Enslaved (The Inbetween Novels) (37 page)

Deryck couldn’t breathe. Shayla was captivating . . . and suicidal. He’d never heard anyone speak the way she had to someone capable of ending her existence without flinching. Min watched her, his face unreadable. Deryck wished he possessed the ability to read the god’s mind. If Shayla was in danger, he needed to save her.

“Did you breathe at any point in the last two minutes, little human?”

Shayla’s head dipped a little, but her eyes remained fixed on Min. “I had a point to make. Breathing was optional.”

“And you made your point well.” Min looked at the lettuce in his hand. “You’ve changed my mind. I will consent to the release of my offspring.”

Shayla’s knees went rubbery. She stumbled over to the stack of bricks and sat beside the duffle bag. The entire time she’d talked, she knew for certain Min would wave a hand and end her life. Fear drove the words out of her far better than bravery. Knowing she’d done something right, something they needed so desperately seemed impossible. Sitting there, Shayla half expected Min to change his mind.

She set the papyrus with the spell aside and picked up the knife and wooden goblet. “I can’t believe I’m going to do this.”

Min held out his left arm and turned it so his palm faced the sky. His eyes fell on the bottle of water. “Cleanse it, first.”

Scooting off the brick, Shayla stuck the knife in the back pocket of her pants. She picked up the bottle and poured it over Min’s forearm, leaving enough for herself. When her fingers wrapped around the hilt of the knife again, they shook so much she had to brace her right hand with her left wrist.

“Will you be able to use that knife, little one?”

Shayla tilted her head up to meet Min’s eyes—God, they were so much like Deryck’s, it was eerie. “Of course I will.”

“I love the fire in your eyes.” He moved his arm closer.

Is he flirting with me?
Shayla’s gaze started to drop below Min’s navel. She stopped herself before she got another eyeful of the god’s package.
Definitely not a roasted goat.
If he’d cover up, it’d be a lot easier for her to focus on not cutting his arm off.

“Hold still, please.”

Shayla held the wooden goblet under Min’s arm. The knife rested against the inside of his wrist. She took a breath and pressed down on the blade, drawing it quickly over his dark skin. It was a clean cut. Blood welled up and dribbled over his skin. Min flipped his arm over. His blood flowed freely into the goblet. A stream of it hit her right hand when he made to pull away.

Ew. Why do rituals always use blood? Don’t they believe in the magical power of diet Dr. Pepper?

“Your turn. Allow me to assist you.” Min relieved her of the cup.

This was the part she truly dreaded. The cuts on her left arm from Harry’s ritual were mostly healed. They’d hurt like hell and made wearing long-sleeved anything miserable. She’d gone from bearing mostly emotional scars from the trials of her life to wearing them on her sleeve for everyone to see.

The water was colder than she’d remembered. It ran up her forearm and dripped onto the toe of her shoes. Shayla switched the knife into her right hand. She bit her bottom lip and dragged the blade over her arm. A thin red line ran under the healing cuts. It didn’t bleed. “Oh, damn it.” Frustrated, she made a second attempt, jerking the blade through her first attempt to deepen it.
Shit, that hurts.

Min turned her arm over and held the cup below to catch her blood. Behind her, Deryck’s feet crunched over the dirty bricks.

Shayla looked back at him, a smile on her face to reassure him. “I’m fine.”

He nodded and stepped back again. His hands gripped his arms so tight, his knuckles were white.

The goblet was about half way full when Shayla decided there was more than enough blood in it to complete the ritual. She clamped the back of her right hand over the wound to slow the bleeding. Leaning over, she dropped the knife beside the duffle bag and fished out a roll of gauze. She wrapped the wound tightly. Turning, she held the gauze out to Min. He laughed, holding up his arm. The cut was healed. There wasn’t even a scar where she’d cut him.

“Impressive.”

“Godhood has its perks.” Min handed her the cup. For the first time since he’d stepped through the portal, he looked at Deryck. “Enjoy the gift.”

Deryck’s shoulders straightened. His jaw clenched. But he said nothing to his father. Shayla knew there was no love lost between Min and Deryck. She reminded herself, Min treated Deryck’s mother the same way she’d been treated by Eros—used as a womb for eight months, abused, lied to, and left alone to mourn the death of a child who was actually alive and well, far from her reach.

A sharp pain started behind Shayla’s eyes, spreading to the base of her skull. She rubbed her forehead, wondering if she’d given too much blood.

Deryck’s mother was well-loved.
Min said, but his lips never moved.
I ensured she was cared for until her death. He will never believe it, not after everything the gods in general have done to him. My son must never know about this conversation. Go to him now. Deryck will need your strength to finish the ritual.

Shayla started to say something. Min shook his head a little and stepped into the portal. He vanished behind the swirling waters as they splashed closed, leaving no traces of the portal or the god.

Goblet in hand, she turned to Deryck. His shoulders dropped, the tension draining out of him after his father’s departure. She wished she could tell him the truth, share what Min told her about his mother. Min was right, though, Deryck would never believe it and hate his father even more for trying to manipulate Shayla to use against him. He’d spent millennia watching the games the gods played. Only a few of their outrages against each other and mankind made it into the folklore which founded all of the religions in the world. If the tales were remotely true, it was no wonder Deryck hated the gods so much.

Shayla walked around the pile of bricks and handed him the goblet. “The rest is up to you.”

He took it, his fingers locking around the wooden cup as though he were afraid of spilling it. Shayla had no clue what would happen next. She assumed he needed to drink the blood, as Harry had during his attempt to free himself. What was supposed to happen after was a mystery. Deryck refused to tell her about his part of the ritual. It made her uneasy.

