by Lara Adrian
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bunch of silly, outdated nonsense.”
“Well, call it what you will,”
Leila murmured. “I think it’s
charming.”
“I
doubt
you’d
be
so
enthusiastic if you were the one
being yanked out of your world and
all the things that matter to you, only
to be dropped into some strange
male’s
lap
as
his
captive
plaything.” Sera considered her
dreamy-eyed younger sister. “Or
maybe you would.”
Leila laughed and shook her
head. “The handfast is only for a
week. And you won’t be dropped
into anyone’s lap or held against
your will. You’re meant to get to
know each other away from the
distractions of the outside world.
That’s all. Handfasting at the oasis
retreat is symbolic more than
anything else. Besides, I can think
of worse things than spending a
week in beautiful surroundings,
getting to know a handsome Breed
male. One who also happens to be a
prince.”
Sera scoffed. “A prince in
name only. The old tribes of this
region aren’t any more royal than
you or me.” Which they weren’t.
Adopted by Omar and Amina
Sanhaja as infants from orphanages
for the indigent, there was no
chance of that. Sera cocked a
curious look on her sister. “How do
you know Jehan’s handsome? I
thought you’ve never met him.”
“I haven’t. But being Breed,
he’s sure to have his mother’s
chestnut brown hair and incredible
blue eyes. The same as his brother,
Marcel.”
Sara rolled her eyes. “Well, I
don’t care what he looks like and I
don’t care about his pedigree either.
I’m not looking for a mate, and if I
was, I certainly wouldn’t be going
about it this way.”
Yet despite all of that—despite
her unwillingness to be part of
some antiquated agreement that had
long outlived its expiration date as
far as she was concerned—she
knew she couldn’t walk away from
her obligation to her family.
Honoring
the
pact
was
important to her parents, which
made it important to her as well.
And there was another, more
selfish reason she had finally
conceded to come.
Several
hundred
thousand
reasons. The amount of her trust
fund, which her father had agreed to
release to her early. She would
have it all at the end of the week—
after her handfast with Jehan
Mafakhir was over.
Sera needed that money.
As much as her father loved
her, he knew she wouldn’t be able
to turn away from what he had
offered. Not when there was so
much she could do with that kind of
gift.
That didn’t mean she had to
like it.
Nor did it mean she had to like
Jehan Mafakhir.
In fact, she was determined to
avoid him as much as possible for
the duration of their confinement
together. If she was lucky, maybe
they wouldn’t even need to speak to
each other.
Miserable with the whole
idea, she exhaled a slow, defeated
sigh. “It’s only for eight nights,
right?”
Leila nodded, then her eyes
went wide at the sound of measured
footsteps and deep voices in the
hallway. Putting a finger to her lips,
she cracked open the door and
peered out. She reported to Sera in
a hushed whisper. “Jehan just
walked into the salon with his
father and Marcel. You can’t leave
him waiting. We have to get out of
here right now!”
The bubble of anxiety Sera had
been fighting suddenly spiked into
hot panic. “So soon? I thought I’d
have a few more minutes before—”
“Now,
Sera!
Let’s
go!”
Grabbing her by the arm, Leila
opened the door and ushered her
outside. As they moved toward the
salon, Leila leaned in close to
whisper next to Sera’s ear. “And I
was right, by the way. He’s beyond
handsome.”
CHAPTER 4
Jehan wasn’t sure what had
presented the most convincing
argument for his consenting to take
part in the handfasting: his brother’s
earnest persuasion on the ride to the
Darkhaven, or his father’s stoic
greeting and his resulting obvious,
if unspoken, expectation that his
eldest
son
would
shirk
his
obligation to the family.
If he’d been met with furious
demands that he must pick up the
mantle of responsibility concerning
the pact with the Sanhajas, it would
have been the easiest thing for
Jehan to pivot on his heels and hoof
his way back to Casablanca to catch
the earliest flight back to Rome.
But his father hadn’t blown up
or slammed his fists into his desk
when Jehan arrived in his study a
few minutes ago to explain that he
wanted no part in the duty waiting
for him in the salon. Rahim
Mafakhir had listened in thoughtful
silence. Then he’d simply stood up
and walked toward the door of his
study without a word.
