"You're obsessed with moons," I said.
"Which is why I picked you out of the phone book," he said, grinning. "Couldn't help myself, Mrs. Moon."
We were both silent. I watched him carefully. His mouth was open slightly. He was breathing heavily, his wet tongue pushed up against his incisors. His face looked healthy, vigorous and...feral.
"You're a werewolf," I said finally.
He grinned, wolf-like.
Kingsley moved over to the window, pulled aside the blinds, and peered out into the night. With his back to me, I could appreciate the breadth and width of his shoulders.
"Could you imagine in your wildest dream," he said finally, "of ever having this conversation?"
"Never."
"And yet neither one of us has denied the other's accusations."
"Nor have we admitted to them," I added.
We were silent again, and I listened to the faint hum of traffic outside the window. I spied some of the reassuring darkness through the open slats. I was in uncharted territory here, and so I decided to roll with the situation.
"For simplicity's sake," he said, his back still to me, "let's assume we are vampires and werewolves. Where does that leave us?"
"Obviously I must kill you," I said.
"I hope you're kidding."
"I am."
"Good, because I don't die easily," he said. "And certainly not without a fight."