Stroke of Midnight (Midnight Breed 13.5)

Her satisfied sigh as he freed her bare foot went through him even more powerfully than her touch. Gritting his teeth to discourage his fangs from punching out of his gums in heated response, Jehan made quick work of her other shoe, then stepped away from her.

“Better?” His voice had thickened. Along with another part of his anatomy.

“Much better.” She was looking at him cautiously as she took the pair of sandals from where they dangled off his fingertips. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” And it was. More than he might have wanted to admit. He cocked his head at her. “How old are you, Seraphina?”

“Excuse me?”

He immediately felt rude for asking, but there was a part of him that wanted to know. Needed to know. “We’re supposed to be getting to know each other, aren’t we?”

londe 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.”