Enslaved (The Inbetween Novels)

by R. C. Murphy

  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.

  Shayla crouched and righted the duffle bag. She reached inside, hoping he’d brought something she could use to clean him up. Two bath towels and a pair of jeans were folded in the bottom of the bag. She grabbed the towels and used one to wipe away the evidence of his orgasm. With the second towel, she cleaned the dirt and sweat from his face, neck, and arms. There was no way she’d be able to wrestle him into the jeans or fix his shirt, so Shayla sat on the brick beside him and held his left hand, careful not to touch the scratches on his fingertips.

  “You did it, Deryck,” she whispered.

  Cold seeped through Deryck’s body, chasing away the fire burning in his veins. He opened his eyes, only to have them slam shut and blanket his world in darkness again. Every inch of his body ached. The hard slab of brick under his ass chafed. His left hand felt like someone pried his fingernails off. He flexed his fingers. They complied . . . somewhat. He gave opening his eyes another chance.

  A pair of eyes pulled into focus. They widened and were accompanied by a smile. Shayla brushed a hand over his arm. “Hey there.”

  He smiled. “Told you.”

  “You told me what, Deryck?”

  “That you’d know when it was over.”

  She turned away. He knew her well enough to catch the blush over the top of her cheekbone. “I don’t know if I should be turned on by what happened or concerned for you.”

  Despite the pain in his left fingertips, he squeezed Shayla’s hand. “I’m fine. Exhausted, but fine.” He pushed himself into a sitting position. A chunk of brick dug into the back of his thigh.

  “Are you sure you should be moving? You look like you went through hell.”

  Deryck looked down at his stomach. It was smeared with dirt and sweat in a few places. “Yes, but you pulled me through and cleaned me up after.”

  Shayla slid off the brick. She wouldn’t meet his eyes again. “It didn’t seem right to leave you . . . like that.”

  He found the spare jeans beside the spot she’d occupied and traded them for the pair he’d ripped in the maddening drive to finish the ritual. He’d been fully honest with Shayla when he said he would have much rather taken her once the blood worked its way through his body and primed him to make the final sacrifice of his seed. It wouldn’t have worked, but damn it would have felt a lot better than his own hand.

  “Thank you, Shayla.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her closer. She looked at him, surprise lit by moonlight in her eyes. Deryck kissed her knuckles.

  “You’re welcome.” Her eyes darted away again. “Is there anything I can do for you now?”

  Too many things . . . . Deryck corralled his wild thoughts. She was jumpy enough as it was, he didn’t need to pounce her in the middle of ancient ruins. “There should be a bottle of drinking water in the bag. Can you get it for me?”

  Shayla knelt and dug around in the bag. Blindly, she handed the bottle of water back to him. Deryck relieved her of it and took a long drink. She gathered the supplies he’d scattered over the floor during the ritual. Her hand hovered over the handle of the knife, shaking like a leaf in gale-force winds.

  Deryck dropped onto a knee beside her and gathered her into his arms. “It’s okay, Shayla.”

  She took a breath. “I thought it wasn’t going to work, that somehow I’d messed up the ritual like Harry did. You were in so much pain.”

  “Nothing went wrong, I knew there’d be some pain, but nothing could have prepared either of us for what actually happened. It’s not like I could find anyone and ask them what it’s like to break the bond. Very few incubi have managed to free themselves. The ones that remain in the service are clueless. They don’t even know there is an out clause.” He cupped her cheek and turned her face to his. Tears shimmered in her eyes. “You did everything perfectly.”

  “It isn’t fair, you guys not knowing there’s the chance for you to be free.” Her voice grew stronger.

  “No, it isn’t. I understand why it’s that way, though. The chances of finding a woman who meets the criteria are slim to none nowadays. The gods aren’t worshipped as readily, they don’t have the power to make frequent trips to visit the human realm.” Deryck kissed Shayla’s cheek. “Let’s get you home, okay?”

  Nodding, Shayla picked up the duffle bag and stood. He found the flashlight near the foot of the naos. Side by side, they made their way back through the maze of rooms in the temple. He wasn’t too sure how his powers held up after the ritual. Attempting to transport with the interference of the lingering magic in the temple with new or weakened powers would be dangerous. In theory, he should have all the abilities of a typical demi-god, but he had no clue when his
full, unbound powers would surface. Please let me have enough juice to get her home. He sent the thought into the universe and stepped out of the temple.

