Chapter6:Two

Ducking under one of the plank benches she sent a silent thanks to herself for being thin. The throb in her knee protested the cramped space. It was a stark reminder not to jinx her luck. The louder the voices grew, the faster her heart beat. She drew in a long breath. Without releasing the air which now filled her lungs, she froze at the loud screeching sound of the church doors opening.

The people were moving with a speed that said they were in a rush. Their boots clattered the ground like a pack of soldiers competing to the beat that drummed in her chest.

Where they would've been rushing too, Clare couldn't figure out. It's a church for crying out loud, and after midnight, she harrumphed inwardly.

At the sound of a male voice, someone in their twenties, she tried to sneak a peep. Not wanting to get caught, her attempt was futile. She wouldn't take the chance. After all she was no fool to late nights, these people could be killers.

Though this particular guy spiked her curiosity because he sounded more like her, American. With an eagerness to his tone his voice drew louder, "We need the extra weapons Alonso, demons are pouring in by the day, Azazel's loose doing hell knows what."

Pause, more walking, shuffling, "We have no help from the other realms since the attacks. Four found dead in the last forty-eight hours and descendants are still blaming each other, even the Asguardians are now hiding."

He was no doubt American, someone educated, if his proper tone was something to go by. The words however, though spoken in English sounded more gibberish to Clare's ears. Was it her imagination or did she walk in on a movie set. But that voice, she had this vision or was it a sense of recognition, and as fast as it came, it vanished.

The clearer the voice became, the faster her heart raced. What were they talking about, she prayed they weren't drunk.

After minutes that felt like hours, she heard another guy,  "Taking weapons from the dead isn't the smartest of your plans, Nathan, the Garde won't be as forgiving as the last time."

The silence which followed was intense before the second talker said, "Listen man, you just nervous ‘bout tomorrow, you not thinking."

Nathan's growl warning sounded so inhuman, she almost stumbled in the small space, "Stop telling me what I am, and what to do," his voice got nearer, harder, "I'm older than you, which means you do as I say." Pause, "You'll make a good Garde one day but you will still take orders from me."

Feeling like a hammer was knocking nails in her chest from holding her breath, she released her lungful of air. The cramps in her legs from being in a constant crouch fought to be subsided. Clare couldn't take the pins and needles prodding beneath the skin in her limbs much longer. The sensation of her calf being crushed made her grit her teeth.

She listened attentively to the sound of heels thumping fast, down towards the aisle near where she hid. It was an attempt to block out her bodies feelings. Clare scrunched up her face because it wasn't working as well as she'd hoped.

Not able to see anything she instead paid attention to the woman's sultry voice,

"Men, why must you gauge each other? It's not like we have a mission together every day. Nathan doesn't plan on using the weapons. Kalbreal asked him to retrieve it but we need to be quick. The Caster won't stand by the gates forever."

The woman paused and lowered her voice, "We are who we are, don't let everything become a battle. One blood, one cause, one path together makes one soul, forever united, don't you remember?"

Nathan she presumed was the one who sighed in frustration, "Now's not the time or place for ceremonial quotes Nadia, let's get what we came for and get outa here."

In normal circumstances Clare would've laughed at these people and told them how ridiculous they sounded. But if she didn't change her position and soon, her legs were going to fall off from the feelings attacking them.Trying to do just that she moved her arms first, doing her best to go for that subtle way her mother was able to do things, bit by bit without making a sound.

All was going well until her foot slipped as she moved her leg, hitting her head in the process. A loud yelp escaped her. If her loud ‘ow' didn't alert them to her presence, the smack across the mouth she gave herself did. She cringed right before she inhaled another breath of air.

It took only seconds before she felt the fingers of a masculine hand curling around her waist lifting her up and spinning her around with an effortless yet aggressive force. Desperate to get away from him she kicked and screamed trying to dislodge his hands from its powerful grip around her waist. But he was huge, like almost 7 feet, and too strong for her to take on.

The church lights went on.

She squeaked, "hey."

Clare's heart wanted to collapse with terror when she looked at him. His caramel skin under the dim light was darker than hers. Someone born that way, definitely. And very muscular with broad shoulders resembling a well groomed German warrior, or maybe a Therian warrior she read about in one of her books. She could see hints of Asian blood by the upper tilts of his eyes, but his American side won out with the strong nose and unusual tall height. Black shoulder length hair covered his thick eyebrows. Harsh hazel eyes, which now focused furiously on her, wouldn't define him as handsome. More like scary, crazy dude scary in her book.

This is the end, she cringed, I'm going to die and my mother wouldn't even know where to find the body.

His mouth was moving, but she caught only the last part of what he said, "…it's a sin to break into a church at the Tempters hour."

Clare gave the guy a scattering look who she presumed was Alonso by the sound of his voice, "I have no idea of what you said, put me down."

She skimmed her eyes down his body. The long sleeved Henley was a shade lighter than the brown leather pants straining his muscular thighs. Spotting the heavy army boots, that looked as if they had been through a bloody carnival of dead bodies was very intimidating. Now focused back on his face, she gulped at the serious angry gaze that marred his features. Whoever said looks can be deceiving had certainly got the wrong memo. Alonso's spoke volumes of a guy with lots of darkness around him and it scared her, shitless.

Kicking her legs out, she realized how tall he was. Clare always thought she was tall herself but nothing compared to Alonso the giant. He made her height seem like an adolescents. As if that wasn't bad enough, he shouted, "How in the realms name did you even get in. It's after midnight." He looked at his watch to stress his point, and the movement made her flinch because he still kept a tight grip on her waist with one hand, "I stand corrected, it's one in the morning. You know, now I'll have to call the cops. They'll probably arrest you for trespassing on holy grounds or, if you lucky, which is highly unlikely, call your mother."