She eased up on her toes and laid a kiss on his jaw. Deryck leaned his forehead against hers. He was shaking. Shayla wanted to hold him, reassure him he didn’t have to do it if he didn’t want to or thought it’d be too painful. It’d be a lie, though. They both knew he couldn’t go back to living as an incubus. Neither of them would survive the separation or the knowledge of what he’d be forced to do.

Deryck pulled back first. “No matter what, once I begin, you cannot touch me. Not even if I ask you to. Stand across the room and stay there.”

Shayla nodded. “How will I know when it’s safe to come near you again?”

“Trust me, you’ll know.”

She left him and walked across the room, using the moonlight to spot any chunks of brick and rocks in her way, and found the furthest she could go yet keep him in sight was the single narrow doorway into the small temple room. Shayla bit her bottom lip. Her right foot tapped against the floor. She needed to calm down if she was this agitated before Deryck began.

Deryck moved out from under the section of ceiling still intact. Moonlight turned his dark brown hair silvery black. He raised the cup toward the moon and whispered something she couldn’t understand. The inside of the goblet pulsed with red light. Deryck looked into it, gave the glowing blood a swirl, and drank the contents of the cup in two swallows. Shayla pressed a hand to the back of her mouth to keep from gagging at the idea of drinking blood.

Hissing, Deryck cradled his arms against his chest. Grey light reflected off his dark blue shirt. When he moved his arms to look at them, the tattoos glowed around the edges. They writhed over his skin, stretching across his bare forearms.
That must really hurt.
Sweat beaded on his forehead. His knees buckled, planting his ass onto the makeshift brick table. The duffle bag fell over, scattering extra gauze and medical tape across the floor.

Shayla wrapped her hand around the stone doorframe—she needed something to hold on to before she became unglued and rushed over to find a way, any way to ease his pain.

His groan sent chills down her spine. Deryck leaned back where he was seated, his fingers tearing at his leather belt. He yanked it off, dropping it on top of the bag at his feet. He went for the fly of his pants, next. For an awful moment, Shayla considered the idea that the ritual wasn’t working—he’d been drugged as Harry had been and was trapped in a state of painful arousal until he slept with a woman. Her throat went dry. She was the only one anywhere nearby. As much as she’d fantasized about sleeping with Deryck, at no point did she want to be used so he wouldn’t suffer. She’d do it though, if it came down to it.

Shayla stepped forward. “Deryck?”

His golden eyes snapped to her. Deryck licked his bottom lip and reached a hand out to her. “Stay . . . stay there. I have to do this alone. Your job is to bear witness. Please, Shayla. Be strong for both of us and stay away.”

“Are you sure?”

He nodded, two quick jerks of his head lacking the grace he typically held. “This is part of it. I must finish by my own hand, not at the command of anyone else. Go, get back. If you come closer, I can’t stop myself from trying to take you.”

She retreated to her spot inside the doorway. Shayla braced a shoulder against the ancient bricks and hugged herself. The pain in his voice made her wary. Could he see it through to the end? God she hoped so, otherwise she’d be the cause of his pain and torment.

Deryck tugged his pants off. The sound of tearing denim made Shayla jump. His urgency filled the room, made her heartbeat pick up pace until she felt dizzy. He jerked his shirt up to his chest, exposing his taut stomach muscles. Deryck turned to lie across the bricks, giving her a good view. He was . . . well, he was impressive—more than average in length, just the right amount of girth—his manhood was so swollen, the taut skin at the tip shimmered. Below, he was hairless and likewise engorged. It couldn’t be comfortable, being in that state.

He took himself in hand, groaning when his fingers wrapped snugly around his shaft. Shayla bit her bottom lip, feeling like the worst sort of voyeur. The feeling doubled, and then tripled when he slowly slid his palm down and up again, his index finger sweeping up to brush the underside of his bulging head.

She stayed put, watching Deryck pleasure himself with quicker, rougher strokes. It was a tormenting mix of sexual and worrisome. He was obviously in pain, as aroused as he was. Each time his fingers brushed the tip of his arousal, he bit out a curse. His free hand gripped the edge of the brick he laid on so tight, the rough edges cut his fingertips open. Blood smeared over the brick. Deryck bent one of his knees, shoe braced in a crack in the makeshift table. His hips arched, meeting his down thrust. Dirt clung to his legs. Sweat dripped down the back of his leg.

The tattoos crawled further up Deryck’s arms. Shayla lost sight of them under the sleeve of his t-shirt. Their grey illumination brightened with each ragged breath he took. His strokes faltered in their frantic rhythm. She clamped her lips together to keep from asking if he was okay. He had to be close; she didn’t want to distract him.

Deryck grimaced. His hips thrust up to meet his stroke and hung there. A groan eased through his teeth. His hand stopped, gripping just below the tip of his shaft. A stream of semen flowed from him, creating a small puddle on his lower stomach.

Blinding light flared over Deryck’s arms—tiny white flames licking skin. Shayla threw up an arm to spare her eyes. She heard his too-quick breaths mingle with a cry. Peeking around her arm, she couldn’t see anything beyond the light and the faint outline of Deryck’s legs.

The light faded. She dropped her arm and hurried across the room to Deryck’s side. He was still breathing hard, but his eyes were closed—he’d passed out. The arm lying across his stomach was free of the tattoos. She carefully laid his left arm on the brick beside him; it too was tattoo-free. Her eyes were drawn lower. His manhood lay spent across his hip. It pulsed—an after-effect of the orgasm—and stilled again.