Enslaved (The Inbetween Novels) (8 page)

“I have not been seeing the same woman all week.”

Herryk’s cold eyes snapped from Garik and studied Deryck. Deryck held his breath, waiting for the male to manipulate him with one of the infamous spells he’d inherited from his sire.

“Well, damn. Maybe he has. Didn’t think you had it in you. Who is it?”

“A gentleman doesn’t fuck and tell.”

“Tell me when you see a gentleman enter our ranks and I’ll believe you.”

The walls of the dining room seemed to close in around him. Too many eyes watched and Deryck knew they were trying to figure out if he’d taken a regular female on the Inbetween or if Herryk was right to suspect him of joining his competition. He wouldn’t tell them about Shayla and put both of them in danger.

Ignoring the lecherous calls of the other incubi, Deryck left the dining hall. He took the short staircase down into the courtyard and followed it to the far side of the compound. Garik’s garden greeted him with a nose-full of fragrant flowers similar to those he’d left behind on Shayla’s desk. He should’ve grabbed them before he left, but his mind was focused on trying to fix his wrongs. After realizing how bad he’d scared her, getting out of the building before the angry humans descended on him took priority.

Deryck sat on the lush green grass in the garden. A lavender plant swayed in the breeze, leaning closer as if to tell him a secret. Gods, did he wish it would. Someone, something in the universe must know why he’d been sent to the human realm to meet the only woman to arouse him outside of his indentured servitude.

Faye possessed the uncanny talent to make herself at home in any environment. Her favorite place to turn into her private domain was Shayla’s couch—where she currently sprawled, taking up far more space than her slim body should be capable of.

She tapped the card from the flowers Shayla’s mystery man left on her desk between her fingers, pausing occasionally to reread the text. The flowers themselves sat over on the sideboard, a splash of color in the neutrally decorated room.

Shayla sat curled up in her favorite oversized chair. She couldn’t stop looking at the flowers, analyzing the care that went into the attempt to arrange them into something nice. It wasn’t a gift a complete stranger leaves on one’s desk. Someone who had real, true feelings leaves something so beautiful and she didn’t even know the man. Her head hurt from the adrenaline crash, it throbbed during the entire drive home. All she wanted to do was forget the day ever happened.

“I can’t believe that guy followed you into your office. What do you think he wanted?” Faye flipped the flower card onto the table.

Shayla shrugged. “I didn’t exactly ask while running away from him.”

“Too bad he’s a weirdo.”

“Don’t go there, Faye.”

“I’m just saying. Normally, if a guy brings flowers, he means business.”

Shayla snorted. “Or he wants to dress you up as a doll and keep you locked in his basement as a sex slave.”

Faye rolled over and propped her chin on the arm of the couch to stare at Shayla. “You watch too much TV.”

No amount of television could have prepared Shayla for what happened that afternoon. Nor could it have spared her a pang of regret when the man, D, offered her a heartfelt apology. At least, that was what it sounded like to her. Shayla rolled her eyes at herself. If she didn’t get her head on straight, she’d end up being the next missing person with her picture all over the news.

 
“Do you think he’ll come back?” Shayla wasn’t sure if she enjoyed the prospect or dreaded it. She wanted to apologize for calling the cops on him. Then again, maybe she had a right to be concerned. Her headache grew worse from her battling emotions.

“Your brains have been scrambled. You know what you need?” Faye rolled off the couch with all the grace Shayla lacked.

“A brain transplant?”

“Egg rolls, pot stickers, and vodka.” Faye grinned.

“I don’t have any of those.”

Faye flapped her hand toward the coat rack in the front hallway. “There’s a bottle of vodka over there. I’ll call for the others while you make drinks and find something for us to watch, preferably with hot men.” She winked and went into the kitchen, presumably to grab the number for the Chinese place off the fridge.

“Do you always travel with booze in your purse?” Shayla called.

A laugh answered her. Of course Faye would show up with booze. It was her answer for all of life’s woes–alcohol and bad-for-you food. Shayla foresaw a lot of salads in her future if her friend stayed in the “make it all better” mood she’d arrived in.

Shayla pried her ass out of her seat and strolled over to where Faye’s purse hung off of the coat tree. Sure enough, she found a huge bottle of vodka. It was half-tempting to open it and take a swig without a chaser. If it’d been flavored rum, she probably would have. Instead, she raided the pantry for a bottle of soda to mix it with.

