Doomsday Brethren, Book 04: Entice Me at Twilight (7 page)

Felicia had more than enough information to be certain of her next move. Time to speak up—and make her choice.

“Why me?” she asked, stepping out of the armoire, into the light.

Hurstgrove whirled toward her, visibly relieved to see her
in one piece. “I’ll explain later.” Then he reached for her. “If you want to live, take my hand and come with me now.”

His gaze was electric. Everything jumbled inside her. The security Mason gave her clashed with the foreign excitement his half brother wrought. She didn’t like the way Hurstgrove made her feel, vulnerable and so aware of her femininity, fragile and desirable at once. She’d elected to marry Mason in part because he never engendered such feelings in her. He would make a stable partner, a wonderful father. Hurstgrove was rich, titled, good-looking, and notoriously good in bed—built for a night, not forever.

“Felicia,” Mason said sharply. “You don’t believe this rubbish, do you?”

She’d never told him about her bullshit barometer. In fact, she’d never told anyone but Deirdre. Most people would never believe such a thing, and Mason, who made a good living by dealing in evidence and facts, was less likely than most.

“I have a … sense that he’s being honest.”

“Are you mad? He constantly seduces women, no doubt with lies. This is absurd!”

At her side, Hurstgrove tensed, then glanced at Bram, who nodded. What sort of signal was that?

In the next moment, His Grace surged forward and hooked an arm around her waist, lifting her, wedding dress and all, into his arms and against his chest. Lest she fall, Felicia instinctively locked her arms around the strong column of his neck. Her bridal bouquet slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor.

He strode toward the exit at the rear of the house without a backward glance.

“What the hell are you doing?” she asked.

No answer. He simply marched away from his friends, her
fiancé, their wedding.

She wriggled in his grasp. “Put me down! I said I was inclined to believe you. I never agreed that I would come along.”

His arms tightened around her. “Sorry. I won’t risk you.”

Hurstgrove was abducting her? Her breath stuttered, and her belly turned over again. In that moment, it wasn’t only her safety she feared for.

Felicia opened her mouth to protest, but the sincerity of his dark eyes silenced her.

If not for the danger, she would have fought him, punching, biting, scratching … anything to avoid putting herself in his path and potentially under his spell. But His Grace risked family censure and scandal to protect her from a deadly threat. And he wanted her.

Which motivated him most?

“Put her down now!” Mason demanded.

Hurstgrove didn’t slow his pace a bit. “Sorry. Trying to pop out the back before the paparazzi catch on. I assume you prefer not to have pictures of this splashed across the rags?”

Felicia glanced over his shoulder to see his friends restraining Mason. They were “other” too, she suspected. None of them looked mad or otherwise deranged, but rather almost too powerful to be human.

“You fucking bastard! Bring my bride back!” Mason bellowed.

His mother appeared at the bottom of the stairs, mouth agape. “Simon!”

“I’ll ring you later, Mum,” His Grace threw over his shoulder, trying to shield Felicia as paparazzi flashbulbs began to stream through the windows and lit up the corridors. Most likely, these images would be front page news. Horror gripped her as she buried her face in Hurstgrove’s shoulder—and inhaled a complex scent of sandalwood, citrus,
and man that went straight to her head.

At the clatter of shoes against the marble tiles, Felicia raised her head, fastening her gaze on the chapel doors in the distance. Most of her guests stared now, faces slack with a shock she discerned even at a distance. Some snapped pictures with their mobiles. Her friends and coworkers all stared, mouths agape. Hurstgrove cursed.

“Stop!” she ordered. “If danger is coming, Mason—”

“Can’t help or protect you.
You
are the target. Mason can only be a liability. If you want him safe, leave him here.”

It sounded like a convenient excuse, and she would have thought so if not for the absence of any cloying, burning scent.

“This is mad!”

“And the tabloids will eat the scandal up, which I fear may expose you to …” Hurstgrove paused, sighed regretfully. “Too late now. I know what this monster is capable of and I promise, I won’t let him touch you.”

She absorbed his protective vow. Why would the self-absorbed playboy care?

“W-when can I return home? To Mason.”

He grimaced as he pushed his way into a small parlor, crossed the room in a handful of steps, then muscled his way through French doors and outside.

