Enslaved (The Inbetween Novels) (22 page)

He laughed. It was good to hear after a long, stressful day. “I can’t string two good words together on the page.”

“We all have our talents.”

“What are your talents, Shayla?”

She rubbed the back of her neck and gave an uneasy laugh. “My only real talent is putting my foot in my mouth, metaphorically speaking.”

“You’re being modest. Surely you can do something of note.”

Shayla shrugged and leaned over to clean up the mess on the coffee table. “I’m a halfway decent cook, but I never have anyone to cook for.”

Deryck’s eyes cut over her head to the doorway. She followed his gaze into the dining room and the pathetically small dining set. In her first house, she’d had a massive dining room, and it was always full of friends and family. But family began to die, then Cy came into her life and he made sure she had no one around other than him.

Shayla feigned a yawn to cover the tears stinging the back of her eyes. “Sorry.”

“I should let you sleep, it’s getting late.”

“No, I’m fine.”

Deryck collected the empty plate and glasses off of the coffee table. “What kind of gentleman would I be if I kept a lady up past her bedtime?”

Shayla stood and led him into the kitchen. Deryck took the dishes to the sink. He turned the water on and rinsed the glasses.

“You don’t need to rinse them.” She opened the dishwasher beside his legs and slid out the bottom drawer. “Brand new, it’ll take two-day old mashed potatoes off a plate. Not that I’ve done that.” Her nose wrinkled at the thought.

Deryck bent and put the glasses and plate in the partially loaded dishwasher. “I don’t have one at home, so you’ll have to turn it on and pretend I was kind enough to take care of the dishes for you.”

“I think I can do that.” She laughed.

The door to the dishwasher closed with a soft click. Deryck watched Shayla turn it on. He seemed genuinely interested in how it worked. She shook her head. The man was different. No one in her life paid as much attention to the little things in her life the way he did. It was hard to know how to feel—flattered or creeped out.

Deryck smiled and backed out the kitchen door. “I’ll call you tomorrow, if it’s okay.”

She passed him. Her hand came to a rest on the handle of the front door. A part of her did not want to see him walk out. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

He stopped inches away from her. Warmth radiated off his large frame and Shayla welcomed it. Deryck’s eyes dropped to her mouth. She fought not to chew on her lip nervously or do anything equally embarrassing.

Deryck closed the distance between them. Shayla’s heart leapt into her throat. His arms wrapped around her shoulders. He kissed the top of her head and held her for a moment—not nearly long enough for her liking. He smelled great. She wanted to bottle his natural scent, spray it on her sheets, and roll in them for a few hours.

“Thank you for a wonderful evening. I hope you sleep well.” He pulled back. A wide smile spread across his lips.

“You too, Deryck. Drive safely.” She opened the front door to let him out. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Shayla.”

Deryck walked out the door, taking his wonderful scent and warmth with him. Shayla propped a shoulder against the doorframe and watched him walk down the sidewalk.
Strange, doesn’t he have a car?
But he didn’t stop at any of the cars parked against the curb. At the corner, he turned and walked north. She lost sight of him and reluctantly retreated inside.

It’d been years since she’d been able to relax around a man. Not since college, when Shayla and her roommate would invite friends over for movie nights. Inevitably, they’d break off into pairs and spend the night cuddling with whatever guy caught their eye. She wasn’t as shy then—wasn’t nearly as broken emotionally. It took a lot of faith to allow someone into her house, let alone close enough to touch. She had no clue what about Deryck calmed her enough to let him get close, but she knew if she dug too much, searched for a reason to distrust him, Cy and his abusive ways would win. Funny how a dead man held more sway over her than the living.

“Knock it off, Shayla.”

She backtracked into the kitchen and made sure she’d put everything away. On the counter, her cell phone blinked. Shayla had given it the night off, turned it on silent, and plugged it into the spare charger she kept in there in case she forgot to charge it in the bedroom overnight.

Dialing her voicemail, she leaned against the counter and crossed one arm over her chest. As usual, the voicemail system said too many stupid, useless things before giving her the option to listen to her messages.
If I’m calling my voicemail, why do I need to press one to listen to them?

Harry’s low, even voice oozed from the speaker of her phone. A flush spread up her cheeks. Shayla was grateful to her past self for having the sense to leave her phone in the other room. How would she explain to Deryck she’d gone on an almost-date hours before he came over? It felt like cheating, even though she wasn’t dating either of them. Not really. Or was she?

Romantic relationships were a problem she didn’t know how to cope with.

“I had a wonderful time with you at coffee tonight, Shayla. My only regret is that we were cut short. Allow me the honor of taking you out to dinner tomorrow night at Pure, eight o’clock. It’s over on Second, between Ash and Spruce. Let me know if you can make it.”