  Deryck wrapped an arm around her shoulders, holding her close on the off chance something went wrong. He concentrated on where they needed to go, picturing Shayla’s home, the space in her living room near the big chair he’d sat in during their date.

  In a blink, the moonlit Egyptian landscape morphed into a white wall, a large television, and a painting of an elf hunting some sort of nightmare creature. For the first time in his life, transporting didn’t hurt. His power flowed from the center of his body. It didn’t reroute through the slave bands with the pain to warn him he was doing more than the gods would approve of. He felt great, better than ever before. The aches and pains from the ritual were nearly gone when Shayla stepped away from him and set the bag of supplies down on her coffee table.

  “No offense,” she said, turning back to him. “But you look like you rolled in a pig pen.” Shayla looked down at her clothes. “Scratch that, both of us do. You can use my shower.”

  Deryck raised a brow. “Together?”

  “I . . . uh . . . that’s probably not going to work. It’s a small shower.” Damn, she looked good when flustered.

  “You take the first shower, then. I can wait a little longer.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Just don’t sit on anything. I’ll be quick.”

  Deryck found a spot on the hardwood floor in the archway from the central hall to the living room to sit on so he wouldn’t get dirt all over the furniture. He leaned against the frame of the archway, knees drawn up to rest his arms on. His head sagged back against the wall. Yes, he felt worlds better with his freedom and unleashed power. But, no amount of freedom could make up for the sheer emotional exhaustion dogging his every move. He’d barely made it through the ritual without begging Shayla to come to him. The faint scarring on his fingertips reminded him of how close he came to ruining everything because he was too weak. Thank the gods for Shayla. Without her faith, I’d be back in the Inbetween right now—or worse.

  He shuddered at the idea of being called to face punishment for attempting to free himself from the rule of the gods. Wolfrik never mentioned what happened when an incubus failed to release himself, but he couldn’t imagine the high-and-mighty set would be too pleased about the loophole. Not that there wasn’t a fresh supply of incubi to take the place of the missing one. As he sat there, some poor male was being subjected to his first round in the Inbetween. The guilt ate at his stomach. There was nothing he could do. It wasn’t like he could go back and free the incubi as easily as one might break into an animal shelter to free puppies and kittens bound for the gas chamber.

  The sound of water running through the pipes under the house’s flooring stopped. A few minutes later, Shayla padded down the hallway in a pair of pajama pants and a large t-shirt. Her hair was wet, dripping down the shoulders of her shirt.

  She smiled when she found him in the archway. “I was kidding when I told you not to sit on anything.”

  “I didn’t want to get dirt on anything. The floor is a lot more comfortable than a pile of bricks.” He stood, cringing when chunks of dirt fell off his shirt and hit the floor. “Where is the bathroom?”

  Shayla cocked a thumb over her shoulder. “Through my bedroom, it’s the last room on the left. I’ll see if I have anything that’ll fit you.”

  “Thank you.” He looked over what she wore and hoped she had something not covered in happy cartoon characters.

  “Use anything in there you need,” Shayla called down the hall when he stepped into her bedroom.

  The blankets on her bed had been tossed over the pillows, covering them at a cockeyed angle. A t-shirt on the floor peeked from beneath the ruffle covering the bottom of the bed frame. The closet door stood partially open, a pair of shoes—the ones she’d worn to the temple—blocked it from closing fully. Deryck chuckled. She’d tried to clean up while he waited.

  Inside the bathroom it was the same. A damp towel thrown into the hamper beside the shower stall, but didn’t make it completely inside. The mass of what he considered “girl stuff” had been pushed to the rear of the counter beside the sink in a jumbled glob of beauty supplies. Shayla had laid out a towel on the corner of the counter. On top of it sat a toothbrush—still in its box—and a tube of toothpaste. She’d managed to think of everything he needed in approximately twenty minutes. Astounding.

  Deryck leaned into the shower stall and cranked the water on as hot as he could stand it. He stripped out of his dirty clothes. For a moment, he wasn’t sure what to do with them. He tried to fold them so he could stow them in on top of the hamper, but dirt flaked off, turning the damp tile on the floor into a muddy mess. In the end, he shoved the soiled clothes in the hamper on top of the towel she’d used. He would ask Shayla for a rag later to clean up the mud.

