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

Page 7


  up on her staggering awareness of

  him as a man. As a dangerously

  seductive Breed male who could

  have her carotid caught in his teeth

  just as swiftly as he could have her

  legs parted beneath the driving

  pound of his muscular body.

  Sera swallowed hard, her

  breath and heart racing as she

  slowed to a stop before him.

  She glanced down, to where

  she was tethered to his strong hands

  by the unraveled length of red silk.

  Although she was covered

  where it counted, there wasn’t much

  of her dress left. Most of it lay on

  the floor at her feet; yards of scarlet

  pooled in the scant space between

  her body and Jehan’s.

  She licked her lips as she

  struggled for words. She should tell

  him to go, but everything female in

  her yearned for him to stay. She was

  no trembling virgin, no stranger to

  sex. But never with a Breed male.

  And the electricity that crackled to

  life between Jehan and her was

  something she’d never felt before.

  It was arresting.

  Consuming.

  Terrifying in its intensity.

  Yet it wasn’t fear of him she

  felt when she held his piercing light

  blue eyes. It was fear of herself and

  of the way he made her feel. Fear of

  the things he made her want.

  “Jehan, I...” She shook her

  head, unsure what she meant to say

  to him.

  Leave?

  Stay?

  Forget the fact that neither one

  of them had come to this place

  willingly, nor intended to walk

  away from the archaic tradition

  with a blood-bonded mate?

  But that’s not what this moment

  was about.

  What she saw in Jehan’s

  amber-swamped gaze right now

  didn’t have anything to do with their

  romantic

  surroundings

  or

  the

  expectation and hopes of their

  families. The things she was feeling

  had nothing to do with any of that

  either.

  It was desire, pure and simple.

  Immediate and intense.

  Her body throbbed with it,

  longing pounding furiously in her

  breast and stirring a molten heat in

  the center of her. She drew a

  shallow breath—then held it tight as

  Jehan reached out to caress her

  cheek. His warm fingers felt hard

  and strong against her face, but he

  stroked her with such tenderness,

  she couldn’t hold back the soft

  moan that spilled past her lips.

  She stood rooted in place

  while her thoughts and emotions

  spiraled with rising anticipation.

  The cool air of the room made

  her exposed skin feel even tighter.

  Her nipples ached behind the gauzy

  ribbons of silk that barely covered

  them. Goose bumps rose on her

  naked shoulders and arms with each

  second she endured under Jehan’s

  hot, unwavering stare.

  His fingers drifted away from

  her face slowly, then skated in a

  scorching trail down the side of her

  neck and onto the line of her left

  shoulder. She felt him trace the

  small red birthmark that rode her

  bicep—her Breedmate mark. His

  fingertips caressed the teardrop-

  and-crescent-moon

  symbol

  that

  signified she was something other

  than simply human.

  That mark also meant that if

  she drank his blood, she would be

  bound to him and only him, for as

  long as either of them lived.

  As if in answer to his touch,

  her veins vibrated with a primal

  quickening, pulse points throbbing

  in response to each tender stroke.

  “You

  are...so

  incredibly

  beautiful.” His deep voice was a

  growl of sound, tangling through his

  teeth and fangs. “But we made a

  deal, Seraphina.”

  She knew they had a deal. No

  looking. No touching. No physical

  contact of any kind. They had set

  clear boundaries and established

  separate corners where they could

  cohabitate for the week without

  having to spend any awkward time

  together. When the handfast was

  over, they would simply say their

  good-byes and return to their

  normal lives.

  So why was she wishing so

  desperately that Jehan would pull

  her into his arms?

  Why was she longing to feel

  the press of his muscled, hard body

  against her?

  Why

  was

  the

  coil

  of

  smoldering need within her winding

  tighter, all of her nerve endings on

  fire and eager for more of his

  touch?

  Eager

  for

  his

  kiss

  and

  everything that was certain to

  follow...

  But he didn’t kiss her.

  A snarl curled up from the

  back of his throat. An animal sound.

  An otherworldly sound.

  One of denial.

  He shook his head, sending the

  thick waves of his dark hair

  swaying where they brushed his

  broad shoulders. His hand dropped

  away, down to his side. On a slow

  exhale, he stepped back, creating a

  cold vacuum of space between

  them.