Shayla rubbed her forehead. She couldn’t string both of them on. It wasn’t in her to use men as a way to satisfy her need for intimacy. Faye had no problem with it, until recently. She’d tried to talk Shayla through it, how easy it was to keep them from finding out about each other. It never stuck. Yet here she was, doing almost exactly what Faye told her.

“This can’t keep up.”

She hit replay on the message and wrote the name of the restaurant on the notepad hanging from the fridge—the one with cartoon food products dancing around the border, like the snack shop ads before movies at the drive-in when she was a kid. When the message finished playing, Shayla ended the call and found Harry’s number. She sent a quick text telling him she’d be there.

Tomorrow night, she’d go to dinner with Harry and let him down gently. He deserved that much. Sure, she wanted to vanish and let the guys figure things out on their own, but this wasn’t some ridiculous romantic comedy movie. There were no witty sidekicks leading the handsome men to the right conclusion when it came to their woman of choice. Real life was far more complicated, much to Shayla’s dismay. Just once she’d like things to be easy.

Unplugging her phone, she toted it down the hall running the length of her house and walked into her bedroom. The wood floors were cold under her bare feet. Summer needed to hurry up and make an appearance. She hated to wear slippers or socks in the house. The former felt like something a grandmother would wear while puttering around in the garden. The latter was begging for trouble in a house with wood and tile flooring. There was one rug in the house, an old one she’d rescued from her mother’s place before she went into the home and her stuff went into storage. It sat under the dining table—the same place her mother had it in her home during Shayla’s childhood.

Shayla didn’t even bother with changing out of the sweatshirt she’d pulled on earlier, she just dropped her jeans onto the bedroom floor and crawled in bed. Her head nestled down into the pillows. A soft whiff of flowers rose from them, lingering scent from her dryer sheets. She rolled onto her side and grabbed the spare pillow, cradling it against her chest. Sleeping alone was never comfortable. She hoped sleep came easily tonight and her mind didn’t plague her with her fifty billion current problems.

Deryck’s feet crunched across the fine, white marble gravel covering the path from the compound’s gym to the back door of the dining hall. He scrubbed at his wet hair with a towel. Salt crystals from the pool’s cleaning system clung to his skin, making it feel tight. He didn’t care about the minor discomfort. The swim was well worth it and the soreness in his shoulders.

Swimming—one of the few things he did to comfort himself. It was solitary, isolating. For the hour he spent in the water, he was weightless, soaring like a bird through the air with nothing holding him to the earth. The water drowned out the world around him, allowing him to pretend for a short time he wasn’t surrounded by others doomed to the same slavery as him. It gave him time to forget he would be called to the Inbetween at any moment and used as a free sex toy with a pulse and no emotions to be accounted for.

He’d thought, they all thought, the invention of female sex toys on the human realm would bring an end to their plight. They’d be free from the endless summons and violations. Despite the technology, women still preferred the real thing, the warmth of a male over them or under them. They didn’t care if pleasure came from a man they’d never set eyes on again. Women were as heartless, if not more, then men when it came to securing sources of pleasure. They were simply better at hiding it.

Deryck passed a split in the path. Leading off to the northwest of their slice of the God’s Lands, the path was blocked off with a tall gate. Fences bordered the entire section, preventing any fully-grown male from entering. Once an incubi matured to his prime at a mere eighteen years, they were banished from the secluded nursery, their memories wiped of what happened within aside from the lessons they were taught about what they are and what was expected of them.

A rustle came from the tall bushes beside the gate to the nursery’s path. Curious, Deryck stepped closer, one eye on the nearby door leading into the back of the dining hall and the main building of the compound. There were no animals in the God’s Lands, save for the totem pets of the gods themselves. Maybe one of them snuck away from its owner.

Deryck hunched down and edged closer to the bushes. A large hand shot out of the greenery and latched onto the front of his t-shirt. It jerked him through the thick branches. Scrapes marred his arms and stung from the salt on his skin. His back hit the sturdy wrought iron fence with a rumble. He struggled against the grip pinning him in place.

Wolfrik released him and stepped back, his hands raised in a non-threatening gesture. “We need to talk. Now. This was the only place I could think of, where no one would overhear us.” He crooked a finger and walked further down the fence line, away from the trail where others would surely follow momentarily.

Worried about the efforts Wolfrik went to in order to conceal their conversation, he followed slowly. “What is this about?”

“Have you visited Shayla recently?”

“Last night, actually. I was on my way to the human realm to call her in a little while.”

Wolfrik let out a breath and pinned Deryck with a look so serious, he felt his stomach drop out of the bottom of his feet. “Has she mentioned anything or anyone strange hanging around?”

“No. She seemed fine when I left. What aren’t you saying, Wolfrik?”

“I think Herryk has been making trips into the human realm. His clothes carry a bitter tang of pollution, similar to your clothing when you return from the other side. His been absent more and more often and there is a look in his eyes when he looks at you that I do not trust.”