  He stepped under the hot water and groaned. Damn, that feels good. Deryck let the water run over him, rinsing away the worst of the dirt clinging to his skin. Surveying the bottles lined up under the showerhead, he realized, no matter what, he was leaving the bathroom smelling like a woman. The upside was, he’d smell like Shayla. He picked a bottle claiming it smelled like cherry blossoms and poured a good amount onto a washcloth. Taking his time, he scrubbed away the rest of the filth—twice. He wanted to feel truly clean for once, without knowing the second he was finished, his body would be used by someone else.

  Unless Shayla wanted to use him, then he’d be all for getting dirty again.

  Deryck cursed himself and grabbed a bottle of shampoo—one of three types lined up beside the shower gels. He washed his hair, applied a conditioner, and tried like hell not to think of Shayla nude. The last thing he needed was to walk out of her shower, out of her bedroom, with an erection. He had no way of knowing how she’d react.

  The water started to cool. Reluctantly, he turned it off and grabbed the towel. Deryck dried himself, wrapping the towel around his hips when he finished. Shayla hadn’t dropped off anything for him to wear while he showered. He’d have to go find her, wearing nothing but a towel. His self-control wasn’t a thing of legend. He took a breath to brace himself before stepping into her bedroom.

  Shayla stood in the doorway leading to the hall. She clutched a stack of clothes to her chest. Her eyes dropped to the towel wound around his hips and jumped up to meet his eyes. “It took longer to find something than I thought. I had to go through some boxes in the garage.” She held out the clothes. “They were Cy’s, I hope you don’t mind.”

  Deryck held the towel in place, unwilling to cause a scene if the cloth happened to fall, and crossed over to take the clothes. They smelled like a mix of flowers and a hint of dust. “They’ll work just fine. Thank you.”

  He ducked into the bathroom, out of sight, but with the door open so he could talk to her while he dressed. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. The shower helped a lot.” Shayla paused. “What will happen now?”

  Deryck pulled on the sweat pants, grabbed the shirt, and came out of the bathroom. “Whatever you want, Shayla.” Her eyes dropped to the floor. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Honestly? I don’t know. So much has happened and I can’t tell which way is up.”

  “If it will help, I can leave.”

  “Where will you go?”

  He hadn’t thought that far ahead, but he refused to burden her with worry. “I can obtain money and find a hotel room to stay in for now.”

  “Get money with magic?”

  “Yes, I am able to produce something as small as money with my powers to hold me over until I find a legitimate way to earn it.”

  Shayla shook her head. “I can’t let you stay in a strange place by yourself. You have nothing here, Deryck. No ID. No car. You have one change of clothes, which you don’t have a way to clean.”

  “It isn’t right for me to stay. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. You’ve been thro
ugh more than one woman should have to deal with in her life.”

  “Exactly.”

  He frowned. “Excuse me?”

  “You’re right, it’s my life. I call the shots now.” She came to him, stopping just out of his reach. “You’re staying here with me until things get sorted out.”

  “Where will I sleep?” He had to force himself not to look over at the hastily made bed to his right.

  Shayla pointed to the bed. “There.” Without another word, she turned around and walked out into the hall.

  Her footsteps headed toward the living room. Deryck listened, wondering what she had planned. If she meant to sleep on the couch while he remained in here, they would have a problem. He’d just as soon eat dog shit before he deprived her of the comfort of her own bed.

  Deryck stepped into the hall. Shayla had doubled back, coming his way. The lights in the living room were off. Halfway down the hall, she slid her hand over a plate in the wall, turning off the lights running down the middle of the house. She wasn’t leaving him to curl up on the couch; she was locking up the house for the night. His mouth went dry. Shayla intended for them to share the bed.

  When she stepped past him into her bedroom, Deryck remained in the dark hallway. “Maybe it’d be better if I slept on the couch.”

  She pointed back to the bed. “It is a huge bed, Deryck. We’re adults, fully capable of sharing a bed without something happening—unless we want it to.”

  He moved into the doorway. “I can’t lie to you; I want this to become more. There is no pressure on you to comply just to make me happy.” Deryck made for the living room, his mind set on sleeping elsewhere.

  A hand closed on his wrist. Deryck turned, surprised Shayla came after him. She tugged him toward the bed. His feet were rooted to the wood flooring.

  Shayla gave a sigh, stepping in until her chest pressed against his. She wrapped her arms around his waist. “I can’t make you move, but you’ll be very uncomfortable standing like a weirdo in the hall all night. Come to bed.”