“Given today’s events, we want to put guards on your group,” Zahara said.

Moments after the witch vanished from the alley, Alaric stood by the entrance to the warehouse with Zahara. Naomi and Madalena stood a few yards away, speaking in hushed tones, while Casimir and Elias were searching the surrounding neighborhood for any trace of the witch.

The Alliance had arrived not long after Madalena called them; Blaize, Isobel and several other members now combed through the warehouse, trying to determine if the Order members had left anything of use behind.

“No,” Alaric said. “No guards.”

“I beg your pardon?” Zahara asked sharply.

“You yourself said there may be a traitor in the Alliance. If one of the guards you assign is working for the Order—“

“I would place people we trust to guard Naomi,” Zahara snapped. “ I don’t like your insinuation, Alaric.”

“I just think it would be better to take my fiancée out of the city, to another safe house,” Alaric said, trying to keep his tone even.

“Fiancée?” Zahara echoed.

“I proposed to her this morning. I intend to mate with her in the way of witches. Brakij.” He wanted every witch he came into contact with to know this. Perhaps word would get to the traitor—or to anyone who wished Naomi harm—that she was bonded to a lethal and protective vampire.

Zahara studied him for a long moment. Something unreadable flickered in her eyes, and she nodded.

“Very well,” she said, “but keep us informed of your movements.”

“Of course,” Alaric said. She gave him a curt nod and walked away. Not bloody likely. He had no intention of telling the Alliance Naomi’s whereabouts once they left the city. Something about all this was suspect. As far as he knew, the witch who’d confronted Naomi in the alley could be working with the Alliance, and had lured them there on purpose.

Alaric turned to approach Naomi and Madalena. Though he was glad Naomi was unharmed, he was furious with her. Why had she darted into the alley like that? He knew she’d followed whatever magical instinct that led her there, but her action was reckless. Her bravery, one of the traits that made him fall for her, was also the one he found the most infuriating.

“We need to go to a safe house and leave the city,” he said, bracing himself for an argument, one he was determined to win.

“I agree,” Madalena said, and to his relief, Naomi nodded. “I’d feel better if we were off the radar. We need to find out exactly who that witch was.” She glanced over to where Zahara, Isobel and Blaize stood, lowering her voice. “And we should keep our location quiet from the leaders.”

Alaric nodded, glad that she shared his suspicions.

“I have a place we can go,” Elias said. Alaric turned as Elias approached them. “I have a farmhouse. About fifty miles north of the city.”

“That should work,” Alaric said. “Were you able to find any sign of that witch?”

“No,” Elias said, heaving a sigh. “Casimir’s still searching, but it looks like she’s gone.”

Alaric closed his eyes. He didn’t like the thought of a rogue witch out there, one who seemed murderously furious with Naomi. Until they located her, he’d have to keep Naomi out of sight, her protests be damned.

Naomi seemed to read his thoughts, and her body tensed. She looked away from him, turning to trail Madalena out of the warehouse. He watched her go, wary. There was an argument in their near future.

* * *

After collecting their things from the town home, they made the drive out of London to Elias’s farmhouse. Alaric and Naomi didn’t speak during the journey, not that there was a chance to, as Naomi remained locked in quiet conversation with Madalena, and he spoke to Casimir about his surveillance techniques. Still, the distance between them was palpable; he found it hard to believe that just this morning they’d celebrated their engagement.

They arrived just as the sun sank beyond the horizon. Elias’ home was a rambling seventeenth century farmhouse, with two stories, multiple chimneys and an attached barn. He stood back with Elias as Naomi, Madalena and Casimir all worked together to surround it with a Cloaking spell.

“I don’t think I knew about this one,” Alaric said, taking in the farmhouse. It was elegant and quaint at the same time. Elias had the most homes of any vampire he knew, and he’d told Alaric about most of them.

“I bought it on a whim fifty years ago. I’ve never made proper use of it. Somehow I knew it’d come in handy.”

“Are you certain no one knows about it?” Alaric asked, glancing around. It seemed isolated enough; the farmhouse was on the outskirts of a small town and surrounded by fields and forests in the near distance.

“Yes,” Elias said, looking insulted. “I want to keep Naomi safe too. I’ve come to care about her.” He held up his hands as Alaric glared, baring his fangs. “As a friend, of course. Jesus. I don’t want to be murdered.”

Alaric calmed, giving him a rueful smile, and Elias continued, “This reminds me of the farm I grew up on when I was human. My farm was much, much smaller, of course.”

