Cage (Dark World Book 1) (8 page)

Can I get any closer to being loved less?

“The being you thought of came to mind when you were standing over here.” Cage went to stand in front of a small dark corner where a hole went into the rock face.

Cyra shuddered and her face paled. The thought crashed into his mind. The black building blocks were a whirlwind. The outer image formed in seconds with the inky black filling the spaces. Cage’s inner thoughts honed in as the animal turned to give him a glimpse of each side in seconds. Cage was too eager.
Spider.
The word was a whisper in his thoughts, or perhaps Cyra had muttered aloud. The small hideous beast was too perfect and soon Cage supersized the creature. He realized too late he had promised not to scare her to death. Cyra screamed. Then peed. Cage changed back too late.

Damn.

Cyra wandered the area of the tribe’s perimeter. She had been a captive for two days. She wore her panties and the skin towel she had dried. Cage was slowly coaxing more images from her and turning her worst nightmares into deranged beasts far scarier. Cyra could feel him manipulate her mind at those times of distress. When finished he would smile at her and claim she had done well and he was proud of her.

Proud?

For an odd reason, she believed he was proud. She was gifted with clean furs and a warm place to sleep—not on his bed, but close enough he could reach over and touch her. She was given plenty of food; to her surprise she wolfed down a steak the night previous with what resembled a baked potato. Little green asparagus adorned a bone plate with something close to a sweet fruity dessert afterwards.

Cage went out of his way to assure her he wouldn’t harm her. He reminded Cyra of herself when it came to cotton candy ice cream. He devoured her images, hungry for the pictures. Once he changed into a fierce creature, he would practice different creations from the form. The first few times she wet herself until he learned to expand on his ideas outside of her line of vision. At least he tried most of the time; there were times he was too eager. Cyra didn’t think he was being thoughtful when he left the room to practice. She guessed if he scared her to death it wouldn’t be beneficial—he was after something, or someone. Cyra had her own agenda, ideas of escape. Her hopes had been renewed.

During her incarceration, she learned of strange garbage being found in a remote area. A few of the warriors brought back small items to Cage. Cyra’s excitement grew when she spied the precious equipment. When asked and shown the objects, Cyra played dumb, she told Cage she had no idea what the odd items were. Her hopes grew. If it was one of Earth’s dumps she might be able to get her hands on computer equipment, especially if it originated from the destroyed satellite. If she could make contact, the government would come for her.

This ET might be able to phone home after all.

Cyra’s steps were slow as she moved about; her ankle throbbed but staying inside day and night was boring. Cage hounded her, asking her countless questions about her planet and her life. He was attached at the hip and it made her nervous. He was surprised there were as many males as females on Earth. The concept was confusing to him and it was apparent he thought her lying. Everyone being allowed to breed and give birth was too different. If warriors weren’t created to fight the moment they opened their eyes how did humans survive? It took a leader and a tribe to protect a female and her son. Cyra remained insistent she was telling the truth.

Cage asked intimate questions when he found out she had seen other males, did she hug or snuggle with males she met who weren’t mated to her. Did she kiss them because she wanted to, did she like to hold hands. There was no taboo with Cage, no question he wouldn’t ask. He became frustrated when she stayed wrapped in the towel skin.

“How do Earth females find a mate clothed?” he had asked the night previous. “It’s impossible to find your scent.”

“Maybe some women would prefer a man not sniff them. Plus, Earth females would never get anything done if they stayed naked. Who says I want a mate anyway? And where would I find one here?”

“You can’t, you’re mine; I mean you’re my prisoner. Or maybe one day my companion—to my son, I mean.”

She watched as he left, looking frazzled. After two days of scaring her while trying not to scare her too much, their roles were too difficult to decipher. Cage wasn’t cruel. He wasn’t endearing, he was Cage. He was also annoying as hell and could talk the leg off a table. It became apparent he was enamored with her mind creations which drew him to her. For some odd reason he loved making her blush. When her face and neck reddened he would become animated.

Blush fetish? Weird.

