Stroke of Midnight: A Midnight Breed Novella (The Midnight Breed Series) Read online

  part of her—maybe a part of every

  woman—who

  still

  wanted

  to

  believe in fairy tales and romance

  stories.

  She wanted to believe in

  eternal love and happy endings, but

  that’s not what awaited her on the

  other side of the powder room door.

  “The pact isn’t magic. And the

  handfast isn’t romantic. It’s all a

  bunch of silly, outdated nonsense.”

  “Well, call it what you will,”

  Leila murmured. “I think it’s

  charming.”

  “I

  doubt

  you’d

  be

  so

  enthusiastic if you were the one

  being yanked out of your world and

  all the things that matter to you, only

  to be dropped into some strange

  male’s

  lap

  as

  his

  captive

  plaything.” Sera considered her

  dreamy-eyed younger sister. “Or

  maybe you would.”

  Leila laughed and shook her

  head. “The handfast is only for a

  week. And you won’t be dropped

  into anyone’s lap or held against

  your will. You’re meant to get to

  know each other away from the

  distractions of the outside world.

  That’s all. Handfasting at the oasis

  retreat is symbolic more than

  anything else. Besides, I can think

  of worse things than spending a

  week in beautiful surroundings,

  getting to know a handsome Breed

  male. One who also happens to be a

  prince.”

  Sera scoffed. “A prince in

  name only. The old tribes of this

  region aren’t any more royal than

  you or me.” Which they weren’t.

  Adopted by Omar and Amina

  Sanhaja as infants from orphanages

  for the indigent, there was no

  chance of that. Sera cocked a

  curious look on her sister. “How do

  you know Jehan’s handsome? I

  thought you’ve never met him.”

  “I haven’t. But being Breed,

  he’s sure to have his mother’s

  chestnut brown hair and incredible

  blue eyes. The same as his brother,

  Marcel.”

  Sara rolled her eyes. “Well, I

  don’t care what he looks like and I

  don’t care about his pedigree either.

  I’m not looking for a mate, and if I

  was, I certainly wouldn’t be going

  about it this way.”

  Yet despite all of that—despite

  her unwillingness to be part of

  some antiquated agreement that had

  long outlived its expiration date as

  far as she was concerned—she

  knew she couldn’t walk away from

  her obligation to her family.

  Honoring

  the

  pact

  was

  important to her parents, which

  made it important to her as well.

  And there was another, more

  selfish reason she had finally

  conceded to come.

  Several

  hundred

  thousand

  reasons. The amount of her trust

  fund, which her father had agreed to

  release to her early. She would

  have it all at the end of the week—

  after her handfast with Jehan

  Mafakhir was over.

  Sera needed that money.

  As much as her father loved

  her, he knew she wouldn’t be able

  to turn away from what he had

  offered. Not when there was so

  much she could do with that kind of

  gift.

  That didn’t mean she had to

  like it.

  Nor did it mean she had to like

  Jehan Mafakhir.

  In fact, she was determined to

  avoid him as much as possible for

  the duration of their confinement

  together. If she was lucky, maybe

  they wouldn’t even need to speak to

  each other.

  Miserable with the whole

  idea, she exhaled a slow, defeated

  sigh. “It’s only for eight nights,

  right?”

  Leila nodded, then her eyes

  went wide at the sound of measured

  footsteps and deep voices in the

  hallway. Putting a finger to her lips,

  she cracked open the door and

  peered out. She reported to Sera in

  a hushed whisper. “Jehan just

  walked into the salon with his

  father and Marcel. You can’t leave

  him waiting. We have to get out of

  here right now!”

  The bubble of anxiety Sera had

  been fighting suddenly spiked into

  hot panic. “So soon? I thought I’d

  have a few more minutes before—”

  “Now,

  Sera!

  Let’s

  go!”

  Grabbing her by the arm, Leila

  opened the door and ushered her

  outside. As they moved toward the

  salon, Leila leaned in close to

  whisper next to Sera’s ear. “And I

  was right, by the way. He’s beyond

  handsome.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Jehan wasn’t sure what had

  presented the most convincing

  argument for his consenting to take

  part in the handfasting: his brother’s

  earnest persuasion on the ride to the

  Darkhaven, or his father’s stoic

  greeting and his resulting obvious,

  if unspoken, expectation that his

  eldest

  son

  would

  shirk

  his

  obligation to the family.

