Shadow Descendant (Descendants Book 1) Page 2

  He did know what the witches who were after her were capable of. A shudder went through him as he entered his apartment, recalling what he'd seen in the photos Madalena had shown him. He'd witnessed many horrible things in his long life, but it was the gruesome images in those photos that stuck with him.

  He pushed aside the memory of the photos as he dropped his keys onto the kitchen counter. The one-bedroom apartment the Alliance had provided for him was barebones, with just a bed, a couch, and some surveillance equipment.

  He moved over to his window, parting the blinds to look out. He could see into Naomi's apartment from his. Her routine once she returned home was also predictable: she would prepare and eat dinner, call or email her aunt, and then spend the rest of her evening working on research documents before falling asleep while reading a thick history or nonfiction book.

  Though her routine was predictable, Alaric enjoyed watching Naomi. He had to admit that it was partially due to her beauty—and she was beautiful. She was tall for a woman, with a slender yet lush body, long wavy brown hair she often wore in a messy ponytail, and wide hazel eyes, highlighted with hints of gold. Naomi's scent was a unique sweet smell of honey and roses. Her blood carried the same scent, but he'd trained himself to not linger on the scent of human blood.

  Her beauty and sweet scent certainly enhanced the experience of watching her, but it was something inexplicable that drew him to her. Something he couldn't place nor understand.

  He watched as she took out her laptop, opening it. Right on schedule, she was emailing her aunt. His cell rang as he watched her, and he answered.

  "How is she?" Madalena asked, her voice strained.

  Alaric tensed. The witch usually possessed an almost unnerving amount of calm. Something was wrong.

  "She's fine. Her routine was the same today," he replied. "What's wrong?"

  "We have a source who’s telling us Naomi's museum field team may have found what we've been looking for. The Incantation Stone."

  "What?" Alaric almost dropped the phone. "Are you certain?"

  "No," Madalena answered. "We're not. But if Naomi is who we think she is, the Stone should be affecting her. Are you sure she's not acting any different?"

  "No," Alaric replied, frowning as he studied Naomi. "I told you—her routine's been the same."

  "She's learned to ignore her instincts," Madalena replied, with a heavy sigh. "If her museum has the Stone, the Order will waste no time going after it—and Naomi. I need you to do something that goes beyond your Watcher duties."

  "What?"

  "We need you to go to the museum and steal it. We can't risk them getting their hands on it."

  Alaric hesitated. It wasn't stealing the Stone from the museum that made him nervous. It was leaving Naomi unguarded.

  "We'll have her under remote surveillance," Madalena said, as if reading his mind.

  "And the security cameras at the museum?"

  "Casimir is already on it," Madalena said.

  Alaric heaved a sigh. He studied Naomi, who now sat on her balcony, eating dinner. He quelled the surge of protectiveness that rose in his chest. His duty was foremost to the Alliance—he'd taken the Oath.

  "Very well," he said tightly. "I'll head out now. Text me when those cameras are down."

  Madalena told him what the Stone looked like and where to find it in the museum. After hanging up, Alaric moved over to his fridge, filled to the brim with packets of animal blood. He hadn't fed in days; he would need his energy in case he needed to fight. Taking out a packet, he tore it open, downing it in several gulps. Sometimes he missed human blood, but he had not drunk from a human in decades. And he'd vowed to never drink from a human again. Not after what happened.

  He left his apartment under the shadow of night, waiting until Naomi was asleep in her bed. He trusted Madalena and the team in London to watch her remotely, but he still needed his own assurance of her safety. Naomi was a creature of habit. Once she was in bed, she'd remain there until she awoke the next morning. For now, she was safe in her apartment.

  Alaric used his vampiric speed to get to the museum in minutes, hovering in a side street across from the building as he waited for Madalena's text. He'd been in the building many times; he knew its layout well.

  Madalena's text arrived an hour later, confirming the security cameras were out. Pocketing his phone, he darted across the street to the museum's back entrance. He easily unlocked the back door. For all the technological innovations humans had made in the centuries he'd been alive, locks weren't one of them.