  He stooped to pick up the pool

  of red silk from the floor. He was

  retreating, yet when his gaze lifted

  to hers, his eyes still blazed with

  fiery desire, so hot it seared her.

  His fangs still glittered razor-sharp

  and hungered behind his lips.

  He wanted her. It was written

  in his fierce expression and in the

  arousal that made itself obvious

  when she glanced down at the

  sizable bulge tenting his loose linen

  pants.

  And he knew that she wanted

  him just as badly.

  She could see that knowledge

  gleaming in his arrogant, knowing

  stare.

  Damn him. He knew very

  well, and he was enjoying her

  torment!

  He placed the mound of silk

  into her hands, a grin tugging at the

  corner of his mouth. “Goodnight,

  Seraphina.”

  He pivoted back toward the

  door. Then he strode out of the

  room without so much as a

  backward glance, leaving her to

  stare

  after

  him,

  half-dressed,

  fuming, and determined to avoid the

  infuriating ass for the duration of

  her confinement with him.

  CHAPTER 8

  For the next two days, he

  hardly saw Se
raphina.

  She spent her evenings behind

  the closed door of the massive

  bedroom suite, pointedly ignoring

  his existence. During the daytime,

  she slipped outside to the villa’s

  sunbaked patio for hours on end,

  safely out of his reach and about as

  far away from his company as she

  could get.

  She was pissed off, punishing

  him with frosty silence and

  deliberate avoidance.

  Exactly as he’d intended when

  he’d left her high and dry—and as

  sexually frustrated as he was—that

  first night.

  Better to earn her contempt

  than test his control under the

  desire-drenched heat of her gaze

  again. Her absence was a reprieve

  he welcomed. Better that than trying

  to withstand the temptation of her

  enticing curves and infinitely soft

  skin, now that he knew the pleasure

  of both.

  Fuck. He’d only touched her

  for a few moments and the feel of

  her was branded into his fingertips.

  Her warmth and cinnamon-sugar

  scent was seared into his senses.

  Even though she was out of

  sight now—rummaging quietly in

  the kitchen, by the sound of it—all

  he had to do was close his eyes and

  there she was in his mind. Standing

  in front of him in nothing but a few

  scraps of scarlet silk, her parted

  lips and heavy-lidded eyes inviting

  him to touch her. To take her.

  No, pleading for him to do so.

  But he’d shown her, right?

  Pretending he was the one in

  control, denying both of them the

  pleasure they both wanted because

  he’d been too swamped with need

  to trust he could control himself.

  Now she was going to great lengths

  to ignore him, no doubt cursing him

  as a cold bastard. Meanwhile, he

  was walking around the villa like a

  caged animal with a semipermanent

  case of blue balls.

  Damn.

  He wasn’t only a bastard. He

  was an idiot.

  On a curse, he raked a hand

  through his hair and got up from the

  large floor cushion where he’d been

  unsuccessfully attempting to doze. It

  was just about sundown and he was

  twitchy with the need to be moving,

  to be doing something useful. Hell,

  he’d settle for doing anything at all.

  He’d never been good at

  inactivity and the boredom of his

  exile was driving him insane.

  More than once, he’d thought

  about slipping out in the middle of

  the night to run off some of his

  tension. Or say fuck the handfast

  and hoof it all the way to

  Casablanca and take the earliest

  flight to Rome.

  With his Breed genetics, he

  could make it to the city in about as

  many hours as it would take to

  drive it. Maybe sooner.

  Tempting.

  But

  he

  couldn’t

  leave

  Seraphina by herself out here. And

  as much as he wanted to get back to

  work going after Opus with his

  teammates at the Order, he wasn’t

  about to abandon his honor or his

  family’s by violating the terms of

  the pact.

  If she could endure the week

  together

  and

  adhere

  to

  the

  ridiculous restrictions imposed on

  them by the ancient agreement—in

  addition to their own set of rules—

  then so could he.

  And he supposed he really

  owed her an apology for the way he

  acted the other night.

  Padding silently on his bare

  feet, Jehan strode toward the

  kitchen where he’d heard her a

  minute ago. She had her back to

  him, seated on an overstuffed sofa

  in the adjacent dining nook.

  With her knees drawn up and

  her head bent down to study

  whatever she held in her hands, she

  didn’t even notice him stealing up

  behind her from the kitchen. At first,

  he thought she’d taken one of the

  many books from the villa’s library.

