Enslaved (The Inbetween Novels) (13 page)

“All right, baby. But you’re mine as soon as we get out of here.”

Their waiter stopped by the table with a plate of chocolate cake and two forks. Like a switch had been flipped, the couple put a little space between them and dug into the dessert.

Deryck shook his head. Human behavior in this realm directly contradicted the fantasies of the women who summoned him. In the Inbetween, the woman would have subtly insisted he finish her off at the table before the waiter interrupted. Then he’d likely take her out to the car and ravish her in the back seat or against the wall of the restaurant.

“Can I get you anything else, sir?”

He smiled at his waitress, who’d been extra vigilant since the second he sat down in her section. “No, thank you.”

“I’ll bring your check.” She put an extra sway into her step on her way to the back. Deryck caught her leaning over to whisper to another waitress. “It’s a shame, a guy that edible sitting by himself all night.”

Deryck couldn’t understand human fascination with attractive people. In their minds, if you were handsome or beautiful, it was your duty to be seen with other gorgeous people, settle down with a super model wife, and produce children. No wonder women ran to the Inbetween for a night with him. There was too much pressure on them in this realm to be beautiful and have beautiful lives.

He knew better than most, life was inherently ugly once you scratched the surface.

A few couples remained tucked into the booths in the restaurant. Their emotions ranged from obviously happy and content to downright spiteful. One man let out an agitated sigh when his partner left for the restroom. He pulled out his cell phone and poked around at it. For the first time since Deryck watched him walk in, the man smiled. It wasn’t for the man he’d been holding hands with, but for some electronic device. What on earth was wrong with people if they smiled at material goods and shunned their lovers?

Deryck’s head hurt.

The waitress brought the bill. Deryck reached into his pocket and summoned enough money to cover it and a decent tip for her. He left both on the table. Any longer inside watching the strange mating rituals of humans, and he’d start yanking out his hair.

Deryck stepped outside into the cool night air. He took a deep breath and cringed at the taint of pollution. That, he’d never get used to—the smell of machinery leeching into his lungs.

Nevertheless, he wasn’t prepared to go home yet. Deryck looked down the street and found a row of small canopies. He walked down the sidewalk; eager to do something that wouldn’t melt his brain or force him to return to the compound.

The small art faire was in full swing. Young artists beamed at passers-by. Hope gleamed in their eyes. Deryck perused the offerings, impressed by the pottery one woman had displayed at her table. He purchased a vase he thought Shayla would enjoy and continued on his way, stopping occasionally to admire some of the most beautiful things he’d seen since first setting eyes on his Shayla.

This was the sort of humanity Deryck wanted to find.

The inside of Shayla’s Mazda felt about as roomy as a sardine can. She couldn’t fit inside, what with her neurotic luggage joining her in the front seat and all. The air was gone. She tried to breathe, and all it did was trigger another round of, “I shouldn’t be doing this.” For once, she wished she wasn’t a complete basket case because of her past.

Usually Shayla applauded herself for her discretion when it came to dating. After Cyrus, she’d been too traumatized to even consider being alone in a room with a man, let alone trusting one enough to not hurt her. But Deryck slipped through her armor somehow. She liked him, as well as someone could like a man she hardly knew.

What if he said something and triggered her memories? Or worse, after a couple glasses of wine, she poured out her soul about everything she’d been through? On the flip-side, he could find her so boring he’d never call again. That’d do a number on her ego, not that she had one.

“Oh my fucking God. Shut up, Shayla.”

Shayla sat behind the wheel of her car, one hand reaching for the ignition, the other going for her cell phone. If she called and cancelled, claimed to be sick, it wouldn’t be too horrible. She could reschedule.
Yeah, reschedule after a six-month stay at the insane asylum.

Her cell phone rang. Shayla’s heartbeat kicked into overdrive. Maybe it was Deryck calling to cancel for her.

“Hello?”

“You’re sitting in your driveway having a panic attack, aren’t you?”

Shayla sighed at Faye and dropped her head against the headrest. “No.”

“You’re an awful liar.”

“How did you know what I’m doing?” Shayla sat up and looked out into the street.

“I’m not spying, I just know you. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong.” Actually, everything was wrong. She shouldn’t be going out on dates. Ever. The kind of emotional baggage she carried—aside from the neurotic mess she currently struggled with—was enough to send any serious suitor straight out the door. Shayla wasn’t a catch, she was a disaster wrapped in a pretty package.

Too bad the dress would go to waste.

“Stop thinking.”

“What?”

“Just stop, Shayla. You do this to yourself anytime something good comes your way. The self-doubt, the dredging up your past; all it does is hurt you. I’m seriously worried about you. Is this what your life will end up being because of one asshole?”

