Enslaved (The Inbetween Novels) (29 page)

“The vessel is human, how else was I to summon the bastard?” Herryk turned to Deryck and arched a dark brow.

“You know full well she is more than human. You are too weak to create your own chant for her to speak.”

“It doesn’t matter, she is nearly done. She’s served her purpose. You Egyptians,” he spit on the floor, as though speaking Deryck’s nationality offended him, and your elaborate ceremonies. “You waste time making yourselves and your gods too important.”

“Not me. I’m a discard, unimportant in the vast scheme of things. You are, too. No pantheon wants to claim a horde of half-breeds. We are weak. Our powers a drop in the ocean compared to our sires.”

“I will prove otherwise. You will be the first to witness the power I’ve gathered.”

Deryck patted the barrier. It felt softer under his fingertips. He forced himself not to react to the weakening. “This is the most power you will ever wield, Herryk. It isn’t that impressive.”

“You can’t do it,” Herryk snapped.

“How would you know?”

Shayla cried out in pain. Deryck sidestepped away from Herryk to watch her. Marduk was free up to the elbow of his left arm. He still held her by the wrist. Pain broke Shayla’s voice as she tried to continue reading.

The power that’d swept Shayla and aided her in reading the first half of the summoning had abandoned her. Its winds curled around her legs, flared her skirt out so far she knew the men across the room got a glimpse at her black old-lady panties, but it didn’t course through her body as before. It mocked her after the arrival of the man in the portal. His arm was free of the portal up to his shoulder. The muscles below his bronze skin were so well-defined, she knew the anatomy of the muscles in his upper arms. The sleeve of his shirt covered little of his thick upper arm, a vibrant teal silk with gold and purple embroidery around the cuff done in the same flower or sunburst pattern as his bracelet. The god’s jewelry and wardrobe were in stark contrast to the strength he used to hold her in place.

As though he’d read her mind, he shook her. Tears filled her eyes, tears of pain and fear. Her throat closed. She took a breath; it came and went in tiny hiccups. Was this really her sole purpose in life, to be abused by men far more powerful than they appeared? She’d fought so hard to free herself of Cyrus’s memory, only to have it dragged back and shoved in her face. To them she was nothing but a baby carriage with a heartbeat.
And soon I won’t even have that.

Shayla tried to pull herself together. Tears and snot ran down her face. She swiped at the snot with the back of her hand, wiping it off on her dress. It didn’t matter, if she survived, she’d burn everything she was wearing.

“Leave it to my bastard to find a half-wit to summon me.” The god’s voice rumbled through the portal, shaking the skull and dagger on the table.

“I’m—I’m not stupid. I’m scared.” She sounded it, too. Her voice was weaker than a mouse’s squeak.

The god dragged her closer. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the paper with the spell followed, remaining at eye level. He pulled her down so her face was inches from the swirling mass above the table. It smelled like raw meat and pennies left in a bowl for too long.

“You have nothing to fear unless you fail to continue reading.” His eyes flashed bright green in the portal.

Shayla gasped and stumbled back as far as he’d allow. She sought out the spell and read, taking care to pronounce each word carefully.

“She takes orders well, Deryck,” Harry said across the room. “Now I know why you picked her from the others.”

A muffled sound followed. Shayla couldn’t figure out what it was until she stole a glace across the room. Deryck stood closer in the doorway. His mouth moved, but she couldn’t make out the words.
He’s probably lapping up the compliments from Harry.

She gave a disgusted snort. It was so like her to think someone would, could actually care for her. Cyrus proved to her again and again she was good for one thing—pleasing him. Harry wanted to use her. What did Deryck want? A place in Harry’s New World Order side-by-side with his god of a father—Marduk, she assumed from the name she’d read over and over again in the summoning spell—so they could subjugate the world and create more of whatever the hell they were? She knew the two across the room were somehow different from Marduk, but not why or how.

Across the room, Harry and Deryck were wrapped up in an animated conversation. Neither man noticed she’d stopped reading, and Marduk hadn’t felt the need to threaten her again. She jerked her free hand through her hair, pushing her sweat-soaked bangs off her forehead. Everything bad that’d happened to her recently began when Deryck showed up at the coffee shop. How did they find her? Deryck must have been searching for a woman who’d been knocked up by a god.
Joke’s on them. I never gave birth to a god’s offspring.
Cy had taken care of that problem. Shayla ran a hand over her lower stomach. She’d rather die than go through the pain he put her through again. If any of the men present thought to use her to make another half-breed, they’d have a hell of a fight on their hands. She’d go through with their ritual, but she would never subject herself to a forced pregnancy.

Deryck’s shoulder hit the glass-like barrier between him and Harry. The sound rattled around the room, jarring her from the woe-is-me streak she’d been caught in. Shayla sucked in a shaky breath.