  He made his way towards the archivist's office, halting in his tracks as he scented others in the museum. There were two other intruders. Witches.

  Bloody hell, Alaric thought, frustration filling him. He should have known this wouldn't be simple.

  He stood perfectly still. From the nearness of their scents, he could tell they were just around the corner. They were heading to the same place he was. They had to be from the Order. Which meant they were powerful.

  He weighed his options. The witches had magic, he had strength. The element of surprise would bolster his strength.

  Baring his fangs, he used his vampiric speed to race around the corner.

  A male and female witch stood there, dressed like tourists, but the disguises were useless. Unlike Naomi, innocently unaware of her own power, they wore their magical strength in every pore of their bodies; it emanated from them. They were both tall, as tall as he was, with the same aristocratic features and sandy blonde hair; they looked to be related. The male witch held out his hand, and the invisible force of a spell hurled Alaric against the wall. The female witch whirled, dashing down the corridor. She was going to get the artifact.

  Alaric gathered his bearings and leapt onto the male witch with a snarl, slamming him to the ground.

  "Blood Beast!" the witch hissed with fury. "Ishta en see—“

  Alaric recognized the words. A Killing spell. He reached down to snap his neck before he could complete it, but the witch once again hurled him back against the opposite wall.

  "Na stamatisei!"

  Alaric turned. A security guard charged towards them from the far end of the corridor, shouting at them in Greek. "The police have been called! Stay where you are!"

  The witch whirled towards the guard; Alaric could see him mouthing the words of the Killing spell. Alaric sped towards the guard. He grabbed him, darting to the museum's front entrance.

  "How did you do that?" the guard gasped. "We were just in that corridor a second ago and now we—“

  "You left the museum early due to a family emergency," Alaric interrupted, holding the guard's gaze with his steady one. His Greek was rusty; he hoped he got the words right. "You saw nothing. Repeat those words."

  “I—I left the museum due to a family emergency," the guard stammered, his eyes trained on Alaric's. "I saw nothing."

  "Good," Alaric said, relieved. "Now get out of here."

  The guard scurried away. Alaric sped back to the corridor, but he could no longer scent the witches.

  He raced to the archivist's office. The door was torn off its hinges, the contents of the office scattered all over the floor. He made his way to the collections shelf, scanning for the box labeled with the day's date. But it was empty.

  The Stone was gone.

  Chapter 3

  When Naomi awoke the next morning, she still felt groggy, as if she hadn't slept at all. Images of the artifact and those whispers had dominated her dreams.

  As she showered and dressed, she determined that she would find out everything she could about the artifact. Her preoccupation with it had only seemed to increase since yesterday. Maybe once she knew more about it, she could put it from her mind.

  When she arrived at the front doors of the museum, she noticed a printed out sign informing visitors that the museum was closed for the day and would reopen tomorrow. The sign gave no explanation as to why. Naomi frowned. No one had told her of any closures; curators were
the first to know.

  She entered the lobby, halting in her tracks when she saw several security guards in quiet discussion with two police officers. In the back of the lobby, police tape sealed off the staircase leading to the storage area.

  Her heart rate increasing, she hurried towards Emma, who stood to the side of the lobby with other members of the museum staff.

  "What happened?"

  "Some artifacts were stolen from the collection they brought in yesterday," Emma replied, shaking her head in disbelief. "Can you believe it? There's never been a theft here. They've brought in far more valuable items in the past."

  All of the air was sucked from Naomi's body. She knew in her gut that the artifact had been among the items stolen. An odd sense of bereavement seized her; she gripped the wall to prevent herself from swaying on her feet.

  "Naomi?" Emma whispered. "Are you—“

  Naomi ignored her, turning to stumble towards the storage area. But one of the security guards blocked her path.

  "The storage area is sealed off until the investigation is complete," he said firmly.

