Enslaved (The Inbetween Novels) (33 page)

Time moved differently in the God’s Lands. The inhabitants were not bound to a twenty-four hour day. The light source in the sky brightened and dimmed according to its own schedule—which usually fit the whims of the gods who controlled the sun and moon. It was worse in the Inbetween. Time flowed slower in the Inbetween than anywhere else, giving an incubus ample time to please his mistress without being rushed due to her sleep schedule. All of the different time systems wreaked havoc on Deryck’s mind. It felt like yesterday he’d said goodbye to Shayla and at the same time, like it’d been a decade since he’d seen a smile on her face.

“Her son is in there, you know.” Deryck’s hand smoothed over a bar in the cold wrought iron fence at the beginning of the path to the nursery. “He’d be five today if he’d been allowed to remain in her realm.”

“You sought out the boy’s birth information?” Wolfrik leaned his shoulder against the gate. Concern creased his brow. “If you are caught asking about the new arrivals, there may be consequences.”

Deryck pushed away from the gate. “I know. I shouldn’t dig into her past. It is an invasion of privacy and the gods know she’s had enough trouble from me.”

Wolfrik shook his head. “I wasn’t talking about Shayla, Deryck. The gods may take your interest in her son to mean you wish to free him and the other young incubi before their powers are bound.”

“The thought never occurred to me.” Since it took until maturity for their powers to fully develop, incubi weren’t given their binding tattoos until they were ready to join the ranks in the barracks. The nursery was kept locked to prevent anyone from attempting to use their powers against the gods. If anyone wanted to cause sheer chaos, that’d be the way to do it.

The back door to the dining hall swung open. Garik took the steps down to the path two at a time, putting his long legs to full use. He jogged over to where Deryck and Wolfrik stood, casting a look over his shoulder. “You shouldn’t stand here too long. Whispers are starting to circulate. Gods, I thought with Herryk gone these internal games would stop. His minions aren’t half as bad as he is, but it doesn’t take much chatter to raise the alarms in the God’s Lands.”

Deryck couldn’t move away from the last thing he knew could connect him in some way to Shayla. His eyes followed the barred path until it crested a small hill. The roof of the nursery was barely visible. Children’s voices drifted over to them, not loud, but enough to make his heart wrench. Her blood was so close, yet so far. He wished he could go to the boy, to teach him how to be the sort of man his mother would approve of. Most of all, he wished he could give Shayla the gift of having her child.

Wolfrik’s hand fell on his where it’d gripped the gate again. “Garik is right, we need to move elsewhere before you do something rash.”

“There’s no one in the garden at the moment. We can speak freely near the pond. I have to feed the koi, anyway.” A smile spread over Garik’s face. He loved the garden. Any time Deryck needed to speak with him, he found the man amongst the trees and flowers, speaking to them as old friends.

“I’m not going to do anything,” Deryck insisted.

His companions gave him doubtful looks. Garik patted his shoulder. “You’re heart-broken and looking for any way to keep her in your life. This will eat you alive if you allow it. All we’re asking is for you to sit and talk somewhere safe.”

“Talking won’t help.” Nevertheless, Deryck allowed them to pull him up the path toward the dining hall.

The front bumper of Shayla’s Mazda bounced off the pavement of her driveway. Cursing, she gave the car a little more gas to get up the steep slope. She grabbed her purse and climbed out of the car, willing her body to do what it didn’t want to—get closer to a conversation about her personal life with her best friend.

Faye’s car, a bronze RAV4, sat in front of Shayla’s house. One of the tires on the passenger side was nestled against the curb, the rear tire hung back at least three feet—parallel parking was not Faye’s strong suit by any stretch of the imagination. Lucky for her, the local parking monitor wasn’t on duty. The guy drove around in a suped-up golf cart and ticketed anyone who looked like they’d parked wrong.

Shayla rounded the front corner of the garage and took the narrow sidewalk to her front door. Faye sat on the front step, her legs stretched out in front of her, ankles crossed, arms propping her up in a reclined position. She wasn’t quite showing yet, but had completely embraced the idea of loose-fitting maternity clothes. Faye sported a large t-shirt with Snoopy as the Red Baron on it. Her jeans were likewise baggy, hanging off of her thin frame. Even when she got to be eight months pregnant, Shayla doubted Faye would look fat.

Faye stood and dusted off the seat of her jeans. “You showed up after all.”

“You’re lucky. I thought about going to the movies and leaving you to sit here for a couple hours.”

“Deal with the invasion.” Faye picked up a pair of plastic bags filled with black plastic boxes. “I’m not letting you hide anymore.”

“The only reason I’m letting you inside is because I am hungry.” Shayla unlocked the front door and stepped inside. Her eyes swept over the portion of the house she could see. Suddenly she wished she’d kept up on the cleaning a little better.

Faye pushed past her, heading straight for the living room. “Stop eyeballing the dust bunnies and get something to drink.”

“This is my house, you know.”

“Which is why you’re getting the drinks. I don’t know what you have.”

