Naomi couldn’t see a thing, and the sounds around her were muffled; Isobel had cast a combination Cloaking and Binding spell around her. She felt movement around her; she suspected she was in a car going . . . somewhere. She could only hope they weren’t leaving Seattle.

She was relieved that she’d concealed her mother’s grimoire amongst her things back at the bed and breakfast with several Cloaking spells; only she, Madalena or Casimir would be able to find it. She had already confined the counter to the Destruction spells to memory. Still, it was difficult to keep calm. Her instincts told her this was more than just a simple questioning; she was in danger. There was a traitor in the Alliance . . . and now she was at their mercy.

The movement around her came to a stop, and there was a firm pressure on her arm, helping her up. Cool air prickled at her bare skin; she smelled forest and damp earth. Nature. Not the smoggy air of a city. Dread coiled around her body, and her panic rose. Where the hell had they taken her?

Someone took her hand, and a tug of wind pulled her into a vortex of air, until she was again on solid ground. Someone had apparated her.

She stood there, shaking, as her vision and hearing were gradually restored. Disoriented, she looked around.

She stood in a nondescript windowless room; bare wooden floors, blank white walls, a round table and a few chairs. Isobel stood next to the table, her expression blank. They were the only ones in the room; Elisabetta was nowhere to be seen.

“Please,” Isobel said, though her tone was anything but polite, “have a seat.”

Naomi moved to one of the chairs, noticing that they were all bolted to the floor. Probably a protective measure. Was this some sort of detention center for witches?

She sat down, forcing herself to keep her breathing steady. Isobel remained standing, surveying her.

“Here’s something I don’t understand about you, Naomi. Descendants are the most powerful of witches. I’ve heard about how you’ve made the earth shake. Yet you went your whole life not knowing you were a witch. How is that possible?”

Naomi blinked. This wasn’t the question she’d expected.

“I thought witches and vampires were myth—like most humans. My parents placed a Locking spell on my magic. I’m sure this information is all in my file. I had nothing to do with Camille’s death,” she added, addressing the reason she was here. “Alaric and I questioned her, and then we left.”

“And what is it about that vampire? Alaric?” Isobel asked, her gaze sliding to Naomi’s hand, to the gimmel ring Alaric had given her.

“What?”

“Your mate.” Isobel spat the word like it was a slur. “Why have you chosen to mate with a vampire and not someone of your own kind? Purebloods are rare; Descendants rarer still. There are many pureblood witches you could’ve mated with. Your vampire is beautiful, yes, but most vampires are. It’s by design; their beauty is meant to ensnare, then kill. I don’t understand—“ Isobel’s voice rose, shaking with anger, “why you would risk your pure bloodline by mating with a Blood Beast.”

Naomi stared at her, icy fear spreading through her veins. Blood Beast. That was a slur the Order used for vampires.

“We were excited to discover we’d finally found a Descendant,” Isobel continued, her eyes roving over Naomi’s face, “and then . . . you were such a disappointment. First, your struggles with magic. And then turning on your own kind.”

Naomi gripped the edge of the table so tightly that her knuckles went white. This wasn’t at all about Camille’s murder. Either Isobel was simply prejudiced . . . or she was a member of the Order. The traitor in the Alliance. And Naomi was alone with her.

Her panic spiked and her hands began to shake, it seemed as if the air had been sucked out of the room. Think. She suspected the room had an anti-magical barrier on it. She tested her theory, silently casting a Summoning spell on the necklace that Isobel wore around her neck. Nothing happened.

Damn it. She couldn’t use her magic in here. She had to use her wits.

“I’ve been having . . . doubts,” Naomi murmured, lowering her eyes.

“Doubts?”

“Doubts about working with the Alliance. About—about mating with Alaric,” she said, meeting Isobel’s eyes, praying that her lies came across as truth. “I don’t want to waste my power.”

“What do you want?” Isobel asked, leaning down to grip the edge of the table.

“I—I want to join you. And Genevieve. Genevieve is blood, after all,” Naomi said, studying her closely. If Isobel wasn’t a traitor, she would recoil from her words.

But Isobel remained stoic, peering into her eyes. And then she threw her head back and laughed.

“You are a terrible liar,” Isobel said, amused. “Genevieve told me your mother was also a terrible liar.”

Naomi closed her eyes, shaking. She’d hoped she was being paranoid, that Isobel wasn’t the traitor. She was alone with her, and she had no idea where they were. How was she going to get out of this?

“Why?” Naomi breathed, desperate to keep Isobel talking. “Why are you doing this?”

