack into her face, she quickly averted away, embarrassed she was caught gawking at him. NôvelDrama.Org is the owner.

The lady who stood in the centre of the room was tall, with dark, short-cropped hair and what looked like blue eyes and a heart-shaped face and a bit wide-hipped. She could’ve been in her forties, but judging by what Clare knew of the Lightwatchers, the ageing process slowed down after a certain age, so she could’ve been in her fifties, but still an airy of lethality marked her stance when she addressed them.

“I am Annabelle, Sole Advisor here today.” She paused, and the room went immediately quiet, “Members of The Order and Lightwatchers, a Lightwatcher has been lost to us, but another from the Moonstone and Draiken blood has returned, stand up Gabriella Moonstone.”

Clare’s heart thumped soundly, the beat-heavy as she obeyed, without acknowledging Kalbreal. People whispered eyes stared in horror, some undisguised disgust, “Gabriella Moonstone come child.”

She walked down a middle pathway of iron steps, with each descend she took, her breathing escalated, her palms began to sweat

Step, step, THUD THUD

Cursing herself, urging her body to move forward, why was she so nervous,

Step, step, THUD THUD

A single drop of sweat beaded at her temple, she fought against her body,

Step, step, THUD THUD

She was so scared, she couldn’t understand it, her mind told her to go, move faster, you have to save your brother, he needs you, but her body, her body wanted to flee, to run, and never look back, her body wanted to cower.

With sweaty palms, a fast pulse, she tuned out the people. Their disdainful eyes never stopped its onslaught. She reached the very bottom where Annabelle stood, it took all her courage and willpower not to run, not to whimper.

She didn’t turn to acknowledge Kalbreal, or Nathan, just stood there expectant, with her back faced to the crowd. Her heart never ceased its speed, her body itched as the leather rubbed against her thighs,

she was sure that the cashmere shirt she wore was drenched with sweat under her armpits.

“State your case,” Her gaze widened at Annabelle’s abruptness, Clare stared at the woman, trying to get some read on whether this woman was among those who despised her or pitied her, but there was no injustice. Annabelle nodded slowly at her to go on.

Clare thought about what she was supposed to say, then gathered some courage and spoke, “I wish to be called Clare,” She flinched, at the stupidity of how she sounded, “My birth name has been removed,” It came out more a question than a statement, but it was enough to get the descendants whispering.

She refused to turn, knowing full well that they’ll be staring at her in repugnance and loathing or sheer disappointment. The worst would be the pity, because to the Lightwatchers having no name, that marked you. Having your gift taken away was worse than being branded an axe murderer, or losing your memory at the tender age of ten.