by R. C. Murphy
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 h
urry.”
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.
* * * * *
“Dear God. They could tar the roof with this stuff.”
Shayla swirled her Snoopy mug full of the questionable liquid. The coffee clung to the sides of the ceramic and slowly crawled down. She had visions of it coming to life and engulfing her entire third-floor office. Sure, it’d mean no more boring meeting or angry client calls, but she liked a lot of her coworkers.
“Best to flush you where you can’t harm anyone. Except maybe a few fish.”
Mug in hand, she walked past the huge bank of windows at the front of the office. A little grove of greenery parked between her building and the strip mall next door made the view unusually pleasant considering they were smack dab in the middle of the financial district. Who wanted pretty trees when the main focus was money?
Down in the grove, a gorgeous man stood below one of Dogwood trees lining the miniature park. Red blossoms shook in the breeze and rained down on his hair. The man looked up at the tree. Confused? Annoyed? Shayla couldn’t tell, but damn he could fix her with a look any day.
“Please tell me you plan to set that thing free instead of drinking it.”
Confused, Shayla turned to ask her coworker, Kelly, how she’d drink the hunk down on the street. Sense stepped in and she held up the offensive mug of coffee. Her nose wrinkled at the smell wafting her way. Someone should sue. The stuff had to be a health hazard.
“Freeing Willy right now. I thought about braving it for a whole minute, but no matter how little sleep I got last night, I just couldn’t force myself. What if it made me grow another arm?”
Kelly laughed. They navigated around the cubicles cluttering the office and made their way toward the lunchroom. The small room held about as much appeal as the liquid sloshing around in Snoopy’s head. Shayla upended the mug over the sink. Coffee poured out at the speed of cold molasses. She doubted if the stuff in the pot had been made any time that week or if someone just kept turning the heating plate on the same coffee over and over again. Her stomach churned as she washed the mug and set it out to dry.
“Your bags have bags,” Kelly observed.
“That’s with makeup on. I looked like something from an old horror movie this morning.” Shayla propped a hip against the counter to keep herself upright. “Is there anything drinkable with caffeine in here?”
“Nope, but I’m authorizing a fifteen minute break so we can make a coffee run.” Kelly grinned. She enjoyed wielding her newfound office supervisor powers.
They took a swing around the cubicles to take coffee orders from the poor souls trapped at their desks. Half of them looked at Shayla and Kelly like they’d grown white wings and donned haloes. The others grunted orders and shoved money their direction.
“Maybe you should use your powers for even more good and hire a permanent coffee person,” Shayla suggested on their way down the elevator.
“Already tried that. Big Boss doesn’t see the use in a lot of caffeinated employees. I think he’s afraid that, when alert, they’ll notice he’s slowed down the internet speeds to save money.” After shrugging into her coat, Kelly buttoned it. Shayla felt a pang of jealousy. Kelly knew how to dress well, despite being two pant sizes bigger than the average.
“What a cheap bastard.”
“I assume Joel thinks he’s doing the right thing in the long run. All he sees is numbers, though. Getting him to see people is impossible.” Kelly held the front door open for Shayla.
“Good thing we’ve got you. You’re our champion, Kelly.”
Laughing, they walked down the sidewalk to the neighboring strip mall and its heavenly little coffee shop. Shayla felt a hundred times better. She’d almost forgotten her dream.
The Inbetween was a slice of endless possibility situated between what human’s consider reality and the lands beyond where the gods lived and watched their creations thrive. Only a handful of beings were capable of accessing the Inbetween at will. Incubi utilize it as neutral ground to bring the humans who summon them for a night of passion. Ages ago, they popped directly into the minds and dreams of those seeking untold pleasure, but the gods realized direct access gave the incubus access to the life force of their human lovers. They could be drained in as little as three sessions with an incubus. The corpses were found in the morning with wide smiles.
The gods put a stop to it, sacrificing—with great pomp and circumstance to garner pity over their loss—a portion of their gardens for the incubi and other dream-dwelling creatures to do their work. It was a system that worked for centuries.
So why the hell wasn’t Deryck standing in the Inbetween?
Loud noises drowned out the incubus’ thoughts. He grimaced, cupping his hands over his sensitive ears. Deryck dragged a deep breath into his lungs. Impurities in the air and the stench of something he could not place choked him.
His back caught the trunk of a large tree. Grateful for something natural he could rely on, Deryck leaned against the bloom-filled tree and practiced breathing the air available. When he was assured breathing wouldn’t kill him, he willed the volume of the world around him to dim. The roars separated into a cacophony of noise that astounded him. How did anyone find peace in all the racket?
“You okay, mister,” a young child asked. The toes of his grungy shoes stepped into view.
Deryck forced his spinning head up to meet the eyes of the boy. “I am well. Where is your mother?”
He searched the area for someone with similar features to the child, but found none. Nor did any of the passing adults seem startled by the appearance of an unattended child. What if he wandered into trouble? The idea of a child in harm’s way twisted Deryck’s gu
t into a hard knot. Children were treasures he could never possess.
“She’s at work.” A pink bubble grew in front of the boy’s face and popped. He sucked the substance back into his mouth. “If you’re okay, I’m going to go.”
Deryck waved goodbye. The child ran off in the direction of the street. Vehicles passed by far too fast for comfort, but it didn’t faze the boy. Humans were stranger than he’d ever considered.
All Deryck ever saw of human nature were women’s fantasies of how the world should be. There were no children. No extraneous noise. They preferred silk-draped bedrooms or wide stretches of green grass. Not this. When they came to him in the Inbetween, they shed everything resembling the real world.
He didn’t blame them for it.
A trio of humans passed by. The man looked Deryck over like he’d transformed into a tall glass of water and he hadn’t tasted a drop in a week. One of the women at his side laughed and playfully shoved the man his way. A pink blush colored his cheeks and they vanished behind a group of running teenagers.
Deryck stood beneath the tree and simply stared at the world around him. Wind caught the fragrant blooms in the branches above, dropping them on his head. The sight of nature in action stole his breath. He could not fathom why the women he serviced wanted to do away with something so simple and beautiful. A passing vehicle made an ungodly noise. That, he admitted, could be left in the real world.
Tingling on his wrists caught his attention. Deryck pulled the sleeves of his shirt up and tried in vain to decipher the shifting designs of his bands. A jolt of pain ran up his arms. The bands shrank down to an unobtrusive size.
He still had no clue who summoned him or how he’d come to be in the human realm.
To his right, a pair of women exited a large building. Their laughter rang through the open area before him. Side-by-side they stepped into the sunlight and walked with purpose to a nearby building.
