Panic and despair spiraled through her. Soon, she would lose consciousness. She would die . . . along with Alaric, and millions of other humans and vampires as the Destruction spell took hold and spread.
Naomi fought for calm. If she gave in to panic, she couldn’t fight back. And she needed to use her last moments of consciousness to fight with everything she had.
Darkness was forming on the edges of her vision; she only had seconds of consciousness left.
She and Genevieve were connected by blood; Genevieve had already burrowed into her mind. That worked both ways.
She concentrated on everything she knew about Genevieve. The abused and isolated young witch who’d fled from her adoptive parents. The years of loneliness. The overwhelming power. The envy she harbored towards Naomi’s mother, who had been surrounded by love; envy which turned into hatred.
“Herel iy manato,” Naomi whispered.
Camille told her and Alaric that Genevieve needed adulation. Followers. Why? Because of her loneliness and isolation. It had nothing to do with her belief in the superiority of witches; not really. It had everything to do with providing a panacea to an empty life, a life without love.
“Herel iy manato.”
Naomi held on to that sense of isolation and loneliness, recalling the young Genevieve she had seen in her mind, as she repeated the Summoning spell in her mind. Herel iy manato. Herel iy manato.
The earth’s rumbling began to subside. Herel iy manato.
Genevieve’s skin returned to normal, and she floated to the ground. She looked disoriented . . . vulnerable.
Herel iy manato.
The barrier around Naomi dissolved, and she could breathe again. She drew in air to her lungs, but never took her eyes off Genevieve.
“Herel iy manato.”
Genevieve moved towards her, her movements uneven and jerky. Naomi knew the effects of her spell wouldn’t last; she needed to act quickly.
“Eilion.”
Both she and Genevieve soared into the air. Now was the time to issue the Killing spell, but Naomi hesitated. Hadn’t she also been isolated once, struggling with contained magic? She recalled her years of turmoil and anxiety. It was her parents’ love that kept her from succumbing to darkness, and then Kat’s love. Now, she had Alaric. Genevieve had no one. Would Naomi have turned dark with a similar background?
“We’re blood, so I’m giving you a chance,” Naomi shouted, over the swirling wind she’d created that held them both afloat. “Atone for what you’ve done. It doesn’t have to be this way.”
But the vulnerability vanished from Genevieve’s eyes, replaced by hatred.
“Never!” Genevieve shouted, lifting her hand.
Despair filled Naomi; she had no choice. The Killing spell was past her lips before Genevieve could cast her own Killing spell.
As the spell struck her, Genevieve’s eyes locked with hers. There was pain, rage, and for a split second Naomi saw that troubled, lost witch Genevieve had once been, before her eyes went blank and lifeless. Genevieve plummeted to the ground, dead.
But it wasn’t over. Naomi still needed to counter the Destruction spell; Genevieve had been working on it for hours, remnants of it could still be at work. She had to make certain it didn’t take hold.
The force of her spell kept her in the air as she whispered the words of the counter spells.
“Cantair yerel eserem . . . “
The remnant rumbles of the earth ceased. Naomi continued to utter the counter spells, feeling it drain her power and energy, but she forced herself to keep speaking.
“Finnum ileum hesheli . . .”
Her vision began to dim, and her body settled to the ground; her magic was fading. From somewhere far away, she heard Alaric shouting; she could feel his panic through their bond, his grief. But she had to complete the spells.
“Herel ese miuma.”
The final strands of her magic—her life—faded to blackness.
Chapter 27
“Will she survive?” Alaric whispered.
He sat at Naomi’s bedside; Madalena stood next to him. They were in one of the bedrooms of the Manhattan penthouse that served as the Alliance’s New York headquarters. Naomi lay in the center of the large bed, her skin pale, her breathing faint. It was a week after their confrontation with Genevieve, and Naomi had hovered in a coma ever since.
He looked up through a sheen of blood tears when Madalena didn’t answer right away. She looked just as stricken as he did, her green eyes shadowed with grief.