  "Do you know what happened? I'm one of the curators of the collection that was stolen," she said, showing him her employee badge.

  "Someone broke in last night and took several boxes from the field that were brought in yesterday. They shut down the security camera feed. That's all I know."

  They were after the artifact. Naomi didn't know how she knew this, but her certainty was absolute. There was something different about that artifact, and someone besides her knew it.

  "Stelios wants everyone in the conference room for an emergency meeting," Emma said, approaching Naomi with a water bottle.

  Naomi took it with a grateful nod, trailing Emma to the conference room with the rest of the museum staff.

  "There's a lot we don't know, so I'll focus on what we know," Stelios, the head of the museum, addressed them, once they were all gathered in the conference room. "One box of late Bronze Age artifacts was stolen last night. We're unclear about the motives; the Athens police department has taken on the investigation. In the meanwhile, we're increasing security in the museum. There was some damage done during the theft in the storage area, so we're having repairs done over the next few weeks. We're reopening the museum tomorrow for visitors."

  "At least my last day here was exciting," Emma said, as they filed out of the conference room after the meeting was over. "Want to come to lunch with us later? I know we're doing our own thing tonight, but my department's taking me out for a massive Greek lunch this afternoon."

  "Sure," Naomi absently replied.

  "You sure you're all right?"

  "I'm fine," Naomi snapped. She immediately regretted her curtness; Emma looked hurt. Naomi took a breath and gave her an apologetic smile.

  "Sorry. I guess I'm still in shock over the robbery. I was looking forward to studying one of those artifacts—I was going to see if I could help decipher some of the inscriptions. The academic in me is disappointed."

  When telling a lie, stick as close to the truth as possible. She had learned this the hard way over the years. Her answer seemed to satisfy Emma, who gave her a sympathetic nod before turning to head to her own office.

  For the next few hours, Naomi tried not to think too much about the robbery, but an overwhelming sense of loss filled her, like she'd been robbed of a precious heirloom. How could she feel this way about a random artifact? It made no logical sense.

  Still, frantic questions raced through her mind. Who stole the artifact? Why? And what was her connection to it?

  She leaned back in her chair, rubbing her eyes. Her gaze fell on a photograph of her parents she kept perched on the side of her crowded desk. They were both seated atop camels, grinning at the camera. The photo was from a research trip they'd taken to Egypt six months before they died.

  Her heart clenched as she studied the photograph. They complimented each other well. Her father had been tall and broad shouldered, with the hazel eyes she'd inherited. Her mother had been petite, her waist length brunette hair almost always tucked into a professorial bun, her eyes shining with intelligence. Naomi had caught the history bug from her parents; her mother had been a professor of antiquities, her father an archeologist. While her Aunt Kat encouraged Naomi's academic pursuits, and she was a grade school teacher herself, Kat didn't have the passion for history her parents possessed. An indecipherable Bronze Age artifact would have fascinated them. Maybe they would have been able to explain what it meant. Or her connection to it.

  But she squashed the thought. The unexplained anxiety that plagued her younger years had baffled them; they'd taken her to various therapists and doctors. They'd be just as clueless about her connection to the artifact.

  At lunch with Emma and her coworkers, Naomi participated in the conversation around her and laugh at everyone's jokes, pushing all thoughts of the stolen artifact aside.

  She sipped her lemon water, leaning back in her chair to take in the view. The restaurant was on the top floor of a building in the Kolonaki neighborhood, with a stunning panoramic view of Athens' white buildings that glittered beneath the midday sun.

  She froze when she felt the same sensation that had tickled her senses the previous day. The prickling sensation of eyes on her skin.

  She turned, scanning the other patrons of the restaurant, until her gaze landed on a man seated at a lone table. He was at least fifty feet away, but Naomi could tell that he was breathtakingly handsome. Even sitting down, she could tell that he was tall, with powerful broad shoulders beneath the dark suit jacket he wore. His hair was dark and wavy, he had finely carved cheekbones, a prominent brow, and a sensual, full mouth. Dark sunglasses shielded his eyes, but she sensed they were trained on her. They're blue, she thought, with absolute conviction. His eyes are cerulean blue.