  But then he realized the small

  object was something else.

  A phone.

  In direct violation of the “no

  communication with the outside

  world” terms of the handfast.

  The sneaky little rebel.

  He opened his mouth to call

  her out on the breach, but then his

  acute sight caught the last few lines

  of a text message thread filling the

  display. Some guy named Karsten

  was asking her where she was and

  why she’d left him without saying

  where she’d gone. He was worried,

  he said. He needed her. Said he

  wasn’t any good without her.

  For reasons he didn’t want to

  examine, the idea that Seraphina

  had another man waiting for her

  somewhere—that

  she

  wouldn’t

  even mention that fact to him at any

  point when they talked—sent a

  streak of anger through Jehan’s

  veins.

  That she would look at him so

  wantonly the other night when this

  other male—what the fuck kind of

  name was Karsten, anyway?—

  obviously cared about her, needed

  her, made Jehan wonder if he’d

  read her wrong from the start.

  Of course, she’d already

  confessed to him that she only

  agreed to participate in the handfast

  to collect a handsome payout at the

  end. So, why should it surprise him

  to realize she was already spoken

  for?

  “You’re breaking the rules.”

  His voice was low and even,

  betraying none of the heat that was

  running through his veins.

  She startled so sharply, the

  phone practically leapt out of her

  fingers. She scrambled to keep it

  and whirled around on the sofa to

  gape at him in horror.

  “Jehan! I didn’t hear you come

  in the room.”

  “You don’t say.” He gestured

  to the phone now clutched tight to

  her breast. “How’d you get that in

  here?”

  She had the decency to look at

  least a little contrite. “I made Leila

  smuggle it in with the clothing she

  packed for me. She didn’t want to,

  but I insisted. How was I supposed

  to go an entire week completely cut

  off from everything?”

  “And

  everyone?”

  Jehan

  prompted. “Who’s Karsten?”

  Her face blanched. No need

  for her to ask him if he saw her

  texts. Her guilty look said it all.

  “He’s my partner.”

  “
Partner?”

  He

  practically

  snarled the word.

  “My

  coworker.

  Karsten

  volunteers with me at the border

  camps.”

  Some of Jehan’s irritation

  cooled at the explanation. “For a

  coworker, he sounds very eager to

  have you back. He’s no good

  without you?”

  Her expression relaxed into

  one of mild dismissal. “Karsten

  is...a bit dramatic. Right now, he’s

  concerned about a food and medical

  supply shipment that’s being held up

  at a checkpoint near Marrakesh.

  Normally I make sure things clear

  without delays, but unfortunately

  this shipment didn’t come in until

  after my parents called me home.”

  “What happens if the shipment

  doesn’t get cleared?”

  She crossed her arms over her

  breasts. “The food will rot and the

  medicine will spoil. It happens all

  too often.”

  “And this Karsten is unable to

  retrieve the supplies without you?”

  Jehan couldn’t mask his judgment of

  the other man. If necessary food and

  medicine were sitting somewhere

  waiting to be delivered, he’d make

  damn sure it got where it needed to

  go.

  Seraphina slipped off the sofa

  and walked to the marble-topped

  island where Jehan stood. “A lot of

  times, when things are delayed like

  this, my father’s name helps loosen

  them up. Sometimes, it’s a matter of

  finding the right palm to grease.”

  Jehan nodded. Corruption in

  local governments was nothing new.

  That Seraphina seemed comfortable

  navigating those tangled webs was

  impressive. She kept impressing

  him, and he wasn’t sure he should

  like it as much as he did. “What do

  you think will free up this shipment

  of supplies?”

  She shrugged faintly. “Does it

  matter? Karsten hasn’t been able to

  get them on his own so far, and by

  the time our week is out here, it’ll

  be too late. Food and medicine

  doesn’t last long in the desert.”

  No, he supposed it didn’t.

  But maybe there was some

  way to fix the situation.

  “You say you know the

  checkpoint where the supplies are

  being held up?”

  “It’s on the outskirts of

  Marrakesh. A lot of our materials

  pass through that same one.”

  Jehan considered. “That’s only

  a few hours away from here by

  car.”

  “What are you saying?” She

  frowned. “Jehan, what are you

  thinking?”

  “Let me borrow your phone.”

  She handed it over, still staring

  at him in question. Jehan entered his

  brother’s number and waited for

 

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