  If he’d been met with furious

  demands that he must pick up the

  mantle of responsibility concerning

  the pact with the Sanhajas, it would

  have been the easiest thing for

  Jehan to pivot on his heels and hoof

  his way back to Casablanca to catch

  the earliest flight back to Rome.

  But his father hadn’t blown up

  or slammed his fists into his desk

  when Jehan arrived in his study a

  few minutes ago to explain that he

  wanted no part in the duty waiting

  for him in the salon. Rahim

  Mafakhir had listened in thoughtful

  silence. Then he’d simply stood up

  and walked toward the door of his

  study without a word.

  Not that he’d needed to speak.

  His lack of reaction spoke volumes.

  He’d been anticipating Jehan’s

  refusal.

  He’d been fully prepared for

  his prodigal son to let him and the

  rest of the family down.

  And as much as Jehan had

  wanted to pretend he was okay with

  that, the fact was, it had stung.

  It had been at that precise

  moment—his father’s strong hand

  wrapped around the doorknob, his

  stern face grim with disappointment

  —that Jehan had blurted out words

  he was certain he’d live to regret.

  “I’ll do it,” he’d said
. “Eight

  nights with the Sanhaja female, as

  the pact requires. Nothing more.

  Then, after the handfast is over and

  my duty is fulfilled, I’ll go back to

  Rome and the pact can move on to

  the next of our kin in line to heed

  the call.”

  Now, as Jehan entered the

  salon with his father and Marcel, he

  felt a small spark of hope.

  She wasn’t there. Only his

  mother and an anxious-looking

  couple he assumed was Omar and

  Amina Sanhaja. No sign of the

  unmated

  Breedmate

  he

  was

  supposed to formally meet tonight.

  Holy shit. Dare he hope the

  Sanhajas’ daughter had called a

  stop to this farce?

  “Here we are!” An exuberant

  voice sounded brightly from behind

  him, killing his hope before it had a

  chance to fully catch fire.

  The voice belonged to a leggy

  blonde with a megawatt smile and

  pretty, pale green eyes. Attractive.

  Certainly cheerful and energetic. As

  far as temporary housemates went,

  Marcel was right—there were

  worse sentences he could endure.

  The blonde paused to glance

  behind her, and that was when

  Jehan realized his error.

  “Come on, Seraphina!” She

  grabbed the hand of a tall, curvy

  brunette

  who’d

  hesitated

  momentarily

  just

  outside

  the

  threshold.

  “Don’t

  be

  shy.

  Everyone’s waiting for you.”

  The blonde was lovely, as

  Marcel had assured him. But her

  reserved, darker-haired sister was

  something far more than that.

  Blessed with the figure of a

  goddess and the face of an angel,

  when she appeared in the doorway,

  Jehan could barely keep from

  gaping. He glanced briefly to his

  brother and met Marcel’s I-told-

  you-so grin.

  Damn.

  Seraphina Sanhaja was, in a

  word, extraordinary.

  Framed

  by

  a

  mane

  of

  cascading brown curls, a pair of

  long-lashed eyes the color of rich

  sandalwood flecked with gold

  lifted to meet Jehan’s arrested gaze.

  Her face was heart-shaped and

  delicate, an exotic artistry of fine

  bones and smooth, sun-kissed olive

  skin that glowed with rising pink

  color as she stared at him.

  How this stunning woman had

  managed to get past the age of

  twenty without some other Breed

  male locking her into a blood bond,

  Jehan couldn’t even imagine.

  His pulse stirred at the sight of

  her, sending heat into his veins.

  Even though he wasn’t in the market

  for a mate, as a hot-blooded Breed

  male, it was impossible to deny his

  body’s intense reaction to the

  female. He drew in a slow breath,

  his acute senses taking in the

  cinnamon-sweet scent of her and the

  subtle uptick of her heartbeat as he

  held her in his unblinking gaze.

  For a moment, he was sorry he

  didn’t have any use for tribal laws

  or ancient pacts that would put

  Seraphina Sanhaja in his company

  —better yet, in his bed—for the

  next eight nights.

  Her sister tugged her forward

  on a light giggle. “Isn’t this

  exciting?”

  Where Leila crackled with

  unbridled enthusiasm, Seraphina

  was nearly impossible to read. Her

  lush lips pursed a bit as she made a

  silent study of him, her expression

  carefully schooled, inscrutable.

  Standing before him, she was

  reticent and aloof.

  Assessing and... unimpressed?

  Jehan’s brows lifted. He didn’t

  want to admit the jab his ego took at

  her apparent lack of interest in him.

