Stroke of Midnight
A Midnight Breed Novella
By Lara Adrian
1001 Dark Nights
Stroke of Midnight
A Midnight Breed Novella
By Lara Adrian
1001 Dark Nights
Copyright 2015 Lara Adrian, LLC
ISBN: 978-1-940887-31-9
Foreword: Copyright 2014 M. J. Rose
Published by Evil Eye Concepts, Incorporated
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is solely coincidental.
Book Description
Stroke of Midnight
A Midnight Breed Novella
By Lara Adrian
Born to a noble Breed lineage steeped in exotic ritual and familial duty, vampire warrior Jehan walked away from the luxurious trappings of his upbringing in Morocco to join the Order’s command center in Rome.
But when a generations-old obligation calls Jehan home, the reluctant desert prince finds himself thrust into an unwanted handfasting with Seraphina, an unwilling beauty who’s as determined as he is to resist the antiquated pact between their families.
Yet as intent as they are to prove their incompatibility, neither can deny the attraction that ignites between them. And as Jehan and Seraphina fight to resist the calling of their blood, a deadly enemy seeks to end their uneasy truce before it even begins….
About Lara Adrian
LARA ADRIAN is the New York Times and #1 internationally best-selling author of the Midnight Breed vampire romance series, with nearly 4 million books in print and digital worldwide and translations licensed to more than 20 countries. Her books regularly appear in the top spots of all the major bestseller lists including the New York Times, USA Today, Publishers Weekly, Indiebound, Amazon.com, Barnes & Noble, etc.
Lara Adrian’s debut title, Kiss of Midnight, was named Borders Books best-selling debut romance of 2007. Later that year, her third title, Midnight Awakening, was named one of Amazon.com’s Top Ten Romances of the Year. Reviewers have called Lara’s books “addictively readable” (Chicago Tribune), “extraordinary” (Fresh Fiction), and “one of the best vampire series on the market” (Romantic Times).
With an ancestry stretching back to the Mayflower and the court of King Henry VIII, Lara Adrian lives with her husband in New England, surrounded by centuries-old graveyards, hip urban comforts, and the endless inspiration of the broody Atlantic Ocean.
Connect with Lara online:
Website
Facebook
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Pinterest
Acknowledgments
I am thrilled to be part of the 1001 Dark Nights collection for a second time with this novella in my Midnight Breed vampire romance series. My thanks to the awesome and endlessly creative Liz Berry, MJ Rose, Jillian Stein, and everyone else working behind the scenes at Evil Eye Concepts to make the project a success. Big hugs to my fellow 1001 Dark Nights authors as well. Every year, the lineup gets more impressive and the depth of talent more amazing. I’m grateful for your support and honored to call so many of you my friends.
And I have to send out lots of love and heartfelt thanks to my readers. I can’t tell you what it means to me that you continue to embrace my characters and my work. I hope you have fun reading this new Midnight Breed adventure, and I hope you enjoy all the rest still to come!
With love,
Lara Adrian
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The First Night
by Lexi Blake & M.J. Rose
Table of Contents
Book Description
About Lara Adrian
Author Acknowledgments
Foreword
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
One Thousand and One Dark Nights
Once upon a time, in the future…
I was a student fascinated with stories and learning.
I studied philosophy, poetry, history, the occult, and
the art and science of love and magic. I had a vast
library at my father’s home and collected thousands
of volumes of fantastic tales.
I learned all about ancient races and bygone
times. About myths and legends and dreams of all
people through the millennium. And the more I read
the stronger my imagination grew until I discovered
that I was able to travel into the stories... to actually
become part of them.
I wish I could say that I listened to my teacher
and respected my gift, as I ought to have. If I had¸ I
would not be telling you this tale now.
But I was foolhardy and confused, showing off
with bravery.
One afternoon, curious about the myth of the
Arabian Nights, I traveled back to ancient Persia to
see for myself if it was true that every day Shahryar
(Persian: شهریار, “king”) married a new virgin, and then
sent yesterday’s wife to be beheaded. It was written
and I had read, that by the time he met Scheherazade,
the vizier’s daughter, he’d killed one thousand
women.
Something went wrong with my efforts. I arrived
in the midst of the story and somehow exchanged
places with Scheherazade – a phenomena that had
never occurred before and that still to this day, I
cannot explain.
Now I am trapped in that ancient past. I have
taken on Scheherazade’s life and the only way I can
protect myself and stay alive is to do what she did to
protect herself and stay alive.
