Stroke of Midnight(10)

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 gone in an instant.

“Hold on to my shoulder.”

Her fingers came to rest on him, generating a swift, unexpected electricity in his veins. Jehan tried to ignore the feel of her touch as he reached down and lifted her left foot into his hands. He unfastened the pretty, but impractical, shoe and slipped it off.

Her satisfied sigh as he freed her bare foot went through him even more powerfully than her touch. Gritting his teeth to discourage his fangs from punching out of his gums in heated response, Jehan made quick work of her other shoe, then stepped away from her.

“Better?” His voice had thickened. Along with another part of his anatomy.

“Much better.” She was looking at him cautiously as she took the pair of sandals from where they dangled off his fingertips. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” And it was. More than he might have wanted to admit. He cocked his head at her. “How old are you, Seraphina?”

“Excuse me?”

He immediately felt rude for asking, but there was a part of him that wanted to know. Needed to know. “We’re supposed to be getting to know each other, aren’t we?”

The reminder seemed to calm some of her indignation. “I’m twenty-seven. Why do you want to know?”

“I just wonder why you aren’t already mated and blood-bonded. You were raised in a Darkhaven, so you must know many Breed males. If any of the ones I know ever saw you, there’d be at least a hundred of them beating a path to your door.”

She stared at him for a moment in uncertain silence, then shrugged. “Maybe I prefer human men.”

Shit. He hadn’t even considered that. “Do you?”

“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.