  With his thick, shoulder-length dark

  hair, tawny skin and light blue eyes,

  he’d never been at a loss for female

  attention.

  Oh, hell. What did he care if

  she didn’t like what she saw? The

  week ahead was going to pass a

  hell of a lot faster if he didn’t have

  to spend it with a blushing, eyelash-

  batting Breedmate who couldn’t

  wait to surrender her carotid to him.

  Jehan

  stared

  her

  down

  ruthlessly

  as

  the

  formal

  introductions were made.

  He was still trying to figure

  her out after what seemed like

  endless

  polite,

  if

  awkward

  conversation in the salon. Their

  parents made pleasant small talk

  together. Marcel and Leila fell into

  easy chatter about books and music

  and current events, both of them

  clearly striving to bring Jehan and

  Seraphina into the discussion.

  It wasn’t working.

  Jehan’s thoughts were back

  with his team in Rome. When he’d

  spoken earlier tonight with Lazaro

  Archer, he’d learned that rumors

  were

  circulating

  about

  Opus

  Nostrum moving weapons across

  Europe and possibly into Africa.

  Even though he was only going

  to be delayed from his missions

  with the Order for a week, he

  already itched to be suited up in his

  patrol gear and weapons, not

  stuffed into the white button-down,

  dark trousers, and gleaming black

  dress shoes he’d worn from the

  airport.

  As for Seraphina, Jehan got the

  feeling she was only seconds away

  from making a break for the nearest

  exit.

  The

  otherwise

  cool

  and

  collected female jumped when the

  clock struck twelve. Smiled wanly

  as her mother erupted into excited

  applause.

  “It’s time!” Amina Sanhaja

  crowed from across the room. “Go

  on now, you two. Go on!”

  As their families began to urge

  them out of the salon together, Jehan

  slanted a questioning look on

  Seraphina.

  “The midnight garden stroll,”

  she murmured under her breath, the

  first thing she’d said to him directly

  all night. She stared at him as if

  annoyed that she needed to explain.

  “It’s part of the tradition.”

  Ah,

  right.

  Marcel

  had

  mentioned something about that in

  the car when Jehan was only half-

  listening. He’d much rather
watch

  Seraphina’s mouth explaining it to

  him again.

  She softly cleared her throat.

  “At midnight, we’re supposed to

  walk together privately to mark the

  turning of the hourglass and the

  beginning of our—”

  “Sentence?”

  he

  prompted

  wryly.

  Surprise

  arched

  her

  fine

  brows.

  Jehan smirked and gestured for

  her to walk ahead of him. “Please,

  after you.”

  With their parents and siblings

  crowding the salon doorway behind

  them, he and Seraphina left the

  room and headed down the hallway,

  toward a pair of arched glass doors

  leading out to the moonlit gardens

  behind the Darkhaven estate.

  The night was cool and crisp

  in the desert, and infinitely dark.

  Above them stars glittered and a

  half-moon glowed milky white

  against an endless black velvet sky.

  It might have been romantic, if

  the woman walking alongside him

  didn’t take each delicate step as if

  she was being led to the gallows.

  She glanced behind them for about

  the sixth time in as many minutes.

  “Are they still there?” Jehan

  asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “All of them

  are standing in front of the glass,

  watching us.”

  He could fix that. “Come with

  me.”

  Taking her elbow in a loose

  hold, he ducked off the main garden

  path with her to one of the many

  winding paths that crisscrossed the

  manicured topiary and flowering,

  fragrant hedges.

  The sweet perfume of jasmine

  and roses laced the night air, but it

  was another scent—cinnamon and

  something far more exotic—that

  made him inhale a bit deeper as he

  brought Seraphina to a more private

  section of the gardens.

  She hung back a few paces,

  following him almost hitchingly in

  her strappy high heels. When he

  glanced over his shoulder, he found

  her pretty face pinched in a frown.

  Then she stopped completely and

  shook her head. “This is far

  enough.”

  “Relax, Seraphina. I’m not

  going to push you into the hibiscus

  and ravish you.”

  Her eyes widened for a

  second,

  but

  then

  her

  frown

  narrowed into an affronted scowl.

  “That’s not why I stopped. These

  shoes...they’re killing my feet.”

  Jehan walked back to her.

  Eyeing the tall spikes, he exhaled a

  low curse. “I don’t doubt they’re

  killing you. In the right hands, those

  things could be deadly weapons.”

  She smiled—a genuine, heart-

  stopping smile that was there and