Enslaved (The Inbetween Novels) (3 page)

Bowl in hand, Deryck left the others to their meal. Conversations about their latest conquests followed him around the walkway, running the entire inner perimeter of the Grecian-style building toward his sleeping quarters. Part of him wished he could turn around and trade play-by-play with his brothers. The other half of his mind rebelled, wishing there were a way to stop his endless nightmare.

Deryck paused outside the door-less entrance to the barracks. Leaning on the railing, he looked down into the gardens filling the rectangular courtyard. Directly below where he stood, a pond rippled with movement from a dozen colossal koi swarming his way to beg for food. He sifted through the bowl Garik gave him and tossed a palm full of dried fruit into the water.

In the sleeping quarters, he sprawled out on his small bed. A handful of the trail mix stopped the hunger pains gnawing at his insides. He closed his eyes and prayed for a few hours of sleep without a summons. For once he wanted his body to be his own.

* * * * *

Whitewashed and dull, Shayla’s neighborhood was exactly where she wanted to be after a day of Faye’s attempts to turn her into a sex kitten. At the bakery, she slipped Shayla’s number to the cute guy frosting cupcakes. During their hike back to the parking garage, she stopped a passing jogger to ask his opinion on Shayla’s haircut.

If a person could die of embarrassment, Shayla came damn close to kicking the bucket.

“You sure you’ll be okay alone?” The nose of Faye’s car rose up the incline of Shayla’s driveway.

“I’ve been alone for a while now. One more night of peace and quiet won’t hurt.” She turned in her seat to snag the bag of embarrassing lingerie and a box full of handmade chocolate truffles and éclairs.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Faye said.

Shayla met her gaze. Her friend’s concern was a slap in the face. Even then, she held fast to her pride. “Do what?”

“Act like everything is okay when obviously it isn’t.”

Unable to formulate a coherent response, Shayla scooted out of the car. She leaned down and gave Faye her best everything-is-okay smile. “Drive safely. I’ll call you for lunch next week, okay?”

She shut the door on her friend’s frustration and walked up the narrow walkway to the door. Faye stayed in the driveway until Shayla stepped inside.

“Everything is okay, damn it,” she reassured herself.

The bag in her hand hit the small hall table, making the bowl of change on top jangle. Embarrassment colored her cheeks. Shayla dropped the bag next to the bowl and wrinkled her nose.

“You, however, are not okay.”

She’d have to sneak back to the boutique during the week and exchange the lingerie for something not so . . . red. Or revealing. If one scrap of lace touched her skin, she’d likely burn alive from shame.

Faye possessed far too much faith in her ability to leave the past where it belonged. Shayla never admitted to her friend how often she had nightmares about the weeks leading to the end. The way Cyrus talked to her. Treated her.

“Don’t go there, idiot,” Shayla warned herself and tucked the box of fatty goodness from the bakery closer to her chest.

First things first, she walked down the hall to her bedroom and got rid of her clothes, replacing them with a pair of worn flannel pajama pants and an oversized t-shirt. Finally comfortable, Shayla padded into the living room with the bakery box. The remote waited for her on the couch.

“Let’s see what’s On Demand.”

Crap. Crap. More crap . . . and a section devoted to romantic comedies. Nothing on the cable menu looked remotely entertaining. Actually, her idea of hell transformed from being locked in a room with her ex, to being locked in a room with her ex while The Wedding Planner played on an endless loop on screens covering every surface.

Shuddering, she gave up on the programming failures at the cable company and flipped on the DVD player. Her old standby would get her through the night. After all, who felt lonely watching Legolas running through beautiful green countryside?
Only idiots
, she told herself.

Shayla plucked a chocolate-covered cherry out of the big pink box at her side. Her teeth sank into it, releasing a gooey stream to dribble down her chin. Cursing, she wiped up the goop with a tissue. No wonder no one wanted her. She was a mess.

“You’ll never forsake me, will you, Legolas?”

Of course he didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to. She’d grown up on Tolkien’s novels and spent a good portion of her adult life watching the movies made from them. At one point, she’d hidden the DVDs in her shoe collection to keep her ex from throwing them out. God forbid she did anything or liked anything he didn’t. Cyrus threw away two full sets of the extended-version movies before she wised up and hid them—like a teen boy hiding porno magazines from his mother.

“Stop going there, Shay,” she muttered and occupied her thoughts with how damn good the éclairs tasted.

“I don’t care if I have to go buy bigger pants, I’m marrying you, you delicious bastard.”

On the screen, a horde of men on horseback faced off with the intrepid heroes. Shayla recited the lines from memory. So what if she looked ridiculous, it wasn’t like anyone would ever witness her anti-depression ritual.

She lifted another piece of chocolate to her mouth. The smell of it made her stomach protest. “Okay, no more sweets.”