Freezing air pelted her, slipping under her dress insidiously. Fresh snow dusted the ground. Wind whipped through her curls, tearing at her upswept do, penetrating her lace sleeves with chill. Hurstgrove wrapped his arms more tightly around her. The warmth of his skin seeped in. His male scent pummeled her senses again. She heard his beating heart, his even breaths. He felt so human.

“Perhaps a few days.” He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

An ugly truth. The idea of being so close to Mason’s compelling
half brother for even that long petrified her.

“Over there!” she heard through the wind’s howl, then looked up to see a swarm of paparazzi sprinting behind the estate, across the snowy lawn and toward them, flashbulbs popping with each step.

Hurstgrove picked up the pace, darting for the outbuilding that held his autos. He showed no signs of tiring. Under his tuxedo, he was solid muscle.

“I can walk,” she protested.

“The snow will ruin your dress and shoes.”

Likely, but a slight stench told her that wasn’t the only reason he carried her. “Be reasonable. I’m not exactly a feather. If we’re rushing to safety, and you’re going to fatigue—”

“Not for some time.”

Under her hands, his shoulders and arms were spine-tinglingly hard. Felicia shoved the thought away. “Clearly, you exercise, but—”

“Marrok is like the most demanding personal trainer. On fast forward. In an endless loop. Trust me; he’s ensured this is little effort.”

“I understand that I’m in danger. I won’t run from you.”

He shot her a regretful glance. “Sorry. I’m not convinced.”

Before she could argue, Hurstgrove shouldered his way inside the building, then kicked the door closed behind, stooping to lock it. As he turned, she saw Bram. How had he beaten them here?

He sat behind the wheel of a very expensive black Italian sports car. Convertible. Who owned such an impractical vehicle in a climate that got nearly as much rain as sun?

A duke.

Bram revved the engine, then ducked out of the driver’s
seat to stand beside it. “Get her in. You’d best leave quickly. I have a bad feeling.”

His Grace strode to the passenger door, slid her into the seat, buckled her in, and shut her inside. Black leather. Flawless. Powerful. Imposing.

She grabbed at the door handle, scrambling to find a way out, but Hurstgrove blocked her path on one side, Bram on the other. “Agreed. I’d rather use my … usual method of transportation.”

“Try it?” Bram asked.

“Useless, which I expected. Try it yourself.”

What the devil were they talking about?

Felicia leaned across the seat and watched as the blond man stood very still and closed his eyes, straining slightly.

Bram expected
that
to take him someplace? Like “Beam me up, Scotty”? What were Hurstgrove and his friends? Aliens?

The other man opened his eyes. “Totally nonfunctional. Damn. You’d best go. Your signature has damn near become a beacon. Meet us at Ice’s?”

“Hopefully by tomorrow afternoon.” Hurstgrove slid into the driver’s seat, buckled up, and rolled down the window. “I’ll ring you along the way.”

Bram pressed a button and raised the garage door. “I should come with you. Safety in numbers.”

Hurstgrove looked in the rearview mirror, then swore. “Too late. Get the guests out of the chapel, to safety. You’ll have to stay and fight.”

Felicia whipped her head around to look out the driver’s window and saw a mass of black-robed men marching toward the house.

F
ELICIA GASPED
. “W
HO
is
that?”

Duke ignored the question and sent Bram a grim glance.

This rescue was going to hell fast. He had a reluctant hostage, an infuriated groom, and paparazzi following him round the back of his supposedly private estate. Trespassing bastards. He could only hope that Zain skipped a day or two of reading the tabloids. If not, Mathias would know quickly that Duke had spirited Felicia away and guess why.

“Go. Now,” the other wizard ordered. “Whatever it takes to keep her safe …”

Absolutely. Duke would do it, no questions asked.

Rolling up the tinted windows, he backed out of the garage slowly, lights killed. He couldn’t attract attention.

“Duck,” he demanded of Felicia.

She didn’t. Wide-eyed, she stared out the back window at the hooded figures amassing in the gardens. “There are so many of them! Who—”

“Duck!” He grabbed her neck and pulled her head down.

Her cheek hit his thigh, and he felt Felicia panting through his trousers. He got hard. Again.
Damn it.

