Shadow Descendant (Descendants Book 1) Page 14

  "I show one face to the world," Raphael said, his eyes intent on hers. "The rich carefree playboy. But all that matters to me is our kind. I want to preserve witches . . . help us flourish. Humans have their science and technology, vampires have their strength and supposed immortality. But we . . . we are the only creatures who can control the elements with our minds. We are the true masters of nature. Creatures like us shouldn't have to hide, Naomi. Nor should we die out. And we are. Our numbers dwindle while theirs flourish. This," he said, catching the floating Stone, "is what our ancestors wanted. I tried sacrificing another witch, whose line is mostly pure. But the spell wasn't unleashed. It must be a Descendant’s sacrifice."

  Horror filled Naomi at his words. She recalled the screams of the Stone in her mind back at the estate. Raphael had killed another witch in his attempt to activate the stone. She studied Raphael's handsome face, a face that concealed his monstrousness, a chill seeping into her bones.

  "This is a way to save our kind. We need your sacrifice for that to happen."

  "I know what activating the spell will do. I won't sacrifice my life for mass murder," Naomi bit out.

  "What life?" Raphael asked, eyebrows raised. "I know how difficult your life has been. Living life as a human with all that unused power. Madalena lied to you. You'll never be able to control your magic after all this time; it will always overwhelm you. Don't you want to silence the noise? The whispers? Your sacrifice will give you peace. It behooves me to speak ill of fellow witches," he continued, heaving a sigh, "but it was cruel what your parents did to you. Locking away your magic like that. We would have eventually found you, no matter what they did."

  "Don't talk about my parents!" Naomi cried. Rage swelled in her chest. How dare he even mention them. Had he been one of the witches to kill them? "Witches killed my parents—their own kind!"

  "We wouldn't kill fellow witches." Again, Raphael looked affronted. "We want to protect our own, that's why the Order was formed. Your parents took their own lives."

  Naomi stilled. Her entire body went cold. She shook her head, tears blurring her vision.

  "No," she whispered, her throat dry. "You're—“

  "They chose to take their own lives rather than join us. They chose their own interests above the needs of our kind," he continued, his eyes darkening.

  "I don't believe—“

  Raphael was before her in a flash; she jerked back as he pressed his hands to the side of her face, and Naomi's surroundings faded away.

  Her parents drove down an icy country road. A car tailed them, closing in on them fast. Her mother looked at her father, tears streaming down her face. She reached out to link her hand through his, giving him a small nod.

  Her father deliberately jerked the car to the right. The car swerved and then flipped, landing on its side.

  Her parents flew from the car and landed on the ground; injured but alive. They crawled out from the turned over car.

  In the distance, several figures emerged from the car that had trailed them. They slowly approached.

  Her father reached for her mother's hand.

  "Naomi," her mother whispered. "This is for Naomi."

  "For Naomi," her father echoed, his voice breaking.

  The figures were closing in on them. Her mother nodded. Their eyes locked as they mutually whispered a spell. Their bodies stiffened, and their eyes drifted shut.

  Naomi was suddenly back in the room with Raphael. Grief had seized her by the throat; she couldn't breathe. She leaned forward, and sobs erupted from her. In the vision, she'd felt everything her parents had—agony, terror, anguish.

  Now, all she could think about was the last time she'd seen them. They'd dropped her off at Kat's, and held her in their arms for such a long embrace she'd grown impatient.

  "Mom, Dad, come on," she'd said, impatient to get back to the television show she'd been watching. "I'll see you when you get back from your trip."

  "One more," her mother had whispered, pulling her into her arms for another embrace, burying her face in her hair.

  Naomi had lingered over her last moments with her parents scores of times in the ensuing years. Now she knew why they'd seemed so shaken. Had they known? Had they known they were about to die?

  "They chose to leave their own daughter rather than help their kind." Raphael's voice was close to her ear. "Don't be fools like them. You are a pureblood Descendant. It's your obligation to help your kind. But it has to be your voluntary sacrifice. Your sacrifice and a single word is all that's needed to unleash the spell. Seffa."