“You’re nothing compared to me,” Harry roared. She’d missed something while considering what would happen to her.

Harry spit out a curse. Deryck stumbled through the doorway, his shoes kicking up shards of broken bricks. His stopped suddenly when Harry’s fist met his jaw.

The first part of Deryck’s plan worked wonderfully—he made it through Herryk’s spell and into the massive temple beyond. The second part of his plan, well, he couldn’t remember it through the throbbing from his brain bouncing around inside his skull. He rubbed his jaw where Herryk’s fist landed a solid blow. It already began swelling and muffled his hearing.

Herryk took another swing at Deryck’s head, his fist coming hard and fast toward his temple. Cursing, Deryck ducked and twisted under Herryk’s arm. Staying low, he jogged out of punching range. Another hit like the first and he’d need to call a time-out on his rescue plans to let the promised concussion heal. Sure, their kind was hard to kill, but even then, pain registered and major wounds made it impossible to function until they healed. He stole a glance at Shayla. There was no time for him to grab a ten-minute nap and heal.

“You are too much your father, Deryck. He ran anytime danger came his way, allowing heathens to push him further and further south. What is he, the god of Antarctica now?” Herryk lunged, grabbing hold of his arm and dragging him into an undercut punch to the gut.

The air in Deryck’s lungs took flight. He dragged in a breath, pulled Herryk closer, and head-butted him. His forehead connected with Herryk’s cheekbone. Herryk dropped his hold and kicked Deryck back with a foot to his hip.

Deryck gave a winded laugh. His head throbbed. “Insulting my sire will get you nowhere. You are the only one crippled by where they came from.”

Herryk sank down into a fighting stance, his feet spread hip-width apart, and fists at chest level. “When she frees me, I will write my own origin. No one will be able to claim they created me. I am my own pantheon.”

“The last man to make that claim was banished from the God’s Lands.”

“He is no god.”

Green light spilled out of Herryk’s eyes. He whispered harsh, quick words. Deryck closed in on him, fists swinging to connect with his jaw. Herryk blocked every blow, whispering his spell. The light in his eyes spread, illuminating the room around them. Shadows jumped at Deryck, their phantom claws caught his shirt, ripping it. They tried to tear at his flesh, but the power animating them was weak, distracted. If Herryk finished his spell, Deryck would be in trouble.

He closed in on Herryk again. Deryck caught the other man with a kick to the ribs. Herryk lost his breath for a moment. The shadows backed off, lingering at the border of light flooding from Herryk’s eyes. He righted himself and snarled the spell again.

“Shut up, Herryk.”

Deryck snapped out his right hand, half expecting it to be blocked again. Herryk missed the block. The side of Deryck’s hand chopped against his windpipe at full force. The light in Herryk’s eyes died. He crumpled to his knees, wheezing.

Realizing his window of opportunity, Deryck left Herryk on the ground and raced across the temple. He knocked into Shayla harder than anticipated. Her wrist broke free of Marduk’s grasp. Blood welled in a row of scratches over her pale flesh.

Gently, he pushed her away from the table. “I’m sorry, Shayla.”

She shrugged out of his grip. Her movements were stiff, awkward. Shayla favored her left shoulder and used her dress to blot the fresh wounds. She was filthy head-to-toe. Her hair stood at all angles, the hairs framing her face were the worst, either stuck to her forehead and cheeks with sweat or dried and sticking out like antennae. Deryck looked her over, thankful she was alive. He wished he had the power to heal her, or at least the ability to call on someone who could.

He reached for her wrist. “Let me see how bad it is.”

Shayla’s green eyes bore into his. “Don’t touch me.”

She couldn’t stomach the sight of Deryck. However, there wasn’t much else to look at, not if she wanted to make sure she’d escape the temple in one piece. She could watch Marduk escape from the portal instead, but it lost its appeal after the third or fourth death threat. Her eyes drifted over the golden dragon closest to her and followed the curl of its tail over the front of the table. Marduk’s fingers grasped the spiny tail. A second hand reached to join the first. His hair tumbled over his left shoulder, pitch black and unbelievably curly. Shayla took another step away from the altar coated in her blood, Marduk, and most of all, Deryck.

Her head swam. She needed to get away from them. How could she, though? Reality had taken a vacation, trapping her in a Grimm Brother’s fairy tale—they never really had happy endings.

“Shayla, we need to go while Herryk is down.” Deryck watched her like a police officer watched a man about to jump off of a bridge.

“Who is Herryk?” She looked at Harry and laughed, harsh and quick. Yet another lie, another betrayal. She’d had more than enough of them in her life. “Is Deryck even your real name?”