Stroke of Midnight: A Midnight Breed Novella (The Midnight Breed Series)
Page 2
disintegration
happen.
As
he
continued his dash across the
rooftops, he spotted Trygg gaining
ground on one of the remaining
Rogues. The big warrior took the
escaping vampire down in a flash
of movement. The Rogue howled,
then abruptly fell silent when Trygg
severed its head with a slice of his
blade.
Two down. Two to go.
Make that one left to go.
Jehan’s acute hearing picked up
sounds of a brief struggle as Savage
caught up to his quarry on a
different stretch of cobblestones
and delivered a killing strike of
titanium.
Jehan leapt to another roof,
racing deeper into the ancient
district of the city. His battle
instincts heightened as he homed in
on the last of the fleeing Rogues.
The vampire made a crucial
mistake, turning into an alleyway
with no exit. A literal dead end.
Jehan sailed off the edge of the
rooftop and dropped to the cobbled
street behind the Rogue, cutting off
any hope of his escape. An instant
later, Savage emerged from out of
the shadows, just as the feral
vampire spun around and realized
he had nowhere left to run.
The big male faced the two
Order warriors. His fangs dripped
with blood and sticky saliva. His
transformed eyes glowed bright
amber, the pupils fixed and
narrowed to thin vertical slits in the
center of all that fiery light. His jaw
hung open as he roared, insane with
Bloodlust and ready to attack.
Jehan didn’t allow him the
chance.
He threw his dagger without
mercy or warning. The titanium
blade glinted in the moonlight as the
weapon sliced through the distance
and struck its mark, burying to the
hilt in the center of the Rogue’s
chest.
The vampire roared in agony,
then collapsed in a heap on the
cobbles as the poisonous metal
began to devour him.
When the process had finished,
Jehan strode over to retrieve his
weapon from the ashes.
Savage blew out a low curse
behind him. “Four Breed males
gone Rogue in the same city on the
same night? No one’s seen those
kind of numbers in the past twenty
years.”
Jehan nodded. He’d been a
youth at that time, but more than old
enough to remember firsthand.
“Let’s
hope
we
never
see
bloodshed again like we did back
then, Sav.”
And all the more reason to
take Opus Nostrum out at the root.
For Jehan, a Breed male who’d
spent a lot of his privileged life in
pursuit of one pleasure or another,
he couldn’t think of any higher
calling than his place among the
Order.
He cleaned his dagger and
sheathed it on the weapons belt of
his black patrol fatigues. “Come
on,” he said to Savage. “I saw
Trygg ash one of these four a few
blocks back. Let’s go find him and
make sure we don’t have any
witnesses in need of a mind-scrub
before
we
report
back
to
Commander
Archer
at
headquarters.”
They pivoted to leave the alley
together—only to find they were no
longer alone there.
Another Breed male stood at
the mouth of the narrow passage.
Dark-eyed, with a trimmed black
beard around the grim line of his
mouth, the vampire was dressed in
a black silk tunic over loose black
pants tucked into gleaming black
leather boots that rose nearly to his
knees.
The only color he wore was a
striped sash of vibrant, saffron-and-
cerulean silk tied loosely around
his waist. Family colors. Formal
colors, reserved for the solemnest
of old traditions.
Jehan couldn’t bite back his
low, uttered curse.
Beside him in the alleyway,
Savage moved his fingers toward
his array of weapons.
“It’s all right.” Jehan stayed
his comrade’s hand with a pointed
shake of his head. “Naveen is my
father’s emissary.”
In response, the dark-haired
male inclined his head. “Greetings,
Prince Jehan, noble eldest son of
Rahim, the just and honorable king
of the Mafakhir tribe.”
The courtly bow that followed
set Jehan’s teeth and fangs on edge
almost as much as his official
address. From within the folds of
his tunic, Naveen withdrew a
sealed piece of parchment. The
royal messenger held it out to Jehan
in sober, expectant silence.
A stamped, red wax seal rode
the
back
of
the
official
missive...just like the one Jehan had
received in this same manner a year
ago.
A year and a day ago, he
mentally amended.
For a moment, Jehan just stood
there, unmoving.
But he knew Naveen had been
sent with specific orders to deliver
the sealed message, and it would
dishonor the male deeply if he
failed in that mission.
Jehan stepped forward and
took the stiff, folded parchment
from Naveen’s outstretched hand.
As soon as it was in Jehan’s
possession, the royal messenger
pivoted and strode back into the
darkness without another word.
In the silence that followed,
Savage gaped. “What the fuck was
that all about?”
“Family business. It’s not
important.”
Jehan
slipped
the
document into the waistband of his
pants without opening it.
“It sure as hell looked
important to that guy.” When Jehan
started walking out of the alley, Sav
matched his clipped pace. “What is
it? Some kind of royal subpoena?”
Jehan grunted. “Something like
that.”
“Aren’t you going to read it?”
Jehan shrugged. “There’s no
need. I know what it says.”
Sav arched a blond brow.
“Yeah, but I don’t.”
To
satisfy
his
friend’s
curiosity, Jehan retrieved the sealed
message and passed it over to him.
“Go ahead.”
Sav broke the seal and
unfolded the parchment, reading as
he and Jehan turned down another
narrow street. “It says someone
died. A mated couple, killed
together in a plane crash a year
ago.”
Jehan nodded grimly, already
well aware of the couple’s tragic
demise. News of their deaths had
been the reason for the first official
notice he’d received from his
father.
Savage read on. “This says the
couple—a Breed male from the
Mafakhir tribe and a Breedmate
from another tribe, the Sanhaja, had
been blood-bonded as part of a
peace pact between the families.”
Jehan
grunted
in
acknowledgment. The pact had been
in place for centuries, the result of
an unfortunate chain of events that
had spawned a bloody conflict
between his family and their closest
neighbors, the Sanhajas. After
enough blood had been spilled on
both sides, a truce was finally
declared. A truce that was cemented
with blood spilled by another
means.
An
eternal
bond,
shared
between a male from Jehan’s line
and a Breedmate from the rival
tribe.
So long as the two families
were bound together by blood, there
had been peace. The pact had never
been broken. The couple who
perished in the plane crash had
been the sole link between the
families in the modern age. With
their deaths, the pact was in limbo
until a new couple came together to
revive the bond.
Savage had apparently just
gotten to the part of the message
Jehan had been dreading for the
past twelve months. “It says here
that in accordance with the terms of
that pact, if the blood bond is
severed and no other couple elects
to carry it forward within the term
of a year and a day, then the eldest
unmated son of the eldest Breed
male of the Mafakhir tribe and the
unmated Breedmate nearest the age
of thirty from the Sanhaja tribe
shall...”
Sav’s long stride began to
slow, then it stopped altogether. He
swiveled his head in Jehan’s
direction. “Holy shit. Are you
kidding me? You’re being drafted to
go home to Morocco and take a
mate?”
A scowl furrowed deep into
his brow at the very thought.
“According to ritual, I am.”
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