  Naomi sobs subsided. She stilled.

  She sat up, gazing into Raphael's determined eyes. These people had driven her parents to suicide, wanted to kill millions of people, and he thought she would help them by taking her own life? Fury snaked through her, and she opened her mouth to utter a spell.

  If you ever use this spell, Madalena had told her, back at Alaric's estate, make sure you mean it.

  "Elei ferve neim—" she began, but Raphael held up his hand. He'd easily countered her; she couldn't move her lips to complete the Killing spell.

  He shot to his feet, fury contorting his handsome feature. He closed his eyes as if attempting to calm himself. When he opened them, genuine regret lurked in their depths.

  "I didn't want to do it this way. Not to a pureblood. But you've given me no choice. Remember, the knife is your way out. A clean slice here will end your pain,” he said, drawing a line across his throat.

  Naomi flinched as he again reached for her, murmuring something beneath his breath as his hands slid along the sides of her face.

  "You will see many things. But I'll start with the Blood Beast who desires you. Do you know what he's capable of? Blood Beasts are vicious killers. Don't let their civilized appearances fool you."

  He moved to the doorway, turning back to give her another regretful look.

  "Goodbye, Naomi. In spite of your refusal, I'll make sure your sacrifice is remembered."

  He left.

  Panicked, Naomi looked down at her arms, still strapped by invisible bonds to the chair. She had to free herself. She had to—

  But before she could complete her thought, the agony began.

  Chapter 23

  Alaric was rage and grief.

  Naomi was gone. He'd once again failed to protect her.

  In the hours since she'd vanished with Raphael, he felt as if a part of him was missing.

  They were still in Raphael's home, combing every square inch of it for any sign of where they'd gone. Now, he stood in the corner of the massive dining room, unable to concentrate on what Madalena and the others were discussing. His protective instincts had gone into overdrive; his entire body on edge, his senses screaming at him to find her now.

  They had fought off Raphael's other witches who entered the room after Naomi and Raphael disappeared. Alaric killed them viciously; he'd even seen a look of horror flicker across Madalena's face as he ripped out the throat of one witch with his teeth and tore out the heart of another with his bare hands. This is who I am, he said to her with just a look, darting to the first floor, where he helped an injured Casimir dispatch another two of Raphael's henchmen.

  Madalena had used a Binding spell on one of Raphael's witches, keeping him alive so they could question him, though Elias had to restrain Alaric from killing him. The witch had remained mute; he was now tied up in the cellar.

  The others stood around Casimir's laptop in the dining room, trying to hack into Raphael's communications network to get any trace of his location. But Alaric knew it was useless; Raphael had been expecting them. He wouldn't leave an electronic trace of his movements behind.

  Why hadn't he listened to his instincts? He should have sent Naomi away, put her in a thrall to make her change her name and move far away, where they couldn't find her, the Alliance's cause—and his own feelings—be damned.

  He clenched his fists as he recalled the fear on Naomi's face as Raphael grabbed her. Searing fury s
corched his insides as he thought about what Raphael could be doing to her now.

  A dark pleasure rippled through him at the thought of killing Raphael; this time he welcomed his old bloodlust like an old friend. He'd need it for Raphael. He would get her back; he didn't care how many he had to kill to do so.

  "Try the main network again," Madalena said to Casimir, "if he flew somewhere, there should be some indication."

  Screw this. He left the room, Madalena and Elias' eyes trailing him as he left. He would get answers out of Raphael's witch.

  When he entered the cellar, he took great pleasure in the look of fear that flared in the witch's eyes. He smiled, showing his fangs.

  "Hello," he said pleasantly. "I'm what you call a Blood Beast. At first I hated that slur, but you know what? It fits."

  "If you kill him, we don't find Naomi," Madalena snapped.

  It was an hour later. Alaric stood calmly opposite the witch who lay sprawled out in the center of the floor, his skin ash white from blood loss, his throat jagged and torn. Every so often, the witch let out soft whimpers of pain.

