But she knew she couldn't say any of this. She'd done that once before, confessing to a close friend in college what was going on with her. That friend had phased himself out of Naomi's life; he probably thought she was crazy. Not that Naomi could blame him. She didn't want to risk losing Emma's friendship.
"Of course," Naomi said, with a forced smile.
Emma nodded, but disappointment flickered in her eyes. Somehow, she knew Naomi was lying.
Exhaustion had seeped into Naomi's bones by the time she returned to her apartment. The day had taken its toll. A sliver of regret went through her as she changed into her comfortable pajamas and brushed her teeth; maybe she could have told Emma some of the truth.
But she shook her head at the thought. She'd done the right thing.
Her fatigue claimed her as soon as she slid into bed, and all thoughts of Emma and the artifact disappeared.
Naomi awoke in the middle of the night with the terrifying certainty that someone was in her apartment.
She didn't open her eyes, remaining stock still. Whoever it was, they made no sound, but she knew someone was there. And . . . there was more than one of them. She'd had similar instincts before, and she'd never been wrong.
She calculated what to do next. Her phone was out in the living room where she sensed the intruders were. Her bedroom window was seven stories up; there was no fire escape to climb out of.
What could the intruders want? She had nothing of value in her apartment. Her building was safe; as far as she knew there'd never been a robbery here.
They're here for you.
She didn't know where the thought came from, but she trusted it. Her instincts screamed danger.
She opened her eyes a fraction. Her bedroom was empty; they were still out in the living room.
Maybe she could hide. It was better than lying here waiting for them to kill her. She eyed the closet. It was the best and only hiding place in her room.
Her heart in her throat, she slipped out of bed, moving as quietly as she could.
But strong arms pulled her against a tall and muscular body. Before she could scream, a large hand clamped over her mouth.
Chapter 4
Alaric called Madalena right after his confrontation with the witches at the museum.
"They have the Stone. If they know about that, they must know about Naomi. I need to get her and—“
"No," Madalena interrupted. "Our priority now is locating those witches and getting that artifact. If they're going after Naomi, we'll at least be able to track them down."
"You said we're protecting her," Alaric snarled. "It sounds to me like you're more concerned with the damned artifact than— "
"I'm doing the best I can. Without the artifact, they are powerless. Just stay on Naomi for now. Get back to you apartment and don't let her out of your sight. I'm going to consult with the rest of the team."
She hung up on him before he could protest. He glared down at the phone. He'd loved phones when they first made their debut about a century ago; the ease of long distance communication had thrilled him. Now, he hated the limitations of the phone; they made the ability to get out of conversations too simple. He debated calling her back to plead his case, but decided against it. Madalena was infuriatingly stubborn when she made up her mind. She was just like her father in that aspect.
The next day he trailed Naomi per usual, to the museum and then to lunch, where he made the error of allowing her to spot him.
He recalled the flush that rose to Naomi's cheeks when she noticed him, her pulse fluttering rapidly at the base of her throat, her lips parting; all the telltale signs of desire. His own heart rate had quickened, his breath catching in his throat, and had to resist the urge to get to his feet and approach her. Fortunately, Emma distracted her, and he'd gotten to his feet, slipping out the back entrance.
What the hell had he been thinking? He could have watched her from one of the adjacent buildings. But his protective instincts were on overdrive since encountering those witches, knowing they were in Athens and so close to her.
Alaric remained out of sight for the rest of the day and evening, not allowing for even the possibility of her spotting him again.
He'd been standing by his window watching her sleep when his phone rang. He turned away to answer it, but he took two steps and froze. His senses were on high alert.
He whirled, moving back to his window. Alarm coursed through his veins. There were shadows in her apartment. A man and a woman. He could only detect faint traces of their scents from this distance, but he knew without a doubt they were witches.
Bloody hell.
In a flash, he opened his window, scanning the empty street below for any humans—or non-humans—before leaping the seven stories down to the ground.
I should have ignored Madalena, Alaric thought with fury, darting across the street to Naomi's building. He should have gotten Naomi and taken her out of Athens as soon as he left the museum last night, Madalena's orders be damned.
He climbed up to Naomi's window, using the natural grooves on the building to aid his ascent. Opening her window with one hand, he climbed into her room.
Naomi lay curled on her side, her back facing him, asleep. Alaric closed his eyes and inhaled. The intruders' scents came from the living room. They would be in her bedroom in a matter of seconds. He needed to get Naomi out of here. Now.
To his surprise, Naomi opened her eyes and slipped out of bed, stepping into his path.
He grabbed her, pressing her close to his body, clamping his hand over her mouth.
She struggled in protest. He had no time to put her in thrall or reassure her. That would have to come later. Still holding her close, he moved back towards the window.
The witches appeared in the doorway. He froze, recognizing them from the museum. They ignored him; their hungry gazes trained on Naomi.
In his arms, Naomi whimpered in fear. Consumed by a wave of fury, he growled, moving to stand in front of her.
"Kill the Blood Beast," the female witch said to her companion, her gaze still intent on Naomi.
Before the male witch could oblige, Alaric leapt towards him, pinning him to the floor. The female witch made her way toward Naomi, who stumbled back, shaking with terror.