Not that he’d needed to speak.
His lack of reaction spoke volumes.
He’d been anticipating Jehan’s
refusal.
He’d been fully prepared for
his prodigal son to let him and the
rest of the family down.
And as much as Jehan had
wanted to pretend he was okay with
that, the fact was, it had stung.
It had been at that precise
moment—his father’s strong hand
wrapped around the doorknob, his
stern face grim with disappointment
—that Jehan had blurted out words
he was certain he’d live to regret.
“I’ll do it,” he’d said
. “Eight
nights with the Sanhaja female, as
the pact requires. Nothing more.
Then, after the handfast is over and
my duty is fulfilled, I’ll go back to
Rome and the pact can move on to
the next of our kin in line to heed
the call.”
Now, as Jehan entered the
salon with his father and Marcel, he
felt a small spark of hope.
She wasn’t there. Only his
mother and an anxious-looking
couple he assumed was Omar and
Amina Sanhaja. No sign of the
unmated
Breedmate
he
was
supposed to formally meet tonight.
Holy shit. Dare he hope the
Sanhajas’ daughter had called a
stop to this farce?
“Here we are!” An exuberant
voice sounded brightly from behind
him, killing his hope before it had a
chance to fully catch fire.
The voice belonged to a leggy
blonde with a megawatt smile and
pretty, pale green eyes. Attractive.
Certainly cheerful and energetic. As
far as temporary housemates went,
Marcel was right—there were
worse sentences he could endure.
The blonde paused to glance
behind her, and that was when
Jehan realized his error.
“Come on, Seraphina!” She
grabbed the hand of a tall, curvy
brunette
who’d
hesitated
momentarily
just
outside
the
threshold.
“Don’t
be
shy.
Everyone’s waiting for you.”
The blonde 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.”
Ah,
right.
Marcel
had
mentioned something about that in
the car when Jehan was only half-
listening. He’d much rather
watch
Seraphina’s mouth explaining it to
him again.
She softly cleared her throat.
“At midnight, we’re supposed to
walk together privately to mark the
turning of the hourglass and the
beginning of our—”
“Sentence?”
he
prompted
wryly.
Surprise
arched
her
fine
brows.
Jehan smirked and gestured for
her to walk ahead of him. “Please,
after you.”
With their parents and siblings
crowding the salon doorway behind
them, he and Seraphina left the
room and headed down the hallway,
toward a pair of arched glass doors
leading out to the moonlit gardens
behind the Darkhaven estate.
The night was cool and crisp
in the desert, and infinitely dark.
Above them stars glittered and a
half-moon glowed milky white
against an endless black velvet sky.
It might have been romantic, if
the woman walking alongside him
didn’t take each delicate step as if
she was being led to the gallows.
She glanced behind them for about
the sixth time in as many minutes.
“Are they still there?” Jehan
asked.
“Yes,” she said. “All of them
are standing in front of the glass,
watching us.”
He could fix that. “Come with
me.”
Taking her elbow in a loose
hold, he ducked off the main garden
path with her to one of the many
winding paths that crisscrossed the
manicured topiary and flowering,
fragrant hedges.
The sweet perfume of jasmine
and roses laced the night air, but it
was another scent—cinnamon and
something far more exotic—that
made him inhale a bit deeper as he
brought Seraphina to a more private
section of the gardens.
She hung back a few paces,
following him almost hitchingly in
her strappy high heels. When he
glanced over his shoulder, he found
her pretty face pinched in a frown.
Then she stopped completely and
shook her head. “This is far
enough.”
“Relax, Seraphina. I’m not
going to push you into the hibiscus
and ravish you.”
Her eyes widened for a
second,
but
then
her
frown
narrowed into an affronted scowl.
“That’s not why I stopped. These
shoes...they’re killing my feet.”
Jehan walked back to her.
Eyeing the tall spikes, he exhaled a
low curse. “I don’t doubt they’re
killing you. In the right hands, those
things could be deadly weapons.”
She smiled—a genuine, heart-
stopping smile that was there and