Alaric looked at him, surprised. Elias had shared very little of his background with the group, but every once in awhile he gave them a tidbit. When Alaric first met Elias, he’d thought he was a playboy who joined the Alliance for fun and adventure. When he’d accused Elias of not loving anyone a few weeks ago, they’d gotten into a physical fight, and Alaric caught a glimpse of pain—and depth—in the vampire that he’d never seen before. It proved there was more to Elias than he’d thought.

He only knew several things about Elias. He was born as a human in America, he was two hundred years old, he owned a lot of homes, and something tragic happened that led him to join the Alliance. That last part was a guess, but it seemed to be a common thread amongst the witches and vampires who chose to join the Alliance, himself included.

As Alaric studied him, Elias’s expression shadowed, and he looked lost in some dark memory. Alaric wanted to press, to ask him what happened in the intervening years to take him from a human who lived on a farm to a jet setting playboy vampire who risked his life to work for the Alliance, but he held his tongue. Alaric knew what if felt like to be reticent about ones past; it was up to Elias to share on his own, whenever he was ready.

They filed into the house moments later. The interior of the house was sparse but surprisingly well-decorated, with textile rugs on the hardwood floors, paintings of natural landscapes on the walls, and matching beige furniture in each of the rooms.

“I’ve been thinking,” Naomi said, perching on an armchair once they’d all gathered in the drawing room. “Those Order members in London—why didn’t they track me down like last time? Why did they flee? Usually they’d do everything in their power to abduct me. I’m this rare creature, right? Maybe they’re no longer focused on me.”

Alaric stiffened, and his anger returned.

“Of course they’re focused on you,” he bit out, “just because Raphael is dead doesn’t mean the Order is no longer after you. They have more than one leader, we just haven’t been able to determine—“

“That witch who confronted me in the alley—she didn’t attempt to abduct me. If anything, she seemed intent on killing me. I think they’re after something else this time. I just don’t know what.”

“You heard the whispers of another Stone,” Alaric protested, “and if there’s another Stone—“

“They need a Descendant to activate it. I know. Which is why it’s baffling they didn’t try to abduct me.”

Alaric had to admit that Naomi had a point, but bloody hell, that didn’t mean she was no longer in danger.

“Naomi has a point, Alaric,” Madalena said. “I think we need to focus on finding that witch, and those Order members. I get the feeling that’s where our answers are.”

“I’m on it,” Casimir said, getting to his feet. Madalena and Elias trailed him out of the room, and Alaric was left with Naomi.

There was a brief moment of silence before Naomi stood, approaching him.

“If you’re angry with me—” she began.

“I am angry,” he interrupted. “What were you thinking, running into that alley alone?”

“I sensed an Order witch out there, of course I was going to go after her. Alaric, I love you. And I’m happy that we’re engaged. But you do not dictate what I do,” Naomi said sharply. “I won’t have deaths on my hands if the Order succeeds with—“

“All of us are just as invested in stopping them!” he snapped. “This doesn’t just rest on your shoulders!”

“How many times have I been told that I’m the only Descendant you’ve been able to find? This does rest on my shoulders. My parents died for me, Alaric. You don’t know what it’s like—to be told that I have all this power, that it’s up to me to stop the Order from killing millions!” Naomi cried. Her emotional state was affecting her magic; he could see it pulsing beneath her skin.

“You’re not listening to me,” he said, trying to contain his anger. If Naomi got more upset, her magic would erupt. “I just want you to—“

“Do what you say,” Naomi finished for him, her eyes flashing. “Well, I’m not. I won’t. I will take more risks, Alaric. It’s what I signed up for, and it’s what I expect to do.”

They glared at each other, mutual frustration and anger climbing the walls of their silence. Alaric gritted his fangs; Naomi was infuriatingly stubborn. They were at a stalemate.

He turned and used his speed to race out of the room, down the long hallway and out of the house. Night had fallen, and he inhaled the cool air. Blood; he needed blood, it was his drug of choice whenever anger seared his insides.

Alaric raced to the edge of the nearby forest. He was no longer the cold-blooded killer he’d once been, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t fantasize. He pictured the witch who had attacked Naomi, imagining himself draining her dry. He tore off his shirt and bared his fangs, pushing away all thoughts of his infuriating, stubborn, brave fiancée, allowing the darker thoughts to consume him, as he darted into the forest to feed.