by Shayla Black
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.”
Not surprising, considering they were Breedmates. Although they didn’t have the vampiric traits of Jehan’s kind, the half-human, half-Atlantean females called Breedmates were flawless beauties without exception. His Paris-born mother was testament to that. As was Lazaro Archer’s flame-haired Breedmate back in Rome, Melena.
“So, what’s wrong with her, then?” Jehan murmured. “Let me guess. She’s a miserable, bickering shrew? Or is it worse, a meek little mouse who’s afraid of her own shadow?”
“She’s neither.” Marcel grinned as he eased the Lamborghini through the opened gates. “She’s lovely, Jehan. You’ll see for yourself soon enough.”
“Not if I have anything to say about that.” Crossing his arms, he sat back in the buttery soft leather seat. “I have a return flight to Rome tomorrow. I figure that gives me plenty of time to convey my regrets to our parents and get the hell out of here.”
“You can’t do that. Everything is already in motion. I told you, arrangements were made right after you called.”
Jehan cursed under his breath. “If I’d realized our parents would charge forward without asking me, I could’ve saved everyone the effort. I should’ve told them over the phone that I wasn’t interested in any of this and stayed put in Rome. Unfortunately, it’s too late for that now. Whatever arrangements have been made will need to be canceled.”
“I don’t think you understand, brother.” Marcel slowed the car as they rolled onto the half-moon drive of the Darkhaven’s impressive arched entrance. “The handfast begins tomorrow. Which means the families assemble for the official meet-and-greet tonight. There will be formal introductions, followed by the traditional garden walk at midnight, and the turning of the hourglass to mark the celebratory commencement and the start of the handfast period.”
Jehan’s unfamiliarity with the process must have been as apparent as his disinterest. Marcel frowned at him. “You don’t have any idea what I’m talking about, do you? For fuck’s sake, the pact’s been in place for centuries, but you never took the time to study the terms?”
“I’ve been busy.”
Marcel’s lips quirked at the droll reply, but it was clear that he took the pact seriously. Apparently everyone did, aside from Jehan.
For an instant, he felt a pang of loss for his absence all these years. It had been his choice to leave, his choice to make his own way in the world instead of being satisfied with the privileged, if stifling, one he’d been handed at birth. He’d yearned more for adventure than tradition, and supposed he always would.
“So, this handfast entails what, exactly?”
“A period of e
ight nights, spent together in seclusion. No visitors, no communication with the outside world in any form. Just the two of you, alone at the oasis retreat on the border of our lands and the Sanhajas’.”
“In other words, imprisonment for a week and a day with a female who may or may not be a willing party to this whole forced seduction ritual. Followed by what—a public blood bond encouraged at sword point?”
“Forced seduction? Public blood bond?” Marcel gaped at him as if he’d lost his mind. “The handfast is all about consent, Jehan. Touch Seraphina against her wishes and her family has the right to take your head. Drink her blood without her permission and no one would balk if the Sanhajas took out their revenge on the entire Mafakhir tribe. This is serious shit.”
Not to mention, archaic. Even though he had no plans to touch Seraphina Sanhaja or any other female who wasn’t of his own choosing, Jehan’s curiosity was piqued. “I thought the whole point of the pact was to seal the peace between our two families with a blood bond.”
“It is,” Marcel said. “But only if the handfast is successful.”
“Meaning?”
“There has to be a mutual agreement. There has to be love. If there’s no desire to bond as a mated couple at the end of the handfast, the couple is free to go their separate ways and the pact then moves on to the next pair in line.”
“So, there’s an out clause?” Jehan’s brows rose in surprise. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all night.”
His brother released a frustrated-sounding breath. “I don’t know why I’m bothering to explain any of this to you. The terms will be spelled out in detail at the ceremony tomorrow night.”
The ceremony Jehan had no intention of attending.
Marcel parked in front of the opulent estate and killed the engine. The Aventador’s scissor doors lifted upward and the two Breed males climbed out.
As they began to ascend the wide, polished stone steps leading to the Darkhaven’s entrance, Jehan asked, “Who’s the next pair in line after Seraphina and me?”
“That would be the Breedmate next nearest the age of thirty in the Sanhaja family, and the unmated eldest son of the second-eldest Breed male in our line. You remember our cousin, Fariq.”
Jehan mentally recoiled. “Fariq, who prided himself on his collection of dead insects and snakes as a boy?”
Marcel chuckled. “He’s not nicknamed Renfield for nothing.”
And Jehan couldn’t help but feel guilty that his refusal of the pact would mean some unfortunate Breedmate would eventually have to spend eight nights alone with the repulsive male.
But he didn’t feel guilty enough to let the farce continue. He had to halt the whole thing before it went any further.
“Father’s waiting for you in his study,” Marcel told him as they reached the top. “Everyone else is in the main salon, where the formal introductions will be made.”
Alarm shot through him at that last announcement. Jehan grabbed his brother’s muscled arm. “Everyone else?”
“Mother and the Sanhajas. And Seraphina, of course.”
Ah, fuck. If he thought this was bad enough before he stepped off the plane tonight, the situation had just nose-dived into a disaster zone. “They’re here right now? All of them?”
“That’s what I’ve been telling you. Everything is already in motion and ready to begin. We were only waiting for you to arrive, brother.”