“What the devil are you doing?” She struggled against his hold.

“Hiding you from a madman. Stay the bloody hell down!”

A moment later, Mathias emerged from the middle of the Anarki pack. Duke’s fingers tightened in Felicia’s hair.
Horror gripped him as the wind whipped the evil wizard’s long hair away from his deceptively youthful face, revealing a smile of evil glee. It took everything inside Duke not to turn back to protect his family and their guests when Mathias raised his hands to the wall, as if readying to demolish it with a spell.

To Duke’s surprise, no bricks tumbled to the ground.

Holy hell!
He glanced down at Felicia, her shoulders hunched beside the gearshift. He’d known magic would be impossible when she was near; that was the nature of an Untouchable. But Mathias was at least two hundred meters away.

Her suppression of magic was that strong? That made her a force to be reckoned with. And a huge target for Mathias.

Even before tonight, Felicia had been someone Duke was willing to protect with his life … and he didn’t want to think too hard about why. Now that he knew she was the Untouchable, he’d move heaven and earth to keep her safe.

He eased down the drive to the dark road. Once he hit the little lane, Duke jammed down on the clutch, threw the gearshift into first, then stomped on the accelerator. Rapidly, he shifted up to second, third, fourth … still feeling Felicia’s breath on his thigh. Checking the rearview mirror, he was relieved to see that no one appeared to notice his departure in the mayhem. He floored it, putting distance between them and Mathias, every muscle in his body tense, his heart thumping in his chest.

As he rounded the first corner, one of the walls of the sixteenth-century chapel crashed down under Mathias’s spell. Duke closed his eyes and held in a curse. Dear God, please let everyone be unharmed, especially once Mathias realized the Doomsday Brethren had spirited the Untouchable away.

As the house slipped from sight, Duke flipped on the
headlights and released Felicia, fighting the urge to run his hand through her soft honey hair to ensure she was unharmed. “Sorry if I hurt you. Are you all right?”

“Who were those people in the robes? Were they the villains trying to—”

“Yes.” He didn’t want to elaborate now. And he didn’t want to talk about Felicia being hurt or killed. The other female corpses he’d seen after Mathias’s torture were too horrific to contemplate.

Panic raced across her face. “What about the wedding party and the house?”

“Bram, Marrok, and Ice will protect everyone.”

“Three people aren’t enough to fight that army. We must call the authorities. Go back! Mason and your mother and—”

“The police can’t help them.” Duke pressed his lips together regretfully, shifting again as the car jetted through the inky night. “We can’t go back.”

“They need our help!”

“I’ll make certain they get it, but you must be safe at all costs.”

“I won’t leave Mason there to die!”

“He’ll be fine.” Duke gritted his teeth at the sound of his brother’s name on her lips, spoken with such devotion. “It’s not him they want. It’s you.”

Privately, he worried about his family and guests, but he saw no need to admit that to Felicia and worry her more.

Grabbing the phone from his pocket, he thumbed through the menus, then found the number he sought.

Tynan answered on the first ring, “You all right, Duke?”

“Close call, but I’m fine.”

“Did you find—”

“Indeed. My brother’s bride is with me.”

“Shit! She came with you voluntarily on her wedding day?”

“Not … exactly. Listen, Tynan. Mathias and the Anarki have descended on my house. Bram, Ice, and Marrok need backup.”

“Got it. Ronan is handy. Caden, can you go with us? Right, then. He’s in as well.”

“Lucan?”

“He’s … not having a good night.”

Duke winced. “Angry, despondent, or insane?”

“Depends on which moment you ask.”

Damn it!
?“So, not battle ready?”

“Not even close,” Tynan said.

“Keep him there. I don’t need him regressing instead of saving the wedding guests. You and the others get to my house posthaste.”

“Will do.”

“Please, find my mother and my brother. Make certain …”

God, if something happened to them because he hadn’t revealed the fact he was a wizard and hadn’t properly protected the place, the guilt would crush him. He’d always been afraid that putting magical protections around his house would announce the fact that a wizard lived there and be an engraved invitation to Mathias. Now, Duke regretted the decision more than anything.

“We’ll keep them safe.”

“One more thing,” Duke interjected. “Is Sabelle available?”