“I don’t know,” Madalena said quietly. “Fighting another powerful witch had already taken much of her strength; when she issued the counter spells, she was already weak. It not only zapped her magic, it zapped her physical strength. Naomi is a strong witch, but what she did is akin to a strong man who can lift three hundred pounds on a regular basis suddenly lifting five thousand pounds.”
Alaric closed his eyes. He recalled how Naomi’s body twisted and vibrated as she uttered the counter spells; he’d been able to tell right away it was too much for her. By the time he’d gotten to her side, she’d fallen to the ground, pale and still. If he hadn’t felt her presence through their bond, he would have thought she was dead. He’d held her in his arms, weeping; it had taken several vampires to drag him away so the witches could tend to her.
He reached for Naomi’s hand, relishing in its warmth; it meant she was still alive. He didn’t regret believing in her for a second, of letting go of his fear of losing her so that she could fight; it had to be done. But he would do anything in the world to take Naomi’s place; he would have taken the force of the spell for her if he could have.
“We’ve done every Healing spell we possibly can,” Madalena said, her voice wavering as her gaze strayed to Naomi’s still form. “Now . . . all we can do is wait, and pray to whatever gods you believe in.”
Madalena left him alone, closing the door behind her. Alaric hadn’t left Naomi’s side all week, and he didn’t intend to. Not until she opened her eyes. And she would. She had to. The other alternative was unbearable to him, and he wouldn’t entertain it.
“Have you fed?”
Alaric turned. He was so focused on Naomi that his usually astute senses had dulled; he didn’t notice the visitors who came into the room until they made their presence known.
Kat stepped into the room, her face paler than Naomi’s, heavy bags under her eyes. She’d spent almost as much time by Naomi’s side as Alaric.
He blinked in surprise, not sure if he’d heard her correctly.
“Yes,” Kat said. Her lips twitched in a shadow of a smile. “I just asked my almost vampire nephew-in-law if he’s had any blood. Naomi’s not the only one who cares about you, you know. The others have wondered about your nourishment as well.”
Alaric returned his focus to Naomi. He hadn’t fed in days; he felt weak as a result, but he had no desire for blood. Not until Naomi came back to him.
“Alaric—“
“I can’t focus on anything else right now,” he said, his voice breaking. “But I will try to feed . . . soon. I just—I can’t leave her side. I won’t.”
Kat didn’t push back, only giving him an understanding nod. She sat down at Naomi’s opposite side, and they sat in silence. He and Kat had spoken little since she’d arrived. She’d wept into his arms when she first saw how weak Naomi looked, but their conversation had been kept to a minimum.
“I don’t know how vampires do it,” Kat said, reaching out to stroke a stray hair behind Naomi’s ear. “Deal with so much loss. Losing Naomi’s mother nearly destroyed me; I held it together for Naomi’s sake.”
“You accept it,” he said quietly. “And you move on. But . . . I won’t move on from Naomi. I can’t.”
“I know,” Kat said swiftly, “and I’m not even thinking that. I just . . . given that you’ve seen so much loss—“
“What? That would make me immune to losing Naomi?”
“I’m not saying that, Alaric,
” Kat said gently. ”I know with you, it’s the opposite of that. You seem to feel so much. And that’s a good thing. I don’t know if I would cope as well in your shoes.”
“I’m barely coping now,” he admitted, trying to keep his voice steady. “It’s only feeling Naomi through our bond that’s keeping me sane. And . . . before this . . . my overprotectiveness almost drove her away. I was forced to accept who she is.”
Kat gave him a rueful smile. “You’re not the only one who’s overprotective. I hated that she moved to Europe. I worried all the time, and that was when she was just a museum curator. I’m surprised I haven’t had ten heart attacks since she got involved with the Alliance.” Her gaze drifted back to Naomi, and pride shone in her eyes. “But she proved us wrong, hasn’t she? She stopped the Destruction spell. My niece is a badass.”
Alaric smiled; his first genuine smile in a week. He squeezed Naomi’s still hand.
“I agree,” he murmured, training his gaze on Naomi’s pale face. Come back to me, sweetheart.
Elias entered the room later that night with a packet of blood.