  "Leave me, Madalena," Alaric said, his focus never leaving the witch. "I'm not finished with him yet."

  "Yes, you are. Alaric," she said, moving forward to grip his arm, forcing him to look at her. "This is not you. Not anymore. We can—“

  "This is who I am," Alaric snarled. "And had I listened to my instincts, Naomi would still be with us."

  "She will never love you."

  Alaric stiffened. The faint words came from the dying witch. Even through his pain, contempt filled his eyes as he looked at Alaric.

  "Our Descendant. She will never love someone like you, Blood Beast. A pureblood does not belong with—“

  Alaric growled; the witch's words cut him deep. He moved towards the witch, but his body froze mid stride. Madalena had used one of her bloody Binding spells on him.

  "Release me, Madalena," he barked.

  "No," Madalena returned, "we need him alive. I won't have you killing him for the sake of your ego."

  She moved forward, squatting down in front of the witch. She reached out, placing her hands on the sides of his face, and the witch began to shake. He closed his eyes, moaning in agony.

  "I don't like doing this," Madalena said. "Just tell us where Raphael took Naomi, and this can all go away. Tell us."

  The witch stiffened, his eyes going white for a split second.

  "Heshedi," he whispered. But his eyes returned to their natural brown, and he glared at Madalena. "You are a traitor to your kind!"

  "Heshedi," Madalena repeated, ignoring his outburst. "Tell me more. Is that—“

  The witch looked away from Madalena, shut his eyes, and murmured a spell beneath his breath. Madalena cried out.

  "NO!"

  He watched in astonishment as the witch stiffened, his eyes fluttering shut. Alaric heard his heartbeat slow and then stop. Naomi closed her eyes, her shoulders slumping.

  Alaric could move again. He stepped forward, kneeling down in front of the now dead witch.

  "It was a Suicide spell," she whispered. "He—he didn't want to reveal anything. I drove him to it."

  "Don't tell me you feel guilty," Alaric said, shaking his head in disbelief. "In my opinion, we kept him alive too long."

  "Well, some of us don't enjoy blood on our hands," Madalena snapped. She looked down at the witch, her green eyes filling with tears.

  Alaric fell silent. Madalena was no killer; he could see how rattled she was. But he would not waste time mourning for someone who wanted to see them all dead. He cleared his throat.

  "What did he say to you?"

  "It was cryptic. The word means either island or isolated in the ancient language," Madalena said, rubbing her eyes.

  "Island," Alaric murmured. "Does it mean that Raphael took Naomi to an island?"

  "That's what I was trying to find out," Madalena said, looking down at the witch with frustration and regret.

  He turned on his heel and darted out of the cellar and back up the stairs, leaving Madalena behind. There was no time for conjecture—only action.

  Casimir and Elias were still huddled around his laptop.

  "Islands," Alaric said, as he sped into the room. "Search for any islands that Raphael or the Order has a connection to."

  "What—“

  "Do it," Alaric bit out.

  Casimir studied him for a brief moment, but he obeyed. We're coming for you, Naomi, Alaric promised, wishing there was some way she could hear him. I'm coming for you. Hold on.

  Chapter 24

  Horrible visions consumed Naomi's mind; visions she couldn't escape from. She saw Alaric from various points in the past, killing humans, witches, and fellow vampires. His blue eyes were shadowed and empty, his fangs stained with his victims' blood, his face alight with a murderous fervor; this was not the Alaric she knew.

  Some images lasted only seconds while others lasted minutes. She watched, dazed and horrified, as Alaric grabbed his victims by their necks, sinking his fangs into their throats, gleefully draining them of their blood. She could feel the physical and mental pain of each of his victims; the agony that skittered through their bones as their lives drained away. The victims she saw him kill were numerous and from all walks of life; men and women, young and old. Some taunted and jeered at him, others begged for their lives. Each time he slaughtered them with his fangs or bare hands. Each death felt as if it were her own.