Shayla rubbed the back of her neck, hoping to loosen up some of the tension. “No. But what if Deryck thinks I’m a waste of time and takes off with the waitress at the end of our date?”

Faye sighed. “Jesus, you’re really over thinking this. Go to the restaurant. Have a nice, normal night out. You’ve earned it. The mourning and healing period lapsed a long time ago. If you won’t go out and have a good time for yourself, do it for me. I worry about you so much.”

“I’m fine on my own, really.”

“How fine will you be in eight months?”

Shayla frowned. “That is a really specific time frame. I guess I’ll be okay.”

“You better be. I don’t want my baby’s godmother stressed out.”

The news took a few seconds to sink in. “Oh my God. How did that happen? You just started dating whatshisname.”

“Jeremy, and we’ve been together for two months.”

“That’s still a little soon.”

Faye let out an agitated breath, breaking up the phone’s sound. “Maybe he has super sperm. I don’t know. My point is, how will you feel seeing me with a family while you’re on your own?”

The reminder of what she’d lost hurt. “I have Mom.”

“She’s in a nursing home four hours away. Stop punishing yourself, Shayla. Take a night off from the past and focus on the future for once. Enjoy your life.”

“I hate when you’re right.”

“You should be used to it by now.” Faye laughed.

“Congratulations, by the way. A baby, even an unplanned one, is a blessing.”

“You’re going to be in the room with me. There’s no way I’m going through this alone.”

“Sure. I’ll sit at the foot of the bed with a bowl of ice cream and a video camera.”

“You’re a seriously twisted woman.”

“I learned from you.” Shayla laughed. “I’ll call with a date report later.”

“Don’t call if he goes home with you. I’ll understand.”

Before Shayla could defend her honor, Faye laughed and hung up.

Shayla pitched the phone into her purse. She stared at it, hoping Deryck would still call and give her the out she wanted. Faye was right, though. She’d been punishing herself for too long. So long, in fact, she forgot how to live and enjoy little things in life, like getting to know someone new.

“I really hate when she’s right.”

Reluctantly, Shayla started the car and backed out of her driveway. She turned left at the stop sign and drove toward downtown using surface streets. The longer drive time would give her a chance to get her head on straight. Deryck deserved a good, honest chance to stand on his own, not be marred in her past. Shayla reminded herself just that several times on the drive to The Midnight Grill.

* * * * *

A myriad of male voices echoed through the vast space of the Roman-esque bathing house that doubled as a locker room for the incubi compound. The other incubi joked and soaked in the large heated pool situated in the middle of the space. Along each wall were rows of stone cubbies to store clothes in during workouts. They provided the illusion of privacy, despite the numerous bodies sharing the same large, mostly open space.

Deryck’s fists ached from one too many rounds with a punching bag. He felt frazzled, even after taking a quick rinse off in the pool.
Three-thousand years old and I’m more nervous than a virgin on her wedding night.

He whipped the towel over his hair to dry it and draped the cloth around his hips. Deryck planted his ass on the wood bench in front of his makeshift locker. Cradling his head in his hands, he focused on just breathing. Too much rode on this one date. If he screwed up, Shayla would never agree to release him. Not only that, he genuinely liked her. Wanted to spend more time in her company. He wanted a chance at a future with her. None of which would happen if his nerves got the best of him.

Deryck dropped his head and reached into his locker to grab the clothes he’d brought—jeans and a t-shirt. He’d have to buy date-worthy clothes in the human realm. It wasn’t like he kept a wardrobe in the barracks. His clothes just . . . appeared.

His fingers closed in on soft fabric, far different than the shirt he knew was in there. Deryck looked up at the French blue dress shirt hanging from his fingertips. The hanger bounced off the stone wall of his locker; beside it hung a pair of charcoal grey dress slacks. In the bottom of the locker was a pair of black leather shoes.

Deryck’s blood ran cold. Someone or something knew what he planned to do.

He dropped the dress shirt onto the bench and stared at it. If he had a sane thought in his head, he would get dressed and head down to the human realm. He kept a safe box inside a storage facility with the necessary materials for his human identity, including a cell phone. Deryck would call Shayla and cancel the date. If someone knew his plans, she could be in danger. Would she be able to free any of the others? How many other incubi would kill to be free of their bonds?

What about the gods? If they knew he’d found a loophole to their laws, surely both his life and Shayla’s would be forfeit. They didn’t like anyone getting an upper-hand on them, least of all half-breed offspring the gods only kept close to home to control their power.

First and foremost, he needed to protect Shayla. Then he’d worry about saving his own hide.