“Drink,” he ordered, handing Alaric the blood. “You look like shit.”
“I don’t care,” Alaric said, scowling.
“Do it for Naomi. You think she’ll appreciate coming to only to find you’ve died of starvation? Drink, you idiot,” Elias repeated, forcing the packet into Alaric’s hands.
Glaring at him, Alaric took it, tore open the packet, and drank. He could feel his strength returning as he did so, pulling him from the grief induced lethargy that had plagued him the past few days. The bastard was right; he did feel better.
“Thanks,” he grumbled, when he was finished.
Elias remained where he was, his gaze straying to Naomi, and his expression softened. A long moment of silence passed before he spoke again.
“Remember back at your estate—how I got pissed when you told me women were playthings to me?”
Alaric stiffened, wondering why he was bringing this up now.
“How can I forget,” he said drily. “I then proceeded to kick your arse.”
“It was the other way around,” Elias returned, his lips twitching in a smile, before he turned serious again. “I got upset because . . . it’s true. Women have been like playthings, because I didn’t want anyone to mean anything to me. The vampire who turned me . . . I was a plaything for her, even though I loved her deeply. She left me on my own to cope with being a newborn vampire.”
Alaric studied him in disbelief. Newborn vampires struggled with coming to terms with their awakened senses and burgeoning blood lust. Alaric’s own early days as a vampire had been torture; if it wasn’t for his maker, Lysander, he would have gone mad. Newborn vampires left to fend for themselves rarely survived; or they turned dark.
“I know. Believe me, I know,” Elias said, taking in Alaric’s stunned expression. “It took decades, but I eventually adjusted. But I closed myself off to any sort of true romantic relationship; I was traumatized, I didn’t want to risk anyone else having that type of power over me.” He paused a moment, before continuing, “I know it may not seem like it, but I liked you when I met you. Not for your winning personality,” he added, with a wink. “But because . . . you were like me. Closed off to love, even if it was for different reasons. I remember thinking, ‘Good. I’m not the only one.’ But that changed the moment I saw you with Naomi.”
Alaric turned back to Naomi, his chest tightening with anguish.
“I can’t lose her.”
“You won’t,” Elias said swiftly. “I wanted to remind you how strong your bond is with her—even before you made it official and gave her your blood. Reach out to her. She’ll feel you—and come back to you.”
Elias stepped forward, placing his hand on Alaric’s shoulder. He left it there for a moment before turning to leave them alone.
Zahara came to visit hours later, as the sun began its ascent, and Alaric sat in the same position Elias had left him in.
Zahara entered the room, her dark eyes filling with tears as she whispered a sincere apology, her expression tinged with sorrow. But Alaric waved off her apology, now was not the time for anger. In the end Zahara had believed them, and helped them stop Genevieve.
“I also wanted to say . . . if Naomi pulls through—“
“When,” he corrected sharply.
“When,” Zahara amended. “We’d like to offer her a role as a leader of the Alliance. And you as well . . . if you’re willing.”
Alaric looked at her, surprised.
“As you know, we’ve culled the membership since Naomi revealed Isobel’s betrayal,” Zahara said. “And Blaize’s death leaves an absence. With two leadership spots now open, the other leaders and I thought who better to fill them than the witch and vampire who’ve helped save millions. I know you can’t answer for Naomi, but please consider it. You both have dealt with so much danger; leaders have more peaceful roles. And the Order has scattered even more than they did after Raphael’s defeat. They remain a threat, but it’s decreased since Naomi came into the picture. Their morale is at a low with this new defeat.”
Alaric mulled over her words, but one jumped out at him the most: peaceful. He and Naomi had been on a non-stop rollercoaster of danger during the past few weeks. If he and Naomi were both leaders, they could still work to stop future threats, but they could live in relative peace.
“Thank you,” he said. “I’ll go along with whatever decision Naomi makes.”
Zahara seemed satisfied with that response, and left them alone.
Alaric looked down at Naomi; hope filling him at this possible new view of their future. This time, it wasn’t fear that made him want to take up Zahara’s offer; it was the longing to have an actual life with Naomi. The longing for Naomi to have a life.