CHAPTER 3
The sound of deep male voices carried from the foyer. Until that moment, the small gathering inside the Darkhaven’s elegant salon had been engaged in pleasant chatter about the weather and a dozen other light subjects. But at the low rumble of muffled conversation somewhere outside the gilded walls, a palpable spike of anticipation pierced the atmosphere in the room.
“Ah, my sons have finally arrived.” Beautiful and poised, Simone Mafakhir smiled from her seat on a silk divan, her sky blue eyes lit with excitement. “I know Jehan will be delighted to meet you, Seraphina.”
Sera’s mouth was suddenly too dry to speak, but she gave a polite nod and returned the brunette Breedmate’s warm smile.
“Seraphina’s talked of little else all day,” her mother said, giving Sera’s hand a pat from her seat beside her on a velvet sofa opposite Simone. “She’s been full of curiosity about Jehan ever since she arrived back home this morning.”
On the other side of Sera, her blonde, twenty-two-year-old sister, Leila, barely stifled a giggle.
It was true. Sera had been full of questions since she’d been called home by her parents. She still didn’t know much about Jehan, other than the fact that he’d flown in tonight from Rome, where he’d been living for many years. And that he’d come because he had been summoned to fulfill his role in the ancient handfasting pact that had existed between their families for half a dozen centuries.
The same as she had.
That is, if she managed to make it through the evening without bolting for the nearest escape.
She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead, which had gone suddenly clammy. Her heart was racing, and her lungs felt as if they were suddenly caught in a vise.
She stood up, not quite steady on the high heels she wasn’t accustomed to wearing. The flouncy, blush-pink dress she’d borrowed from Leila on her sister’s insistence swayed around her knees as she wobbled, lightheaded and fighting the wave of nausea that rose up on her.
“Would it be possible to, um...freshen up for a moment?”
“Yes, of course,” Simone replied. “There’s a powder room just down the hall.”
Her parents both looked at her in genuine concern. “Are you all right, darling?” her mother asked.
“Yes.” Sera gave them a weak nod that only made her wooziness worse. “I’m fine, really.”
She just needed to get the hell out of there before she passed out or threw up.
Leila stood and grabbed her elbow. “I’ll go with you.”
They hurried out of the room together, Sera practically leaving her sister in her wake. Once safely enclosed in the large powder room, Sera sagged against the back of the door.
“What on earth is wrong with you?” Leila whispered.
Sera swallowed back a building scream. “I can’t do this. I thought maybe I could—for our parents, since it’s obviously so important to them—but I can’t. I mean, this whole situation...the pact, the handfasting? It’s insane, right? I never should have agreed to any of this.”
It was all happening too quickly. Yesterday morning, an e-mail from her parents had reached her at the remote outpost where she’d been working. The message had been short and cryptic, telling her that she was needed at home immediately.
Terrified with concern, she’d dropped everything and raced back—only to learn that the emergency requiring her presence was a musty old agreement that would send her away with a complete stranger. A Breed male who may not understand or care that her carotid wasn’t up for grabs, regardless of what the pact between their families might imply.
Oh, God. Her stomach started to spin again. She pressed her hand to her abdomen and took a steadying breath.
She paced the cramped powder room, her voice beginning to rise. “I need to get out of here. I can’t do this, Leila. I must’ve been out of my mind for even considering coming here tonight.”
Her sister stared at her patiently, her soft green eyes sympathetic as she let Sera vent. “You’re just nervous. I would be too. But I don’t think you’re crazy for being here. And I don’t think the agreement between our families is insane, either.” She swept a blonde tendril behind her ear and shrugged. “It’s endured all these years for a reason. Actually, I think it’s kind of romantic.”
“Romantic?” Sera scoffed. “What’s romantic about a truce struck after years of bloodshed resulting from the kidnap of a virgin Breedmate from our tribe by a barbarian Breed male from theirs six-hundred years ago?”
Leila let out a sigh. “Things were different back then. And it’s romant
ic because they fell in love.”
Sera arched her brows in challenge. “Tragic, because despite their blood bond, they both died in the end and set off a long, violent war.”
Sera knew the whole, tragic story as well as her sister did. It was practically legend in the Sanhaja family. And if she was being honest, there was a part of her that ached for that long-dead couple and their doomed love.
But it didn’t change the fact that centuries later, here she was, standing in a locked bathroom in a borrowed dress and high-heeled sandals, while just down the hall, a Breed male she’d never even met before was expecting her to go away with him for eight long nights—all in their parents’ shared hopes that they might come back madly in love and bound by blood for eternity.
Ridiculous.
Sera shook her head. “It might’ve been true centuries ago that the best way to guarantee peace was to turn an enemy into family,” she conceded. “But that was then and this is now. There hasn’t been conflict between the Mafakhirs and our family for decades.”
Leila tilted her head. “And how do you know that’s not because the pact was in place all that time? Since it first began, there’s never been a time when there wasn’t at least one mated pair between our families. Until now. What if the pact really is the only thing keeping the peace? It’s never been broken or tested, Sera. Do you really want to be the first one to try?”
For a moment, hearing her sister’s emphatic reply, Seraphina almost bought into the whole myth. At twenty-seven, she was a practical, independent woman who knew her own mind as well as her own worth, but there was a small part of her—maybe a part of every woman—who still wanted to believe in fairy tales and romance stories.
She wanted to believe in eternal love and happy endings, but that’s not what awaited her on the other side of the powder room door.
“The pact isn’t magic. And the handfast isn’t romantic. It’s all a bunch of silly, outdated nonsense.”