Cyra decided if she became mobile she might obtain quiet time. There were many fires roasting meat and other food in ash outside the caves. Oddly enough when she looked there were no stacks of firewood. The fire was real; it was hot, but from where it originated within the circles of stone she had no clue. She gazed at the fire for so long one of the warriors, Zenon, she guessed, as with their coloring they all looked alike except for Cage, caught her attention. He picked up one of the rocks and the fire was gone. When he replaced the rock, the fire again blazed. When Cyra reached to touch the fire the warrior grabbed her hand and gave her a
naughty child
look. Warmth crept up her throat and the warrior seemed startled; he tenderly gripped her face in his palm.

The words he spoke to her were soft, his hand was warm. She guessed he was apologizing for scaring her earlier. How was she to know the warriors liked to wander around naked? Zenon’s cock was no less intimidating and impressive than Cage’s. So many males wandering around with only jock straps would upset any woman. Zenon released her. Cyra limped away with a few backward glances; Zenon continued to watch her, his look bafflement.

Her surroundings were primitive, reminding her of an old camp site from perhaps the twentieth century. The tribe was made up entirely of male warriors. What they battled and why was a mystery to her. There were forty or so. Some were built bigger or smaller, all larger than her, and none possessed Cage’s huge size. Each warrior eyed her openly; one snickered as she passed and she heard them speak. She didn’t understand their language. Cage explained they didn’t need to understand each other’s language. He was the leader of the tribe; he was gifted with the power of protection, he understood any language, it was part of his gift. Normally the Mountain of Creation sent a female mate speaking a language only the tribe leader understood, a favorite language created in his thoughts. Insuring the female sought out only her new mate’s attention until their role was established and the leader could comfortably teach her the tribe’s words.

Cyra pondered Cage’s idea of protection; she wished someone would protect her from him. The idea of being frightened every day for Cage’s amusement was depressing. He scowled at her every time she drank a little water. She had no appetite that morning and less as lunch approached after Cage had suddenly turned into a twelve foot tarantula, giving the spider fangs, twenty eyes and crab pinchers. A gentle breeze ruffled the being’s short fur. When he hissed, slippery venom particles covered her feet. He hissed again, covering the exit to freedom in a silken mat. She swore he laughed as he rubbed at his belly and long needle-like barbed hairs were thrown across the room. Cyra was frozen to the spot—all except her bladder. She wished
that
organ would freeze like the rest of her, but no, all systems were go—literally. Her actions were so embarrassing, but she was human after all, everyone had quirks.

Why can’t I just faint like a normal person?

Cage turned back to his commando self immediately, claiming the idea had popped into his head unexpectedly and would she please get off his damn soiled bed. Cyra reminded him he was the one who had placed her on his bed, twitching with excitement so the fault was his. He stormed out, telling her Zenon would bring fresh furs.

Cage’s idea of keeping her as his prisoner was lax. Really, where could she go? To another leader? The last thing Cyra wanted was to begin all over again with the same mental monsters with another tribe leader. Cage never harassed her with the same image twice. He promised her he would never change into a Kodiak while she was around, and he planned to keep her close. Warriors were situated around the perimeter. When she wandered too close to the edge, she was met with a solid chest and a stern look as a warrior pointed for her to go back closer to the cave. It could have been worse. She had envisioned chains and a jail cell. She stopped her stroll at a pond and sat; her ankle throbbed from her forced flee from Zenon and she soaked her foot. She still fumed Cage had destroyed her boots, insisting they were evil torture devices; though the ground was cool and hard, the dirt beneath her feet wasn’t unpleasant. She supposed she should be grateful he had returned her panties and hadn’t taken the towel.

The idea of being surrounded by only males wearing jock straps had worried her for a moment, invading her thoughts, until Cage gripped her shoulder. In a surprisingly tender moment, he had awkwardly explained none of his warriors would touch her in the way she envisioned. It was a fear she didn’t need, she was well protected. Cage said she needn’t fear him either; he would never harm a female.

