Doomsday Brethren, Book 04: Entice Me at Twilight by Shayla Black Page B

fantastical…but she knew, in this case, real life was stranger than fiction.
    She took a deep breath and turned to him. “What are you?”
    He stilled.
“What
am I?”
    “Yes. I know you’re not human. Your conversation with Bram in the garage … It’s clear your normal mode of transportation isn’t an auto. He tried to simply concentrate, as if that would transport him to another location. That’s not normal. Not … human.”
    Duke gripped the wheel tighter. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    Another lie, but accusing him would get her nowhere. “I’m not stupid. You claimed I’m in grave danger from a madman I’ve never heard of and that only you and your friends can protect me. Then a lot of robed villains arrived unexpectedly and in minutes demolished a building that had stood for hundreds of years. What am I to make of that?”
    Hurstgrove winced. “The evening has been harrowing. I’m sorry.”
    “You’re missing the point. There are holes in your story, and I want the truth.”
    He sighed. “Felicia …”
    “You’re too high-profile to be a government agent. You don’t need money, so you’d be barmy to deal in drugs or arms. Nor does—”
    “I would never do either!” He cast her an outraged glance. “I obey the laws.”
    “Except those pertaining to kidnapping,” she pointed out, brow raised. “Besides, even if you regularly broke laws, I’ve never seen drug dealers or third-world generals crash a wedding with an army in black robes. Not a very inconspicuous way to do business. But all that is very human, which you’re not.”
    “This is ridiculous, Felicia.”
    “Is it? Why else would you imagine that you could close your eyes and beam yourself to … Tahiti? So I ask myself, who—or what—would imagine they could? Are you analien? Do you have eight arms or tentacles or—”
    “What?”
A frown of incredulity cut deep into his brow. “Of course not. Don’t be mad.”
    So he wasn’t an alien. “A ghost?”
    “Do I look dead?”
    No, very much alive. Healthy, gorgeous, so masculine her pulse wouldn’t slow— Bad train of thought. “Answer the question.”
    “This is absurd. Stop—”
    “When I get the truth, I will. Should I protect my jugular around you? Invest in a garlic necklace?”
    Hurstgrove downshifted, took a curve a bit too fast, and swore. “Vampires are nasty creatures, a small step up from cannibals. I’d destroy myself first.”
    Right, then
. “Do you turn furry during certain phases of the moon?”
    “Oh dear God.” He rolled his eyes. “This is preposterous. Lupines don’t eat meals with utensils. Do you think I could be a member of the peerage and photographed as often as I am if I couldn’t manage a fork?”
    Did that mean he knew one? Or did he answer questions with questions simply to throw her off? “So, not a lupine?”
    “Definitely
not
. I like to shower more than once a decade. I’m plain human.”
    She wrinkled her nose at the stench. “You’re not. Zombie? Demon?”
    “Christ! I haven’t risen from the grave or come from hell.” He glared at her, his patience clearly running thin. “Though I feel as if I’m there now.”
    She harrumphed. “Elf? Fairy? Some other magical creature?”
    He let out a long-suffering sigh. “Stop. In three minutes, I’ve gone from a street thug wielding dime bags to a palemidget with pointed ears. I’m exhausted.”
    Felicia sent him a mulish glare. True, Hurstgrove looked tired, but it was mostly an excuse not to answer her questions. And still, her nose told her that she hadn’t hit on the truth … yet.
    Felicia tapped her chin in thought. Duke couldn’t help but stare. She looked adorable when she was tenacious.
    She cocked her head and speared him with another probing stare, one that made him hot. “Your Grace—”
    “Simon,” he corrected. He hated being called “Your Grace,” as if he was a damn ballet dancer. But even more, he wanted the intimacy of hearing his