Ilona Andrews

Curran nodded. “Okay, we’ll take the Jeep.”
“They don’t permit any technology past the fourteenth century AD in their territory. You’ll have to ride a horse.”
Curran’s face snapped into a flat Beast Lord expression. “I don’t think so.”
“You can jog if you want, but I’m getting a horse.”
A low rumble began in Curran’s throat. “I said we’ll take the Jeep.”
“And I said they will put an axe into your carburetor.”
“Do you even know what a carburetor is?” Curran asked.
I knew it was a car part. “That’s irrelevant.”
Doolittle cleared his throat. “My lord, my lady.”
We looked at him.
“Take it outside my hospital before you break anything.” It didn’t sound like a request.