  A sudden and unexpected wave of desire consumed her senses, and her mouth went dry. She couldn't take her eyes off him; it was as if time had been suspended at the sight of him.

  "Naomi, you have to settle this bet for us," Emma said, forcing her attention away from the handsome mystery man. "Who does a better impression of our boss—me or Giannis?"

  Naomi smiled, pretending to mull it over. "Giannis. Sorry, Emma," she said, as Emma's coworker Giannis grinned in triumph.

  "Traitor!" Emma pouted. Giannis and Emma's coworkers laughed. Still smiling, Naomi turned her focus back to where the man had been sitting. But he was gone.

  Despite the distractions of the stolen artifact and the handsome mystery man, Naomi had a productive day, finishing a research report and meeting with the marketing team about an upcoming exhibit.

  Naomi and Emma left the museum together after she said a final goodbye to her coworkers. Once they were in the bustling tavern, Naomi relaxed as she chatted with Emma about her plans once she returned to the States. Maybe it was a good thing the artifact was gone. It would fade from her mind, and she could add it to the long list of strange things that had happened to her over the years.

  "I'm just going to say it," Emma declared, during a lull in their conversation.

  Naomi tensed. Would Emma demand answers for her weird behavior during the past couple of days?

  "You need to get laid."

  "Emma!" Naomi blushed, though relief swept through her. Her nonexistent love life was an easy topic in comparison.

  "I think your preoccupation with that artifact proves you're too wrapped up in your job. I know we've talked about this—you're not interested in a relationship. But you're twenty-eight! Your twenties are almost over . . . you need to live a little! When was your last date?"

  "A few months ago," Naomi replied, feeling a little defensive. She'd met a nice businessman visiting from Chicago at a museum gala. They had a few perfunctory dates, one awkward night of sex, and that was the end of it. It followed the same pattern of Naomi's other brief relationships. She'd never been able to get close to anyone; there was too much she had to hide from a potential partner. How cou
ld she explain the whispers in her mind, the pull she felt to certain people and places, the constant sensation of restlessness? Especially considering she didn't understand it herself.

  "Who do you propose I go out with?" Naomi asked, with a teasing smile. "All our coworkers are married."

  "We set you up on a dating site or something," Emma said, shrugging. "Get you out of this bookworm existence. No offense."

  "Hey," Naomi said, with exaggerated mock offense. "I like my bookworm existence."

  "You know what I mean."

  "I'm only here for a couple more months. It doesn't make sense to establish a relationship when I'm leaving soon," Naomi said.

  "Where do you think you'll go next?"

  "I don't know." She'd considered applying for a position at a museum back in the States. It would make Kat happy; she lived in Seattle and Naomi had lived and worked at various museums in Europe for the past several years.

  But even at the thought, a part of her resisted. What if the artifact is still here in Greece? The thought came unbidden, and she dismissed it from her mind.

  "Come to New York," Emma urged. "Tom and I could set you up with one of our single friends."

  "Oh, that sounds tempting," Naomi said with a grimace. "Awkward double dates? No thank you."

  Emma gave her a playful scowl, but she dropped the subject.

  After their meal, they returned to Emma's apartment, where they each had a glass of Greek Malagousia wine on her balcony, gazing out at the bustling streets below.

  "I'll miss you," Emma said, setting down her wine to face Naomi. "We haven't known each other for that long. But I want you to know . . . you can talk to me. You know that, right?"

  Naomi stiffened, her grip tightening on her wine glass. Emma searched her face, as if waiting for her to unload. For a moment, Naomi considered it.

  "I see and hear things I can't explain. I often feel like I should be somewhere else, doing something else, but I don't know what. It's like wandering around in the dark, knowing I'll never find a light switch. I've always felt this way. I'm terrified that I'll always feel this way."