  When the scenes of Alaric faded, they were replaced by images of various unknown witches, tortured at the hands of humans and vampires. She saw flashes of them being hanged, raped and tortured; she saw humans call for their blood, vampires leaping onto them and snapping their necks as they tried to flee. Just like Alaric's victims, she experienced their agony, and every death.

  She saw her parents' deaths, over and over again, as they flew out of their overturned car and whispered the spell that took their own lives.

  Soon, Naomi felt inextricably entwined with what she was seeing, as if they were a part of her; she could not separate herself as she watched the torturous scenes and experienced the torment of the victims, over and over again.

  Suddenly, she was back in the ceremonial room, hunched forward in her chair like a limp rag doll. Raphael kneeled before her, his eyes holding hers.

  "I didn't want to do this, Naomi," he whispered, "truly. But we need your sacrifice. This can all be over. All you have to do is end this."

  He gestured down at the knife that still rested in her lap. She wanted nothing more than to jam it in his throat. She reached for it and struggled to do just that, but the knife wouldn't allow her to turn it on Raphael; an invisible force blocked it.

  "I see where you stand," he said, heaving an impatient sigh.

  He touched the sides of her face, and the dark scenes again filled her mind. She tried to detach herself from the violent images that consumed her, to not react to Alaric's killing sprees, to her parents' anguish as they died, to the screams of witches as humans hung and burned them.

  "You can make this end, Naomi."

  Once again, she was back in the room with Raphael. He gestured towards the knife.

  "It can all be over."

  Naomi found her voice, weakly meeting his eyes, even as tears of grief streamed down her face.

  "No," she rasped. "Never."

  The third time she came to, she almost gave in. The knife in her lap looked tantalizing; a means to end the horror she was forced to endure in her mind.

  "Seffa," Raphael whispered. He was kneeling in front of her; she glimpsed a trace of compassion in his eyes. "Use the knife, Naomi. You can have something you've never had before. Peace."

  She closed her eyes. She thought of the persistent turmoil that plagued her mind during her years of ignorance; the whispers that invaded her mind since unlocking her magic. Peace was tempting. So was the prospect of never having to endure what she saw in her mind again.

  But then, unbidden, Alaric's face
flickered in her mind. Not the Alaric that Raphael forced her to see; the Alaric she knew. Alaric in her apartment, rescuing her from the Order. Alaric talking to her on the balcony in London, urging her to embrace her power. Alaric entering her guest bedroom at the estate, joy shining in his eyes at the sight of her. Alaric guiding her through the gardens of his estate, his eyes intent on hers as she told him about her parents, her life, as if hungry for every detail about her. His mouth probing hers as they kissed, his body languorously moving against hers as they made love. The look of wild anguish on his face as Raphael abducted her.

  She thought of Kat; holding her as she wept after her parents' funerals. I can't replace their love for you, Kat had said, her own eyes glistening. But I will love you just as fiercely. I will always be your family. You will always have me.

  And she thought of her parents' sacrifice. Beneath their pain, as they took their own lives, was an all-consuming love for her.

  Naomi met Raphael's eyes, defiance obliterating her despair. She spat on the knife. Raphael's eyes hardened; the hint of compassion that had lurked there vanished.

  And she was once again back in her mind.

  This time, she forced herself to detach from the horrific images of death and torture. The thoughts of Alaric, Kat and her parents had invigorated her. She wouldn't give in to Raphael or to the Order. She would survive this.

  When she found herself back in the room with Raphael, his eyes burned with rage.

  "You still fantasize about that Blood Beast after I showed you what he's done—what he and his kind are capable of. You," he spat, advancing towards her, "are not deserving of your status as a pureblood. You should be honored to—“

  "Please," she croaked, hoping that she sounded convincing. "I'll do it. I just want this to end."

  Raphael halted; surprise flickering across his face. He stilled as she reached for the knife, pressing it to the delicate flesh of her throat.

  She prayed that this would work.