Drinks in hand, Shayla went back the living room, completely ignoring the long list of food Faye rambled off over the phone. There was no way the two of them could eat all of it in one night, no matter how stressed or upset she was. Her stomach growled, apparently accepting the challenge.

There wasn’t anything interesting on TV. Annoyed with her cable service’s lack of psychic ability to know to put on something good when she needed a pick-me-up, Shayla dug through her DVD collection. Her fingers brushed over the cover of
NCIS
, season one. Grinning, she pulled it out and popped in the first disc. Death and sarcasm, that’d help her mood for sure.

Faye walked in from the kitchen and resumed her position on the couch. She grinned at the opening credits on the TV. “Good choice.”

“Never doubt my ability to find therapeutic things to watch.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Shayla was glad for it. Her brain finally started to slow down. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the show. She wasn’t sure, but it didn’t matter anyway.

Faye broke the silence. “I was thinking—”

“Hope you didn’t hurt yourself.” Shayla took a sip of her drink.

“Shut up.” Faye flipped her the bird. “I was thinking maybe this mystery guy isn’t such a bad idea.”

Shayla paused the show to make sure she’d heard correctly. “Say what?”

“Maybe this is your chance to cowgirl up and get over all the shit that’s happened to you. Move past this self-enforced celibacy. Live a little.”

All Shayla could do was gape at Faye. Was she really suggesting she crawl in bed with a complete stranger who could possibly be a stalker and a drug dealer? Her friend had said and done a lot of insane things in her life, but this newest idea took the crazy cake and the nut-job ice cream, and covered it all in bat-shit whipped cream.

“Please tell me you’re joking, Faye.”

A grin spread over the other woman’s lips. “You should see your face right now. If I didn’t think you’d smash my phone, I’d take a picture.”

“That’s not an answer, damn it.”

Faye rolled her eyes. “Okay, fine. You don’t have to ride Mr. Mysterious until he begs for mercy, but please promise me you’ll at least start making some sort of progress in your personal life.”

“I can’t promise anything. Not after everything that’s happened in the last week.”

“I’ll take that.” The doorbell rang. Faye stood up to answer the door. “But we are going out for lunch next week. Don’t argue.”

Shayla sighed. Arguing with Faye was useless. Her friend did what she wanted, when she wanted. Sure, she had a good heart and only wanted to help. But what if Shayla didn’t need help? What if her destiny was to be alone?

The scent of Chinese food cut off the litany of depressing thoughts crowded together in Shayla’s mind. She hit play on the TV and cleared off the coffee table. They’d eat, laugh at the show, and if need be, Shayla would beat Faye’s head in if she mentioned the man--or any other man--for the duration of their night in.

Even a gym located in a small slice of lands occupied by the gods and other beings of legend smelled like stale sweat and soggy socks. No amount of cleaning by invisible butlers could erase the scent. Under the lemon-fresh cleaners, it lingered, trapped in the nooks and crannies after centuries of males working themselves to exhaustion.

Not that the sons of gods needed to pump iron to stay fit, but they needed a hobby aside from plowing females.

Deryck stood at the head of a weight bench, his mind only half focusing on his task. Other things occupied his mind. Things he knew better than to consider around anyone else, lest he accidentally say or do something to betray his thoughts. He shifted his feet closer to the bench to remind himself where he was. It didn’t work to banish her from his mind.

Below him on the bench, Wolfrik slowly raised and lowered about four hundred pounds of iron weights. The veins on his forearms bulged each time he pushed the steel bar above his chest. His arms wobbled. The bar clanked loudly against the brace.

“If you’re going to be as useless as men’s tits, you might as well step aside, Deryck,” Wolfrik grunted and tried to set the weight down on the braces again, with little luck.

“Shit.” Deryck grabbed the bar and jerked it onto the brace before it fell and crushed Wolfrik’s chest. The injury wouldn’t kill him, he healed too fast, but it would irritate his mentor.

Wolfrik sat up and stretched his left arm across his chest. “About time you came back.”

Deryck handed him a glass of water. “I didn’t go anywhere.”

Wolfrik shook his head. “Don’t try to fool me. You haven’t been with us in weeks. Sure, your body makes its way back to the compound, but each time you are called to the Inbetween, more of your mind stays behind.”

Fear tightened Deryck’s gut. Did Wolfrik know the truth? “I apologize. I will try to be more attentive when we’re working out.”

Wolfrik sized him up. His gaze drifted to Deryck’s tattoos. “Is it true what the others are saying, have you taken a regular caller?”