During the chaos that ensued after the guards dragged Isobel out of the room, Alaric’s gaze remained trained on Naomi, pride and relief coursing through him.

Ever since the Alliance surrounded them in the forest, he’d been terrified for her. Even as his two witch guards used painful spells to try and force him to turn on her, his worries had only been for her. It was her last-minute thinking that had saved her—that had saved them all.

Even as several guards rushed forward to release him and the others from their chains, his eyes never left her. Naomi met his eyes through the hubbub around her. He braced himself for some trace of remnant anger in her expression, but he only saw the relief that matched his own. As soon as he was freed, she rushed towards him, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in the crook of his neck. He pulled her close, never wanting to let her go.

It was only Zahara’s panicked voice that pulled them apart.

“There’s been an earthquake in New York. It was minor, most humans didn’t detect it,” she said, rushing into the room, trailed by two Alliance guards. “My contacts there are telling me it wasn’t a natural occurrence—it was caused by magic.”

Alarm rippled through the room; Alaric went rigid with panic, looking down at Naomi, who went pale. He’d hoped that Isobel’s scornful words to Naomi were a bluff, but it looked like she was telling the truth.

Alaric, Naomi and the rest of their group rushed towards Zahara as she approached the other leaders.

“Zahara, I must apologize for taking you into custody,” Noah said, looking ashamed. “Isobel had us all fooled. We—“

“Now isn’t the time,” Zahara said, waving away his apology. “It’s ultimately Naomi and her group we all owe an apology to. They’ve been trying to warn us.” She turned to give them a brief nod, before turning back to Noah. “Do you trust everyone in this room?”

“Yes,” he said. “Isobel brought two witches with her. They’re the guards who tortured you, something the Alliance forbids,” he added, turning to give Alaric’s bruises an angry and regretful look. “We’ve taken them into custody as well.”

“Then we’re going to need everyone you trust,” Alaric said, stepping forward. “We need them all to come with us to stop Genevieve.”

* * *

Fear like Alaric had never known flowed through him as he sat in the back of one of the Alliance’s cars with Naomi and the others, racing to the airport where they would take a private plane to New York.

He and Naomi barely had a chance to speak as they’d left the Alliance’s compound, but he could tell how tense and anxious she was by the rigid way she held her shoulders, her ashen skin, and her thundering heartbeat. He wanted to reassure her, to comfort her, but something made him hesitate. Or do you want to persuade her not to fight? an inner voice taunted him. As the only one in their group with powers on the same level as Genevieve, Naomi would be front and center during the confrontation. And that’s what frightened him the most—not the prospect of Genevieve succeeding, which was what should concern him.

But Naomi was more than the woman he loved; she was a witch, a Descendant, and she’d chosen to use her powers to help them. And he couldn’t deny every brave thing that Naomi had done since he’d met her. She’d saved both their lives before she even knew she was a witch when two Order witches attempted to abduct her in Athens. She’d survived torture at Raphael’s hands. She’d destroyed the Incantation Stone and killed Raphael. She’d saved both their lives, again, when Genevieve nearly killed them in Seward Park. And just now, she’d cleverly exposed Isobel’s true nature to the Alliance, right when they were on the verge of defeat. Countless times she’d displayed her capabilities, her strengths.

And what had he done, time and time again? Insisted that she not fight, that she let him fight her battles, out of his selfish—and proprietary—fear of losing her. Guilt skittered through him. See me, Naomi had pleaded. He’d insisted that he did; he had continually told her how powerful she was when she doubted herself. But had he really seen her capabilities? Or had he only seen a distorted view of her through the filter of his fear?

He slid a glance at Naomi, who clenched her hands in her lap, her focus trained straight ahead. Though they sat close together, she might as well have been miles away. The irony suddenly struck him; it was his fear of losing her that was pushing her away, not some outside enemy. And if he didn’t overcome his fear, he would lose her.

Didn’t he owe it to her to embrace who she really was? Not just the intelligent and brave woman he’d fallen in love with, but the powerful witch she’d become.

* * *

When they landed at the airport in New York, he stopped her before she could leave the plane, reaching for her hand. She turned to face him, and her expression broke his heart. It was tense, wary; she expected him to discourage her from fighting, to express his fear, to somehow tell her he didn’t believe in her. And could he blame her? He’d done so repeatedly in the past.

“I see you, Naomi,” he whispered. Her eyes widened, as he continued, “I’ll shadow you—but only until we get to Genevieve’s final location. And then you’ll face her on your own. I know you can defeat her.”