His comrade let out a bark of a laugh. “Well, shit. Congratulations, Your Highness. This is one lottery I’m happy as hell I won’t be winning.”
Jehan grumbled a curse in reply. Although he didn’t find much humor in the situation, his friend seemed annoyingly amused.
Sav was still chuckling as they resumed their march up the alleyway. “When is this joyous occasion supposed to take place?”
“Tomorrow,” Jehan muttered.
There was a period of handfasting with the female in question, but the details of the whole process were murky. In truth, he’d never paid much attention to the fine print of the pact because he hadn’t imagined there would be a need to know.
He didn’t really expect he needed to understand it now either, as he had no intention of participating in the antiquated exercise. But like it or not, he respected his father too much to disgrace him or the family by refusing to respond to their summons.
So it seemed he had little choice but to return to the family Darkhaven in Morocco and deliver his regrets in person.
He could only hope his father might respect his prodigal eldest son enough to free him from this ridiculous obligation and the unwanted shackle that awaited him at the end of it.
CHAPTER 2
Eighteen hours later and fresh off his flight to Casablanca, Jehan sat in the passenger seat of his younger brother’s glossy black Lamborghini as it sped toward the Mafakhir family Darkhaven about an hour outside the city.
“Father didn’t think you’d come.” Marcel glanced at Jehan briefly, his forearm slung casually over the steering wheel as the sleek Aventador ate up the moonlit stretch of highway, prowling past other vehicles as if they were standing still. “I have to admit, I wasn’t sure you’d actually show up either. Only Mother seemed confident you wouldn’t just tear up the message and send it back home with Naveen as confetti.”
“I didn’t realize that was an option.”
“Very funny,” Marcel replied with another sidelong look.
Jehan turned his attention to the darkened desert landscape outside the window. He’d been questioning his sanity in answering the family summons even before he’d left Rome.
His Order team commander, Lazaro Archer, hadn’t been enthused to hear about the obligation either, especially when things were heating up against Opus Nostrum and a hundred other pressing concerns. Jehan had assured Lazaro that the unplanned leave was merely a formality and that he’d be back on patrol as quickly as possible—without the burden of an unwanted Breedmate in tow.
Marcel maneuvered around a small convoy of humanitarian supply trucks, no doubt on their way to one of the many remote villages or refugee camps that had existed in this part of the world for centuries. Once the road opened up, he buried the gas pedal again.
If only they were heading away from the family compound at breakneck speed, rather than toward it.
“Mother’s had the entire Darkhaven buzzing with plans and arrangements ever since you called last night.” Marcel spoke over the deep snarl of the engine. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen her so excited.”
Jehan groaned. “I’m here, but that doesn’t mean I intend to go through with any of this.”
“What?” Jehan looked over and found his only sibling’s face slack with incredulity. His light blue eyes, so like Jehan’s own—a color inherited from their French beauty of a mother—were wide under Marcel’s tousled crown of brown waves. “You have to go through with it. There’s no blood bond between the Mafakhirs and the Sanhajas anymore. Not since our cousin and his Breedmate died a year ago.”
When Jehan didn’t immediately acknowledge the severity of the problem, his brother frowned. “If a year and a day should pass without a natural mating occurring between the families, the terms of the pact specifically state—”
“I know what they state. I also know those terms were written up during a very different time. We don’t live in the Middle Ages anymore.” And thank fuck for that, he mentally amended. “The pact is a relic that needs to be retired. Hopefully it won’t take too much convincing to make our father understand that.”
Marcel went quiet as they veered off the highway and set a course for the rambling stretch of desert acreage that comprised their family’s Darkhaven property. In a few short minutes, they turned onto the private road.
The family lands were lush and expansive. Thick clusters of palm trees spiked black against the night sky, small oases amid the vast spread of dark, silken sand. Up ahead was the iron gate and tall brick perimeter wall that secured the massive compound where Jehan had grown up.
Even before they approached the luxurious Darkhaven, his feet twitched inside his boots with the urge to run.
While they paused outside the gate and waited to be admitted inside, Marcel pivoted in his seat toward Jehan. His youthful, twenty-four-year-old face was solemn. “The pact has never been broken. You know that, right? Not once in all of the six-and-a-half centuries it’s been in place. It’s not a relic. It’s tradition. That kind of thing may not be sacred to you, but it is to our parents. It’s sacred to the Sanhajas too.”
His brother was so earnest, maybe there was another way to dodge this bullet. “If you feel that strongly about it, why don’t you pick up the torch instead? Take my place and I can turn around right now and go back to my work with the Order.”
“Ohh, no.” He vigorously shook his head. “Even if I wanted to—which I don’t—without another mated couple occurring naturally between our families, the pact calls for the eldest son of the eldest male of our line. That means you. Besides, there are worse fates. Seraphina Sanhaja is a gorgeous woman.”
Seraphina. It was the first time he’d heard the name of his intended. A silken, exotic name. Just the sound of it made Jehan’s blood course a bit hotter in his veins. He dismissed the sensation with a sharp sigh as he stared at his brother. He couldn’t deny that a part of him was intrigued to know more. “You’ve seen her?”
Marcel nodded. “She and her sister, Leila, are both stunning.”