Clare didn't want to seem scared but her face gave her away when she grimaced at the mention of her mother. She struggled in his hold but only made it worse, the man didn't let her go. Instead he put both hands on either side of her waist and held her mid-air with his arms stretched out; similar to how one would hold a wailing baby. Which in her case wasn't far off as she yelled, "Get your hands off me, you freak, I came through the door just like YOU."

Whatever he saw in her face as she frowned worked, because the giant bastard let her go like she was made of fire. Which in his mind she probably was after listening to the crap they spewed. Finally her feet touched the ground, but she knew this wasn't over.

It didn't take long before she was manhandled, yet again, when another guy grabbed her left arm and tugged with a firm grip that was close to painful. She was pulled up towards the end of the aisle.

"Do your parents know where you are?" His voice strained, "What if you got raped or mugged, and eavesdropping on others conversations is rude, what were you thinking?" He asked, more like demanded through clenched teeth, barely holding in his anger.

His name was Nathan, the guy with the strong voice that now sounded extremely angry, great, just great.

This guy had a light olive tan from standing in the sun for long periods. His hand that pulled her was darker from driving than his neck proving her theory further.

His muscular built was more pronounced than Alonso by the splay of broad shoulders, and the veins visible on his forearms. Judging by his height which put him at least four inches shorter than Alonso, hopefully, he was the more saner one. Clare was going with her assessment knowing full well it was bullshit. But if she could convince her teacher lime green is yellow, she could make herself believe her theory that a shorter guy equalled a saner one. After all she was technically a genius. One in hiding, as she always remembered to write a few incorrect answers in her papers. She was already considered a freak and a ‘nasty insensitive bitch' she didn't need another reason for the female population to despise her.

When Clare looked into Nathan's eyes to say something, the gravity left her as her knees buckled at his reflection. Luckily he held her steady, she was too transfixed on his eyes to worry about falling. They were Green, dark green, the same as hers, ‘devilish' she thought. That was what they called it at school, Devils eyes.

Never had she seen another person with eyes like hers, that was dark yet so visible. Her friend once said it was freakishly unreal. Her mind raced with possibilities at him being her relative, he looked familiar, yet not so much. The hairstyle of shaven off sides and long black hair kept in the middle, was too modern to ring any bells.

But those eyes, though harsher than hers, colder, they were still hers.

Capturing the knowledge from her brain of anything familiar was like trying to solve a puzzle without the border pieces, pointless. Without the foundation you couldn't do anything, you were just simply stuck. And as memory went, it was harder to know what you sought if you couldn't remember, and even more to capture it, when you didn't even know what it is you were searching for.

His jaw clenched as she openly stared, rude as it might be Clare couldn't look away even if she wanted to. And maybe she was acting a little crazy, but he must see it, he couldn't be blind. Surly a relative of hers would have some brains.

"It's rude to stare just take a picture, it's more permanent, post it," he suggested with a careless shrug, "Instagram is quite popular these days."

She hesitated and then blurted out, "Dude, you seriously can't be that dumb." When he quirked his brow, something her mother did, she huffed in annoyance, "We have the exact same eyes, come on."

When she saw the blank stare he gave her, she could tell he wasn't going to say a thing, so she shrieked, "I don't want your picture. It is obvious that you are no relative of mine. When I first heard you, I got excited for a second thinking you sounded so educated, and then again when I saw your eyes, but then just as quickly I realized you lack an awful lot. Mostly that which includes intellect and vision, so just in case you lack hearing read my lips slowly, LET. ME. GO."

A woman's voice shouted from the altar, "This girl is wasting our time, we have a job to do, we can deal with her la…ter…" The female voice trailed off, her words lost in her view of Clare.

These people were really starting to freak the be-Jesus out of her, in the sense that they somehow knew her. She was no fool, she knew when people had recognition in their eyes, and Nathan had it written all over his almost familiar face.

With a gentle push he let go of her arm. Squeezing his eyes shut he grunted at her, "Leave now and go straight back." A daring warning in his voice, he snarled, "No more wandering places, if I see you around at night, alone, I will beat your ass, understood." She narrowed her eyes, trying to get a read on his mood. There was no smirk on his face or sign of joking, he was serious and definitely the one to be wary of among the three.

Nobody had ever spoken to her like that before, and if they did, she never remembered it.

Fear aside, she squared her shoulders and stared at him smack in the face, "I was leaving anyway."

Clare then gave the other two pointed looks, snapping her fingers in the air, "Clearly you all need to get your heads examined. And news flash, giant guy," She arched her brow at Alonso, "The church is a place of peace not weapons dumb ass."

"Ooh someone's getting grumpy," he mocked, "You shouldn't name call guys with daggers."

She watched as Alonso put his hand on the butt of the dagger which fitted into the side of his pants.

Turning, her boots skidded as she stormed down the aisle of the church. She refused a backward glance as the sound of their laughter echoed through the church walls.

Welcoming the icy breeze creeping through her cotton t-shirt as she opened the door and barged out not slowing down until she was out the main gate.

A sudden relief washed over her, as she cut the corner from the church. She was glad to be alive. But she couldn't rattle the sense that something wasn't quite right with those people she'd met. They all wore similar clothes, brown leather material and light Henley t-shirts, which looked extremely soft, except the girl wore high heels, which in Clare's opinion, totally unnecessary. If they weren't so clearly crazy and she didn't know better, the trio could've easily passed as some special force team. She highly doubted that, clearly they lack the brains and were all Braun.

As the minutes went by, the only thing on her mind as she walked was the bone deep anger and the sound of their voices laughing at her. Her body was riled up, she couldn't wait to get back to the apartment and get some sleep. Clare picked up her pace as the sudden urgency to get home filled her with a shot of adrenaline. Clare always thought better on a clear head.