Enslaved (The Inbetween Novels) (7 page)

“Why are you following me?”

Before he could say anything to calm her, Shayla bolted down the hallway at the back of the crowded room. Deryck followed. Water sloshed out of the flower vase. He set it down on the desk she’d occupied.

A door down the hall slammed so hard the glass wall alongside it shuddered. Deryck raced to it and tried the knob. It didn’t budge. She’d locked herself in to get away from him.

Pain wrapped around his heart and dragged it down to the pit of his stomach. This was not the reaction he’d anticipated after making the rash decision to seek Shayla out on his own, without whatever power that kept setting him in her path interfering. The effort to enter the human realm hurt, but he’d managed. And now the sole motivation he possessed to attempt such a mad feat thought he was stalking her.

Deryck caressed the door, wishing it was her arm. On the other side, her panicked breaths grew louder. A sob broke the galloping pattern and sent a lance straight into his chest.

He braced his forehead against the cool wood. “I’m sorry, Shayla.”

Pounding footsteps came at him from both directions. Angry men’s voices joined in the cacophony. Deryck backed away from the door sheltering his prize. Another door sat behind him. With a glance back toward where Shayla hid, he ducked into the small closet.

Deryck transported himself to his home, feeling like the worst scum to ever breathe.

Man, the wallpaper in here is butt-ugly.

Shayla wrapped her arms around herself and wondered who the hell she needed to talk to in order to get the conference room’s décor redone. No wonder their clients walked out of there looking like they’d sucked on a lemon. She never noticed how bad it was before, but being stuck in there for well over an hour gave her plenty of time to grow to hate the wallpaper.

“Ma’am, did you hear me?”

She dragged her eyes away from the wall. A police officer in his mid-thirties watched her carefully, like she’d snap a cog at any moment and they’d have to haul her off to a psych ward.

“Sorry, what did you say?”

“Did you know the man?”

Shayla shook her head. “I’d never seen him before last week.”

The second cop, an older no-nonsense looking woman, tapped her pen against her notepad. “That’s when you saw him at Sweet Bean. Did you talk to him, say anything that’d make him think you were flirting with him?”

“God no. I don’t remember saying anything to him. He just . . . watched me, like he knew me.”

The female cop made a note. “Do you do a lot of bar-hopping?”

Shayla laughed bitterly. “Not in years unless you count my living room as a bar.”

“What about when the man came to your house? Did he try to break in or follow you inside?” The male officer, T. Brandon, looked sympathetic. Unlike his partner, Officer Bitchface.

“No. He didn’t say or do anything.”
Other than apparently vanish into thin air.
“I hadn’t seen him in days, so I thought whatever fixation he had was over.”

Officer Bitchface, or N. Thompson as her name badge said, gave her a stern look. “Are you one-hundred percent sure you didn’t lead this man on in any way. Even things we think are innocent come across differently to men.”

Officer Brandon straightened his shoulders, but didn’t come to the defense of his gender.

“I didn’t do anything or say anything. Can I go?” Shayla wanted to curl up on her couch for the next week.

Thompson closed her notebook. “Do you want to press charges if we figure out who this guy is?”

Shayla hugged herself tighter. That was the million-dollar question and she’d be damned if she could come up with a simple “yes” or “no” answer. Sure, he’d scared the ever-loving crap out of her showing up out of the blue. But he hadn’t tried to touch her or say anything to truly terrify her. If only she hadn’t freaked out seeing him in the office and stayed put to hear him explain himself. Oh no. She’d flipped her lid and ran off like he had a gun hidden behind the vase of flowers he carried.

She wanted to kick herself. The guy was probably some poor delivery driver for one of the nearby florists and she’d put a vague description of him on notice with the police. His parting words, an apology that sounded so heartfelt, replayed in her head.

Shaking her head, Shayla stood. “No. I don’t want to press charges.”

“Your choice,” Thompson said. It looked like she wanted to say more, but she didn’t.

“If you have any other problems, give us a call.” Brandon handed Shayla his card.

The officers left her alone in the conference room. Shayla pocketed the business card and walked into the hallway. Her boss, Joel Tate, and Kelly were waiting outside.

“You’re going home, Shayla. Take the next couple of days off.” Tate gave her a stern look. There’d be no arguing his decision.

“What about the Anderson report?” She blurted and realized, no matter how much she wanted to go home and curl up; she didn’t want to be alone.

“I’ll take care of it,” Kelly offered.

Tate patted Shayla’s arm. “It’d be best for you get some rest after all of this.”

Kelly nodded in agreement. “I’ll call you later to check in, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

Shayla walked to her desk in a daze. Mr. Tate wasn’t usually so accommodating or nice. She was afraid to see how shaken up she looked if he offered her a day and a half off, presumably paid, without a second thought.

The vase of flowers the strange man had been carrying sat on top of her desk. Shayla froze in place and stared at them. It was obvious now that she got a closer look, a professional hadn’t put the bouquet together. However, the flowers complimented each other. The scent wafting from them made her think of her grandmother’s garden at the end of spring.

She plucked a small white card out of the vase and read it.

Her heartbeat kicked up to eleven. No one had ever called her a goddess before. Hell, aside from when she’d landed in the hospital with pneumonia during college, no one ever brought her flowers. Mixed emotions swirled in her head. So strange, a man she’d never met before could elicit such a feeling when the handful of people she loved couldn’t do the same.

Shayla gathered her purse and the flowers and headed to the elevators. She felt guilty taking flowers from a man who was probably wanking to thoughts of her every night, but she couldn’t let them go to waste. Something good had to come of an extremely screwed up day.

It was amazing how a well-made plate of food in front of a man could transform into something completely inedible when his mood dropped into the toilet. Deryck spread the chicken curry and rice around his plate, hoping no one would notice he hadn’t been eating again.

It’d been days since the mishap with Shayla. Her terrified eyes burned in his mind’s eye. When he slept, he saw nothing but them. When he took a lover in the Inbetween, the same green eyes tormented him. His concern about her did not affect his performance as an incubus. Once he was pulled to the Inbetween, the control he possessed over his body was forfeited to the woman who called him. Despite his wishes, despite where he longed to be, he still filled the wombs of women with his infertile seed.

Deryck was disgusted with himself.

A plate clattered onto the table across from him. Deryck flashed Herryk an annoyed look.

The male scowled in return and pointed his fork at the expanding mess on Deryck’s plate. “Trying out a new diet? Or are too tired from your numerous hours in the Inbetween to eat?”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about, Herryk.” Deryck kept his face blank; afraid the male’s dark eyes could see right into his mind.

“You’ve been absent a lot, Deryck. You were never one to whore yourself so often.

“Maybe I’ve decided to challenge you for top dick in our little band of brothers.” Deryck set his fork on his plate and pushed back from the table. “All my work seems to have put off my appetite. Or perhaps it is the company.”

“No one is above me here.” Herryk rose.

“We are all equal. You’d do well to remember that,” Wolfrik called across the room.

Deryck sent the male a grateful look. “I have nothing to prove.”

“How many women have you bedded this week, Deryck?” Herryk was incapable of letting anything go once he thought his reputation would be surpassed. Deryck’s predecessor, the one he’d assumed the name of at his initiation, had been a victim of Herryk’s scheming to be the best. To date, no one knew what happened after he was removed from the compound.

“I’ve been doing my job and not competing against those I am supposed to work with.” Deryck snagged a pear out of the bowl at the center of the table. “Which I need to get back to, if you’re done trying to prove yourself.”

“You’re up to something,” Herryk accused.

“He’s probably taken a regular,” Garik chimed in from his seat.

“You’re full of shit, Garik. He wouldn’t.”