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.