“I wanted peace when I joined the Alliance. But then . . . I saw what was happening to our kind. Our numbers are dwindling; our bloodlines are being soiled by witches mating with humans and vampires. Do you think the vampires in the Alliance care that witches are dying out? No, they want to keep us close; they fear our magic. I hoped when we found a Descendant, things would be different. But you refused to sacrifice yourself for your kind; you chose to work against us. And then you—a rare pureblood—mated with a vampire,” Isobel hissed, shaking with rage.

Revulsion filled Naomi at her words; Isobel was just as bad as Raphael. But she had to keep her preoccupied while she figured a way out of this.

“Are there other members of the Alliance who feel the same way?”

Isobel stilled, and her eyes narrowed.

“I know what you’re doing. You’re not as clever as you think you are. There is no getting out of this, Naomi. Genevieve wanted to kill you herself, but I think she’ll forgive me if I do the honors.”

Isobel raised her hand. Panicked, Naomi used the last weapon in her arsenal; raw, genuine emotion.

“I don’t understand,” Naomi pleaded, “we don’t need to kill millions to survive. We can coexist with—“

“How many witches have been killed by humans? By vampires? Do you think human history books have covered even a fraction of the actual numbers? Do you not know how we have all suffered at their hands? You are fighting on the wrong side, Naomi. The Order was formed for our survival; we will do what we must to survive. We are the ones blessed with magic, but the Blood Beasts and humans rule the world! Raphael understood what needed to be done, and you killed him. Your own kind!” Isobel raged. “We don’t need you anymore; we have Genevieve. When she revealed herself as the true Descendant who will save us, I felt hope again. Our kind will rise above the—“

“Witches are responsible for my parents’ deaths,” Naomi cried, tears stinging her eyes. “Witches have abducted me, and tortured me, and tried to kill me. They turned on their own kind. But I still fight for them—for all creatures!”

“You’re naive, and you’re a fool!” Isobel snarled. Her eyes were wild, and she lifted her hand higher, on the verge of casting a spell. “You’ve lived in the human world all your life; you know nothing of the ways of true witches. It’s a shame such power has been wasted on you. I wanted to kill you the moment you first stepped into Alliance headquarters. I’m glad I finally have the chance. Itolaar!”

An invisible pressure coiled around Naomi’s throat. Her hands flew to her neck, and she struggled to breathe.

“I can use magic in here,” Isobel said calmly, answering the question in Naomi’s panicked eyes. “We will find other purebloods and deserving Descendants, we will rid the world of lesser creatures.”

Naomi fought for air; in seconds she would pass out. There had to be some way to use her magic, or—

The door crashed open. Naomi immediately recognized Blaize, one of the other leaders of the Alliance, the copper-eyed vampire who’d questioned her back in London. He halted at the sight of Naomi struggling to breathe, looking genuinely horrified.

“Isobel!” he shouted. “What are you doing? Release her!“

Isobel whirled towards him, releasing Naomi from her hold. She shouted the Killing spell, and Naomi watched in horror as Blaize slumped to the ground, dead.

Naomi stumbled to her feet, clutching her throat as she drew in much needed air. Terror nearly consumed her at the sight of Blaize’s dead body. Oh my God.

“Look at what you’ve done,” Isobel said, whirling back to face Naomi, fire in her eyes. “Killed a leader of the Alliance when he was just trying to question you. It’s a good thing I came in here to stop you before you could kill again.”

Isobel raised her hand. Naomi’s eyes darted to the door. It was open, which hopefully meant the magical barrier was no longer in place.

“Erel here sleri!” Naomi shouted. There was that familiar tug of wind, and she found herself in a long corridor outside the room Isobel had held her captive in.

She darted forward, too terrified to feel relieved. Isobel would soon be on her, and she still didn’t know where the hell she was. She needed to find an exit, and fast.

Up ahead, there was a door, a door she prayed led to an exit. She heard a crash on the other side, and then cries and shouts. She froze, hope filtering in through her panic. One of the voices belonged to Alaric.

“Cantair se yerel!”

Naomi turned, barely evading Isobel’s spell as she charged at her from the far end of the corridor.

“Cantair se yerel!” Naomi shouted, and Isobel went flying back.

Naomi turned and scrambled forward, throwing open the door, and she collided with a tall muscular vampire. She looked up, her fear shifting to relief.

It was Alaric.

“Naomi,” he whispered, his blue eyes filled with emotion as they roved over her face, as if he didn’t quite believe she was real.

Naomi heard Isobel’s cry of fury behind them. There was no time for celebration. She gripped Alaric’s arms, and they apparated from the hall.