Stroke of Midnight (Midnight Breed 13.5)

“To be honest, I haven’t given the idea of a blood bond a lot of thought. My life is full and I keep busy enough with other things.”

She started walking away from him, her bare feet moving softly, fluidly, along the bricked path. And he couldn’t help noticing she hadn’t really answered his question.

He strode up next to her. “What kind of things have kept you so busy that you’re still unmated and nearing the ripe old age of thirty?”

She scoffed, but there was humor in her tone. “Important things.”

“Such as?”

“I volunteer at some of the border camps, taking care of people who’ve been displaced by wars and other disasters. I guess you could say it’s been something of a calling for me.”

Well, he hadn’t been expecting that. Granted, she didn’t seem the type to flutter around in fancy dresses and high-heeled sandals all day, but he also wouldn’t have imagined a stunning woman like her spending her time covered in dust and sweat. Or putting herself in harm’s way in those turbulent areas that had never known peace, even before the wars between the humans and the Breed.

“What about you, Jehan?”

“What about me?”

“For starters, how old are you?”

“Thirty-three.”

She glanced at him. “Younger than I expected. But then it’s impossible to guess a Breed male’s age. It’s always seemed unfair to me that your kind never looks older than thirty, even the Gen Ones who’ve been around for centuries.”

Jehan lifted his shoulder. “A small consolation for the fact that we can never put our faces in the sunlight. Unlike your kind.”

“Hm. I guess that’s true.” She tilted her head at him. “What exactly do you do in Rome?”

“I’m part of the Order. Captain of my unit,” he added, not sure why he felt the need to impress her with his elevated rank.

She stopped dead in her tracks again, and something told him it didn’t have anything to do with sore feet. A chill rolled off her as Jehan pivoted to look at her. She barked out a brittle laugh and shook her head. “No wonder they didn’t tell me anything about you.”

“Who?”

“My parents.” Her arms crossed rigidly over her chest. “If they’d mentioned you were part of that brutal organization, there’s no way in hell I would’ve agreed to any of this. No matter what leverage they used to try to convince me.”

Jehan’s suspicions rankled along with his pride. “You have a problem with the Order?”

“I have a problem with cold-blooded killers.”

Was she serious? “My brethren and I are not—”

She didn’t let him finish. “I’ve devoted myself—everything I am—to saving lives. You’re in the business of taking them.” When he exhaled a tight curse and shook his head, she gave him a sharp look. “How many people have you killed?”

“Me personally, or—”

“I think that answers my question.” She moved past him and started walking away at a swift clip.

He caught up in a handful of strides. “There’s nothing cold-blooded about what the Order does. Are we brutal sometimes? Only when there’s no other choice. But we call it justice. We’re protectors, not killers.”

“Semantics.”

“No, it’s reality, Seraphina.” When she didn’t slow her pace, he reached out and caught her arm. She flinched at the contact. He wondered if it was purely out of indignation or the fact that even though a chill had expanded between them, the heat of attraction still sparked to life the instant they touched. Her pulse fluttered at the base of her elegant throat, her heart pounding so hard and fast he could feel it through his fingertips.

His entire body responded to that frantic drumming, his veins heating, his fangs prickling as they elongated behind his closed lips. His cock responded just as hungrily, pressing in demand against the zipper of his trousers.

She pulled out of his grasp. “I can’t do this. You need to know that I have no interest in any kind of handfast, and I’m not looking for a blood bond. Especially with you.”

Jehan drew back. “You don’t want to be part of this because you just found out I belong to the Order?”