Alaric moved quickly, snapping the neck of the male witch. He whirled as the female witch grabbed Naomi, yanking her into his arms.
No, Alaric thought, panicked. She was about to apparate. He started towards them . . . but something happened.
The entire room began to shake, and for a split second Alaric thought there was an earthquake. A flash of intense blinding light briefly filled the room, and the force of the shaking room tossed the witch holding Naomi clear across the room. She hit the wall with such impact that she slid to the floor, dead.
The shaking stopped. Alaric blinked at Naomi in astonishment. Had she done that?
Naomi looked down at her hands, her face ashen. In neighboring apartments, Alaric heard startled shouts from the residents. The shaking had affected the entire building—perhaps the entire street.
"What—“ Naomi whispered, still looking down at her hands. "What's happening? How—“
Alaric moved towards her. He didn't know how she'd been able to access her power, but there was no time to mull over it now.
"Everything will be explained, you have my word," he told her. She looked up at him, her breathing ragged, and he saw a flicker of recognition in her eyes. "But we have to leave. Those people were sent here to kill you. Believe me, there will be more."
"What?" Naomi gasped. "I'm not going anywhere with you!"
Alaric could already scent two more witches approaching her apartment. Whatever she'd done had clearly been an accident; he couldn't rely on her magic. They had to get out of here. She flinched as he reached down to cup her face, gazing into her eyes.
"Sorry about this," he murmured, as he probed her mind. Her thoughts were frantic, moving at an impossible speed. All will be well, h
e told her silently. Rest now.
"What—what are you—“ she whispered, as her eyes drooped. She slumped forward into his arms.
Cradling her, he moved over to the window, and leapt out.
"Thanks for getting here so quickly," Alaric told Maximillian.
He sat in the back of a sedan, the sleeping Naomi curled up next to him, as the car raced towards the airport. Madalena's private plane was there, waiting to take them to London.
He couldn't risk using his own car; the Order might track it down. He had sent two quick texts once he leapt from her window; one to the Alliance arranging for the plane, and one to Maximillian, a former Alliance member who now lived in Athens.
"Of course," Maximillian said, his gaze straying to Naomi's sleeping form in the rearview mirror. "So that's a pureblood."
"We believe she is," Alaric replied.
"I've never seen one up close before. She looks—I don't know. Normal."
"Descendants aren't supposed to look any different. It's their power that makes them special," Alaric said.
He glanced out the back window of the sedan. No one was following them. Yet. "Can you go any faster?"
"If I drive any faster, the odometer will break," Maximillian muttered, but he pressed down on the gas pedal. His gaze again strayed to Naomi in the rear view mirror. "Don't get me wrong. She is beautiful, but—“
"Eyes on the road," Alaric interrupted, irritation skittering through him. "We need to get out of Athens fast."
Maximillian fell silent, but Alaric saw a glint of amusement in his eyes.
Alaric thanked Maximillian again when they arrived at the airport, which he waved off.
"Just keep her safe. There's a lot riding on her," he said, as Alaric carried Naomi out of the car.
The private plane was waiting and ready to go when they arrived at the tarmac. As Alaric carried her into the plane, Naomi remained dead to the world. She probably wouldn't wake up until after they arrived in London.
The plane was over the Mediterranean when Madalena called.
"You should have listened to me," he said upon answering, his tone curt. "They almost took her."
"You're right. I was too focused on the Stone. I'm glad you were able to get her out of Athens."
Alaric had braced himself for an argument. At her conciliatory words, his shoulders relaxed, and he glanced down at Naomi.
"I wasn't the one to rescue her."
"What?"
"She used her power. The room shook, there was this light—I’ve never seen anything like it. I think that much power proves she's a Descendant. I thought you said there was a Locking spell on her magic."
There was an extended silence on the other end of the line.
"There is, I'm certain of it. Her parents might have placed certain conditions on her power; maybe she could lift the Lock because her life was in danger. That's a common override to a Locking spell."
He studied Naomi's sleeping face, recalling the shaking room, the blinding flash of light. In all his years of existence, he'd never seen such a display of power. Power she didn't even know she possessed.
When Madalena spoke again, her voice was heavy. He suspected she was thinking the same thing. "You've done well, Alaric. Now get her safely to London."
Chapter 5
Naomi awoke to the sounds of a city. Cars and buses roaring through the streets, the buzz of a plane's engine, the distant chimes of church bells. From a closer proximity, she heard the low hum of a television. The timbre of multiple voices.
She opened her eyes. This was not her bedroom in Athens. She was in a massive bedroom—nearly the size of her apartment—with floor to ceiling windows that overlooked a familiar skyline. Big Ben. The London Eye. The Tower Bridge. She was in London.
London? Naomi sat up, her heart pounding in her ears. In a rush, it all came back to her. Those people in her bedroom. Her apartment shaking. That flash of light. The handsome man from the restaurant telling her to rest; the soothing whisper of his voice in her mind.
"Naomi."
