Page 28 of Dark Angel

Clarence steps out from the open door, his hazel eyes watching his uncle as he sneaks another few steps closer.

Something about his uncle feels amiss. Clarence can’t quite place what the feeling is, but he can sense that something is different about Will from the last time he was in London after an assignment. Kora might not see it, but Clarence can.

Stuffing his hands into his coat pockets, Will makes his way outside of the manor.

Clarence follows him, keeping a few strides back to keep Will from thinking he’s being shadowed.

Turning onto Endell Street, his gaze falls onto a group of Mortals huddled around a warm grate from the bakery. Steamy air sifts through the metal vent, heating their cold extremities. Clarence feels bad for them for a fleeting moment. Powerless and ordinary, with no real purpose in the world and being constantly protected by the Marked kinds.

Clarence continues to follow closely behind his uncle for a while, ducking into door frames or behind milk crates whenever Will peers back to check he’s not being followed.

From Soho into Farringdon, Clarence keeps on his tail until Will reaches a rundown looking townhouse. He hides behind a wooden cart left in the street filled with pots of plants, watching his uncle knocking on the door and waiting for the owner.

After a few more knocks, the door swings open and light illuminates Will’s face. Disappearing inside, the heavy door slams shut behind him, taking the light with it and leaving the street empty and quiet.

An uneasy feeling grows in the bottom of Clarence’s stomach. He knew something was off about him. Who could Will be visiting at this hour? And in this part of London? Whoever it is clearly isn’t a Seraph.

Glancing around, Clarence realises he isn’t going to be able to hear any part of Will’s conversation with the mysterious owner.

He’s made it this far, though. Clarence needs to know what’s happening inside of that townhouse. He needs to know who is so important that Will has to visit them at this hour, while he’s meant to be with them at the soiree.

Grumbling to himself and kicking a rusted mixed bean can in frustration, Clarence makes his way back to the soiree to collect his sister.

*?*?*

The figure watches as she strides home in the middle of the night, her long pastel orange dress dragging lightly against the dusty street. The gravel crackling under her slippers with every step. Long, golden hair swept up into a tangled knot behind her. Clara Lockewood, the young girl from the wealthy Lockewood family, makes her way home alone.

She strolls gracefully down the road as she hums quietly to a tune stuck in her head. Everyone knows it’s dangerous to walk alone at night, but she didn’t realise how late got when the soiree ended, and her family had already left the Bladesmith manor to return home without her.

The soiree was eventful, with various suitors showing their interest in her.

Dull grey eyes lazily gaze ahead as she wanders down Orchard Street, close to Portman Square.

The creatures’ onyx eyes watch as she passes by, her boots catching on some stones. Heading towards the square, she stopssuddenly, hearing an unfamiliar noise sounding from behind her. Turning around swiftly, her whole body rotates towards the sound. Clara squints and after a few moments, shrugs, and continues walking, humming to herself.

The figure lets out a laugh, and the sound runs through to her bones, sending chills along her freckled skin. Pivoting again, she glimpses her pursuer. The dark figure waiting on the other side of the square, tall buildings surrounding them casting short shadows on the ground. The moon glowing high in the sky, letting off enough light for her to see the figure coming towards her.

Turning on her heel, Clara tries running, her feet stumbling under her with every step. Tears stream down her cheeks without her realising as she runs across the open space, but she knows it’s useless.

The figure catches her, knocking her to the ground. Head colliding with the cold gravel, Clara feels tears stinging her eyes as her mind throbs.

She screams loudly, the noise reverberating through the street. Her hands try to fight her off, but she has no weapons on her. Her strength isn’t enough to defeat her attacker on her own. Clara can just make out the smirk crawling onto the darkened face, glaring down at her, like they both know her time is up. A grin almost sickening, twisting her stomach into knots like croissants.

“You know, little Seraphim, that running only makes me angrier.” The raspy voice is thick with amusement and hatred. A black hood covering everything apart from a menacing smile.

“Get off me!” Clara yells in its face.

A hand presses down onto Clara’s chest and knocks the breath out of her. “I have been waiting all night. You’re his first victim.”

Clara feels something sharp jab into her side. Her ribs explode into a burning sensation. The feeling of scorching flames flooding her blood and muscles. Body screaming for her to fight back, but she can’t.

The creature’s blackened eyes just glare down at her, smiling with a dark, disturbed slyness. She can still feel the sharpness digging intoher ribs, the poison spreading through her veins like flames engulfing parchment.

Clara’s eyes slowly blink to a stop. The light blue of her irises diminishing into a dull grey shade.

“That’s a good girl.” It purrs slowly.

The figure listens silently to her heart beats stopping. The final breath leaving her lips and mingling into the frosty night air.

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