Shayla twisted her hair into a bun and scooted down to lay across the couch on her side. The TV fuzzed in and out of focus for a few minutes. Finally, sleep claimed her.

* * * * *

Brightly colored pieces of cereal clattered into the large ceramic bowl on the kitchen counter. Shayla kept pouring until the bowl filled to the brim. She’d always been a sucker for sugary, bad-for-you breakfast foods. While she couldn’t imagine feeding the stuff to a child, she’d gladly eat it for a morning burst of energy.

“Better than coffee.”

The jug of milk appeared at her side. She smiled and took it. Milk splashed in the bowl. A few pieces of cereal jumped ship.

A warm body pressed against her backside. His arousal rubbed against her. Tempted, Shayla reached back to tease him in return. Strong hands caught her wrists and pulled them to the counter. He leaned in, pinning her against the kitchen counter.

“You weren’t in bed when I woke up.” Lips brushed over the back of her neck. Hot breath caught at her hair, blowing it just right to tickle her ear.

“I got hungry. Sorry.” Shayla emphasized the apology with a swivel of her hips against his.

A low groan answered her tease. His hips held her still as his hands slid up her arms. One cupped her breast, coaxing a moan from Shayla. His other hand trailed up her throat, bending her back so he could devour her next moan. Soft lips caressed hers. He slid his tongue over the seam of her lips, demanding entrance. Obediently, she opened up to give him a taste of what was his.

Her body went utterly pliant under his attentions.

Shayla’s breathy laugh broke the kiss. She nuzzled the side of his neck. “My cereal is going to get soggy if you keep molesting me.”

Secretly, she hoped he’d tell her to forget the cereal and make a meal of her there on the kitchen counter. They hadn’t fooled around in the kitchen before. Her eyes measured the depth of the space in front of her. If they moved the bowl and milk, she could perch up there while he . . . .

Behind her, a disgusted noise cut off the train of thought. “Eat that crap and your ass will be even bigger.”

* * * * *

Shayla bolted upright. Sensations crept over her skin, remnants of her nightmare visitor pawing at her erogenous zones. God, she hated that dream. Each time it popped up she hoped just once her mystery dream guy wouldn’t prove to be like every other man in her life. Even in her dreams she was attracted to assholes. Faceless, nameless assholes.

“Maybe I should switch to women,” she mused.

“Carrying extra weight around your belly? Slim-Now will help you drop it in a matter of weeks!”

She cast an annoyed look at the weight loss infomercial flickering across the TV screen. Shayla grabbed the remote, fully intending to throw it at the perky-breasted women jogging through a park. Instead, she switched it off.

The cable box changed from the channel number to the current time.

“Wonderful. Slept like crap on the couch and now I have to hurry.”

Shayla hauled her aching body off the couch and stumbled into the kitchen. Portions of her nightmare threatened to resurface while she ground the beans for her coffee and started a pot to brew. She shoved the nightmare back down in the cesspit of bad emotions bottled in her subconscious.

Dwelling over the past wouldn’t change the fact that she’d never be capable of trusting a man again.

Sweat beaded across Deryck’s skin. His body slammed back to reality with a jolt. The soft mattress under his back and cool breeze from the open window above his bed did little to assure him that he’d open his eyes to see the sparse barracks his brethren slept in.

He cracked one eye open.

“Thank the gods,” Deryck breathed.

The pale walls of their home greeted him like old friends. He’d never once been so relieved to wake between those walls. Scrubbing at his face, Deryck sat up and tried to think over what happened during his nap.

Had it all been a dream?

Dark golden hair with streaks of fire haunted his vision, even as he stared at the white ceiling above his bed. Incubi didn’t dream. Their bodies rested to prepare them for the next summons to the Inbetween—the area between human reality and their home on the outskirts of the God’s Lands. As far as Deryck knew, Incubi were forbidden to dream. That privilege was a gift from the gods to their creations walking the Earth.

But if every dream were as vivid and full of delights as the one he’d woken from, his kind had been seriously robbed.

The woman he dreamed of would be the type mortals started wars over. Too bad her radiant smile and mesmerizing green eyes were nothing but a hiccup from his subconscious mind.

Searing pain ringed Deryck’s wrists. The tattoos he’d been given when first brought to the ranks of the incubi writhed with the energy of a summons—a swirl of knot work expanding to cover half of his forearm. If he’d taken the time to learn, the morphing design would tell him his destination. Why did it matter where he’d stick his rod? Wasn’t like he had much of a choice.

 
Resigned to his fate, he waited for the appropriate clothing to appear on the foot of his bed. Deryck’s chest ached with memories of his dream woman as he dressed for his next session in the Inbetween.

“If only she were the one calling me,” he mused and transported himself to the source of the summons.