“Naomi,” he whispered, “if you can hear me . . . I could do the selfish thing and beg you to come back to me . . . for me. And I do. More than anything. But I also want you to come back for you. To live in the world you’ve helped save, to live a life without the tumult you’ve suffered through for so long. You’re needed here to fill the world with your presence, your light.” He lifted her hand to his, pressing a kiss to her palm. “And I want to marry you, Naomi. The right way this time. As my equal, my partner.”
He closed his eyes, blood tears streaking down his cheeks. But he stilled when he sensed something stirring beneath his consciousness. Love; overwhelming love.
He looked up, breathless. Naomi’s golden eyes opened and settled on him. She still looked pale and weak, but her lips curved into a smile; it was the most beautiful sight Alaric had ever seen.
“How can I say no to that?” Naomi whispered, and his heart expanded with joy.
Chapter 28
Naomi stood by the back doors of Alaric’s English estate, taking a deep breath. She looked down at the crimson wedding gown she wore; a brand new one she’d picked up from a boutique one in London. She had stored her mother’s wedding dress in the closet of the bedroom she shared with Alaric, along with the grimoire. Wearing her own wedding dress was a symbolic gesture, she was shedding her past and embracing her future. Her mother’s wedding dress was now tied to the dark memories of Genevieve. She did want some connection to her parents on her wedding day, so she wore a silver necklace that had belonged to her mother, along with a titanium ring that had been a favorite of her father’s.
She peered out the clear glass doors. From where she stood, she could see Alaric, looking devastatingly handsome in his suit, standing in the center of enchanted stones with Madalena and their group of familiar faces: Casimir, Elias, Elisabetta, Fiona and Emma. Even Zahara and several other leaders of the Alliance stood with them.
“Here we go,” Kat said, moving forward to stand next to Naomi. She reached out to link her arm with hers. “Second time’s a charm, right?”
Naomi smiled. “Right.”
She had returned to Alaric’s estate from New York nearly a month ago.
It was a place she now considered home, and where they decided to have their bonding ceremony. Unlike last time, there were no pressing concerns about Genevieve, and Incantation Stone, or anything else. Her focus was only on Alaric and their future.
She’d spent the past few weeks recovering her strength. Madalena had cast several Restorative spells to help her recovery along, advising her to take an extended break from magic. Today was the first day in weeks she’d perform a spell.
During her recovery, she’d learned what happened in the aftermath of Genevieve’s death. The members of the Order had scattered even more and gone quiet—for now. The Alliance had restructured; she and Alaric had taken the vacant leadership spots, and dozens of members had been culled as a safety measure to ensure there were no more traitors lurking. It had taken little thought for her to accept the leadership role; they could live more peaceful lives while still fighting threats to the Alliance, and they’d have more influence as leaders.
Zahara had told them what little information they’d been able to dig up about Genevieve. Her missing years from the record still remained a mystery, though it was assumed she lived in relative isolation to increase her power, periodically coming out of hiding in multiple failed attempts to gather followers to her side. It wasn’t until after Raphael’s death that she succeeded, gaining rogue members of the Order frustrated by its progress, and disillusioned by Raphael’s defeat.
Naomi turned her thoughts away from Genevieve and the Order. Today was for her and Alaric, to celebrate their future. Alaric had surprised her with an extended honeymoon to Bali; one of the few places Alaric hadn’t visited during his long life. It would be strange to take an actual vacation; but Naomi couldn’t wait.
She nodded at Kat, and together they made their way out to the garden to join the others.
Alaric didn’t take his eyes off her from the moment she stepped out the back doors, or during the entire ceremony. And Naomi kept her eyes on his, even during the hand fasting part of the ceremony. She reached out to envelop his hands with her own, and she murmured the words to the Binding spell. She watched as the bonds formed around her and Alaric’s hand, and together their feet lifted off the ground, the power of the spell holding them there as the witches below them spoke the words of a group Binding spell. The bonds around them extended, temporarily binding their bodies together. The bonds faded away as they settled back to the ground.
Marked Descendant (Descendants Book 2) Page 16