For a second he looked guilty, turning from her to regain composure. Then he explained only a leader of the tribe took a mate. Only a leader had a son. Their ways made no sense to Cyra and she wondered why he looked sad for a brief moment. Tribes made up of only males, one son, one female. It seemed so lonely. Glancing around, the warriors didn’t look unhappy, some smiled and joked. Families, there were so many different ideas. Who was she to judge? Happiness was all that mattered.

Cyra dipped her hand into the tepid water. She wasn’t happy. She sighed with her sadness, and her boredom. There was no place for her or her occupation in this world. Her mind would turn to mush if not challenged. There was no chance of returning to Earth unless she could find the junk pile. Her body was sore and stiff, there wasn’t a hope in hell she could outrun these warriors if she found a way to slip by them. If Cage was the only male who could take a mate Cyra would spend her life alone. Pondering on thoughts of having her own family was now moot. At least before she could dream about a husband and children. Why was it so important now that the choice was taken from her? With each disappointing relationship she could tell herself she was still young, there was still time. Time was now an enemy; she would be a prisoner for years to come. Cyra supposed she’d have lots of moments to think about her plight.

A shrill shriek made her glance to a huge penned area. The baby praefuge were playing together. Twenty in all, Cyra counted. They were cute when not cornering her. Cage had let her feed a few treats for a brief moment. The cave home was connected to the beasts’ area near the rear. He said the animals were valuable commodities they used in trade. Cyra wondered what it would be like to ride one, but Cage said they only caught the young ones; the aliens they traded with trained them and flew them when full grown. Cage mentioned the aliens were large; the praefuge would be more than triple the size they were when full grown.

A dark shadow fell over her. Cyra wasn’t surprised to see Cage; he dropped down beside her, sprawled out, stretching his impossibly long muscled legs before him. The black and green of his commando camouflage suited him. He was wearing his strap covering his long, thick cock.

“You really like water,” he said.

“For the love of God, give it a rest,” she snapped.

He chuckled and she was surprised, he was teasing her. “I want to change into a creature, but I know it will scare the shit out of you, or the piss.”

She growled at him. “You’re cruel.”

“If I were cruel, I’d change anyway without warning.”

“Surprisingly, you did that just this morning.”

“I promise, only one more for today. This morning was accidental, the image formed so fast. What a cool creepy thing. Earth may seem drab, but it certainly has its excitements.”

Cyra had no choice; she didn’t know why he asked, he would do what he pleased regardless. She nodded. Cage slipped into the pond, grinning like a Cheshire cat. Cyra just knew it would be bad and she scooted back. The great white shark he changed into took up the entire pond. Cage wasn’t satisfied with a normal great white; he had to mega size it. He made Jaws look dainty and delightful by comparison. Cyra heard hoots from the warriors. Cage thrashed back and forth, massive glistening teeth were the size of her thigh. He rose up before her and drenched her in water. Cyra could see down his throat and she shuddered, squeezing her eyes closed.

It’s Cage, he won’t eat you, he won’t eat you…I’m gonna die!

“Cyra?” She peeked at him. Cage changed back and sat beside her. Droplets of water glistened on his body. She pushed her wet locks from her face. “Well?”

“It’s called a great white shark.”

“Fascinating.”

Cyra turned and stared at the sheer cliff rock with the many homes within, each a separate space allowing privacy with intricate halls connecting each room. Cage’s was at the bottom, it was the largest. It looked so vulnerable to an attack she was surprised.

“Will you allow me my own space within the cave?” she asked. “A place to call my own?”

“Not yet. In a while, you will be given a room beside mine.” He was being evasive.

“You are the only shifter?” she asked.

“I defend my tribe, yes.”

“With only creatures?”

“What else is there to fear?” He looked serious then laughed. “Do you mean those silly images you supplied me with when we first met? Tribe leaders don’t kill tribe leaders, at least it’s rare. We overpower one another when at war. We battle over the best hunting grounds, the most useful trade creatures. If a leader were to kill a leader he would be responsible for another tribe. Unless that is what he originally intends. Tribes have been known to dwindle; there have been curious illnesses of late. Possibly from the strange garbage dumped from the sky. Only then will a leader battle another leader to the death.