Naomi jumped. An ethereally beautiful woman hovered in the doorway. She was petite, with flowing dark curls that framed a heart-shaped face, caramel skin, and vivid green eyes. She didn't look much older than Naomi . . . but there was an agelessness to her.
"Who—who are you?" Naomi demanded. "Where am I?"
"My name is Madalena. Alaric brought you here to protect you from those intruders in your apartment last night."
The woman's voice, shaped by a pleasant English accent, was gentle, but Naomi's pulse quickened at her words.
Alaric. The handsome man. She recalled his words, and horror clawed its way through her chest.
"He said they wanted to kill me."
Madalena nodded, her expression grave. "They do. But you stopped them."
Naomi stared at her. She recalled the power that surged through her, right before the apartment began to shake. But that was impossible. She shook her head.
"I don't understand," Naomi whispered.
"I know. There's a lot to tell you, but I don't want you to be overwhelmed. You must be hungry. We have breakfast ready if you're up to eating."
Naomi's stomach grumbled at the mention of food. How long had she been out?
"You've been sleeping for three days," Madalena replied, as if reading her mind. "You'll understand why shortly. I think it's important you're fed and rested before I tell you more. There are clothes in the closet for you. And the shower is in the adjoining bathroom over there. Come out whenever you are ready."
Madalena left the room before Naomi could question her further. She sank back against the pillows with a shuddering breath. It seemed like only hours ago that she'd been at her office in the museum, then having dinner with Emma. For her, it had only been hours ago. How had she been out for three days? She'd never slept that much in her entire life, not even during the dark days after her parents' deaths.
Climbing out of bed, she took a moment to calm herself. She would get her answers and then she'd be on the first flight back to Athens. She didn't know how she'd explain a three day absence to Stelios. And Kat must be out of her mind with worry.
Her limbs were heavy when she moved towards the adjoining bathroom, as if she'd been out for weeks instead of days. Despite her three days of sleep, fatigue weighed on every part of her body.
After a quick shower, she moved over to the closet. When she saw the clothing inside, she froze. They weren't her clothes, but they were similar enough to be hers. The same casual slacks, jeans and loose cotton tops she wore to work, the same comfortable flowy dresses she wore on the weekends. Price tags were still attached to some of them. Someone had gone shopping with her in mind.
Fear slithered through her. Were Madalena and Alaric kidnappers? Was this some human trafficking scheme? Neither of them seemed dangerous, but maybe that was purposeful. She shook her head, forcing away the terrifying thought. There was no indication she was a prisoner. At least, not yet.
In her gut, she suspected this was all linked to that artifact.
I'll see what they have to say, she resolved. And then I'm leaving.
When she left her room, she stepped into an expansive hallway lined with several other rooms. She moved towards a circular staircase, descending to the first floor of the penthouse, taking it in. The penthouse was spacious and modern, with high ceilings and wood paneled floors. From where she stood, she could see down the corridor to an airy living room that led to a wide balcony with a panoramic view of London. If they're kidnappers, they're rich ones, Naomi thought, with a shiver of unease.
She heard Madalena's soft low voice from the open doorway of the kitchen and moved towards it.
Madalena and Alaric stood faced away from her, speaking in hushed tones. As she entered, they fell silent, turning toward her.
A lightning bolt of heat hit her at the sight of Alaric. He was as handsome as she remembered; her instincts had been right about his eyes, they were a brilliant shade of
bright blue. The man was indecently beautiful. She had to force her gaze away from him. Now is not the time to check out the hot guy who—by the way—abducted you, she admonished herself. Get your answers and get the hell out of here.
"Do you feel better?" Madalena asked. She picked up a plate from the counter, setting it down on a table that rested in the center of the large kitchen. Waffles, eggs, bacon, and fruit were heaped on the plate.
Naomi hesitated. What if the food was poisoned? But her hunger won the battle over her suspicion, and she sat down at the table to eat, hyper aware of their eyes on her the entire time. When her hunger was satisfied, she set down her fork.
"Tell me what's going on, and then I need to get back to Athens."
Both Alaric and Madalena tensed at her words. She tried to quell the panic that coursed through her.
"If I'm a prisoner— "
"You're not a prisoner," Madalena interrupted, giving her a kind smile. "We have contacted your boss on your behalf; we explained you had to leave Athens for a family emergency and that you'd be in touch. We also emailed your aunt from your account. You told her you were feeling under the weather and you'll reach out to her soon."
Naomi glared at them, irritated at the blatant invasion of her privacy.
"Do you expect me to thank you?" she demanded. "I'm leaving, and no on is—"
"If you leave here without our protection, those people will come for you again," Alaric said. His voice was deep yet melodious, and he spoke with the same cultured English accent as Madalena. But there was something slightly different about his accent. Something older and otherworldly.
"Why? Who are they?"
She focused her gaze on Madalena. She couldn't let herself keep getting distracted by Alaric.
"It's a group that's been looking for people like you for a very long time," Madalena said, sitting down across from her.
"People like me?" Naomi echoed.
"Naomi," Madalena said, after a brief pause, "throughout your life . . . have you felt as if something was missing? Have you heard whispers? Felt sensations or urges you can't explain?"
Shadow Descendant (Descendants Book 1) Page 3