Every night the King calls for me and listens as I spin tales.
And when the evening ends and dawn breaks, I stop at a
point that leaves him breathless and yearning for more.
And so the King spares my life for one more day, so that
he might hear the rest of my dark tale.
As soon as I finish a story... I begin a new
one... like the one that you, dear reader, have before
you now.
CHAPTER 1
Screams shot up from one of the many narrow, cobbled alleyways in the heart of Rome’s quaint old Trastevere ward. The shrieks of mortal terror pierced the night as effectively as a blade.
Or, rather, a pair of razor-sharp fangs.
Like the ones on the gang of lethal predators who’d shredded the throat of a human civilian in a dance club across the city only minutes ago.
Shit. Jehan swung an urgent look over his shoulder to the two other Breed warriors currently on foot behin
d him. “They’re getting away.”
He and his teammates from the Order’s Rome command center had been in pursuit of the four blood-thirsty Rogues since their patrol had been alerted to the killing at the club. They had contained the situation before any of the other humans had realized what was going on, but their mission wouldn’t be over until they ashed the feral members of their own race.
“Split up,” he told his men. “Damn it, we can’t lose them! Close in from all sides.”
His comrade and good friend, Savage, grinned and gave a nod of his blond head before veering right to take one of the other winding alleys on Jehan’s command. The other warrior, a hulking, shaved-head menace called Trygg, made no acknowledgment to his team leader before vanishing into the darkness like a wraith to carry out the order.
Jehan sped like an arrow through the tight artery of the ancient street ahead of him, dodging slow-moving compact cars and taxis who were getting nowhere fast in the district that was clogged with tourists and club-hoppers even as the hour crept close to midnight.
The public out and about tonight was a mix of human and Breed civilians, something that would have been unheard of just twenty years ago, before the Breed’s existence had been revealed to mankind.
Now, in cities around the world, the two populations lived together openly. They worked together. Governed together. But their hard-won peace was fragile. All it might take was one horrific killing—like the one earlier tonight—to set off a global panic.
While every Breed warrior of the Order had pledged his blood and breath to prevent that from happening, others among mankind and the Breed were secretly—and not-so-secretly—instigating war.
Tonight’s Rogue attack had the stamp of conspiracy all over it. And it wasn’t the first. During the past few nights there had been a handful of others, in Rome and elsewhere in Europe. While it wasn’t unusual for one of Jehan’s kind to become irreversibly addicted to blood, the spate of recent slayings in all-too-public places by Rogues torqued up on some kind of Bloodlust-inducing narcotic had fingers pointing to the terror group called Opus Nostrum.
Just a few days ago, the Order had scored a staggering hit on Opus, taking out its newest leader, who’d been headquartered in Ireland. The cabal was hobbled for now, but its hidden members were many and their machinations seemed to know no bounds. They and all who served them had to be stopped, or the consequences were certain to be catastrophic.
Jehan was a blur of motion as he leapt over the hood of a standing taxi to vault himself up onto the tiled rooftops above the thick congestion on the streets.
His heavy black patrol boots made no sound as he traveled with preternatural stealth and speed over the uneven terrain of the buildings. He jumped from one rooftop to the next, following his instincts—and the trace, metallic scent of fresh blood that floated up on the night breeze as the Rogue attempted to escape his pursuers.
He lived for this kind of action. The adrenaline rush. The thrill of the chase. The conviction that came from doing something with real purpose, something that would have true and lasting impact on his world.
A far cry from the posh wealth and useless decadence he’d been born into with his family in Morocco.
That old life was still trying to call him back, even though he hadn’t stepped foot on his homeland’s soil for more than a decade.
It had been twelve months and a day since he’d received the message from his father. Jehan knew what that meant, and he couldn’t pretend he hadn’t heard every tick of the damned countdown clock in the time since.
With a growl, he pushed aside reminders of the obligation he’d been pointedly ignoring. Right now, his focus was better spent on the more urgent mission in front of him.
Down below in a twisting alleyway, Jehan spied one of the fleeing Rogues. Fingers gripping the handle of one of his titanium blades, he drew the weapon and let it fly. Direct hit. The dagger nailed the Rogue in the center of his spine, dropping him in his tracks.
Ordinarily, it took more than that to disable one of the Breed, but the titanium was toxic to vampires who’d gone Rogue, and as corrosive as acid to their diseased bodies. In minutes or less, the corpse would be nothing but ashes in the street.
Jehan didn’t wait to see the 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.