 
Shayla dumped her keys and purse on the table inside the door. She started to shrug out of her suit coat.
Idiot, how are you going to hide the huge bandage on your forearm?
Cursing Faye silently, Shayla pulled her coat back in place, kicked off her shoes, and padded barefoot into the kitchen. Instinctively, she reached for the bottle of wine. Her hand froze around the neck of the bottle. Faye couldn’t drink; having a glass in front of her would probably be unfair. Shayla left the bottle in the pantry and went to the refrigerator. There was a whole slew of take-out boxes, some ketchup, soy sauce, two opened bottles of wine she’d deemed cooking wine after tasting them, and a bottle of orange juice. Snagging the juice, she poured the OJ into a pair of plastic pirate glasses—left over from an impulsive after-Halloween shopping spree. She rarely had people over to entertain, anyway. The cups were to amuse herself.

Cups in hand, Shayla headed into the living room. The books and papers that had been on top of the coffee table were stacked on the floor beside it. A pair of plastic containers sat side-by side with their lasagna. A few smaller Styrofoam boxes were behind them, the lids open to expose a huge helping of gnocchi in cream sauce, garlic bread, mozzarella and tomato salad, and mushroom risotto. There was enough food to feed a family of eight.

“Make yourself at home,” Shayla said and handed Faye her glass of orange juice.

Faye set the glass down and leaned forward in the oversized chair to snag her lasagna off the coffee table. She scooped up a glob of gooey cheese and ate it.

“Someone might as well live in here. It looks like a museum—dusty and unused.”

Shayla cringed. Cleaning the house had been the last thing on her mind over the weeks since Deryck brought her back from Iraq. She’d spent most of her time in bed, reading old novels for comfort and to keep her mind on anything but the man who was more than he seemed, possibly in dangerous ways. It took her days to even look at the couch without remembering how good it felt to curl up beside him and watch a movie.
Quit thinking about it, damn it!
Shayla cursed her brain’s one track and forked a pile of gnocchi into the box beside her lasagna.

She reached for the television remote. Faye threw a crumpled napkin. It bounced off of Shayla’s forehead.

“No TV. It’s intervention time.”

“Okay, you caught me. I’ve been shooting heroine between my toes so you wouldn’t find out. Where’s the nearest rehab? I’ll check myself in tonight.”

“You’re not funny. Hell, I’d almost be glad if you were on drugs, because it’d mean you went outside and talked to someone who wasn’t fictional.”

“I talk to people. I go outside. You’re fixated on my desire to be alone.” Shayla couldn’t meet Faye’s eyes, though.

“Work doesn’t count. You haven’t called me in weeks, not even to bitch about your troll of a boss.”

“He’s not that bad. And work has been going so good, there hasn’t been anything to bitch about.”

Faye laughed. “Yeah, I’ll believe that when elephants star in Les Miserables.”

“They can’t hit Valjean’s high notes.” Shayla popped a bite of gnocchi in her mouth—Faye was right, the new restaurant was really good.

They ate in silence. Shayla was glad for it. She knew where Faye would go the next time she opened her mouth, and she wasn’t ready to discuss what had happened. If possible, she’d go to her grave without telling a human soul about what happened in Marduk’s temple.

Faye broke a piece of garlic bread apart and rolled a small piece into a ball. “It’s Deryck, isn’t it?

“No.” The lie coated her tongue, killing all traces of the delicious food they’d eaten.

“He’s a good catch—hot, kind, protective, did I mention hot? What happened?”

“He turned out to be a soul-sucking incubus,” Shayla muttered.

“Yeah, and?”

Shayla looked up from the salad she’d been nibbling. Faye’s face was dead serious, not a hint of humor around her eyes. “I’m not kidding, Faye.”

“There are worse occupations for men to have.”

“How did you know?” Did she slip and say something in one of the few times they spoke right after she got back? She knew enough to know Deryck hadn’t chosen to become what he was; he’d been born into it and apparently served as a slave.
Don’t pity him, Shayla. It’ll be Cyrus all over again.

Faye shrugged. “I had a dream about Deryck a few days before you met him.”

“That’s impossible.”

“I’m not claiming to be a psychic, Shayla. Deryck was in my dream, doing what he does best. He recognized me the day your purse was snatched.”

Shayla shook her head. “You’re shitting me.”

“No, I’m not. For a little while I thought I was insane, but I did a little reading one night and came across something on incubuses. His tattoos gave it away.”

“A lot of people have tattoos on their forearms, not all of them are sex gods.”

“Sex demi-gods,” Faye corrected. “And tattoos on normal people don’t move on their own.”

“Okay, he really is an incubus, so what? He’s been sleeping around with God knows how many other women while trying to date me. You don’t even know the worst of it.” Shayla shrugged out of her jacket, exposing the large bandage on her forearm. She peeled the bandage back to show Faye the mostly healed cuts. She kept it covered at work so the scab wouldn’t catch on her clothes and bleed. “Another incubus did this to me. Deryck was there. I—I can’t trust him anymore.”

Faye leaned closer, checking out the cuts. “Was he trying to help you?”