Uncaged (2 page)

A
l
is
h
a
P
ai
g
e

Vi
s
it
m
y
w
e
b
s
ite
at
ww
w
.al
is
h
a
p
ai
g
e
.
c
o
m

P
r
i
n
ted
in
t
h
e
U
n
ited
Stat
e
s
o
f
A
m
e
r
ica

2
ND
Edition
P
r
i
n
t
i
ng
:
November 2012

Dedication

To the caged souls seeking release from their captors. This story is for you.

Uncaged

Chapter 1

Atlantic Ocean,
En Route
to
London
, Aboard The Sea Lass, 1772

             
The beast awoke lying in a dank, dark cage. His bleary eyes watered from the heavy sedatives that had soared through his veins only seconds after his capture in the jungles of
Africa
. He shook his heavy mane and sniffed the air around
him.
A low growl erupted from his lean belly. The tangy scent registered. Man.

             
It had been years since he’d caught a whiff and that was only when he’d ventured too close to a village. The scent reminded him of his loss. He’d been hunted for his hide. He’d outrun them, but his mate had not. Saliva flowed from his jowls. He’d never tasted man before and had never wanted to, but revenge had made him hungry. As the tart, pungent aroma filtered through the bars of his iron prison and into his black nostrils, he thought back to that day so long ago.

             
He had followed their drum beats and the overpowering scent of sweating villagers as they paraded her hide above their heads.  He watched as they cooked her over a fire. They celebrated her death. The death of his mate, his love, his life. The fire that licked at her naked, skinned body reflected in his eyes as he prowled to the center of the circle of chanting villagers. He stopped near
her body, watching her cook.
She was beautiful even in death. The chanting  stopped. The drums stopped. The villagers scattered, confused by his powerful presence, his fearlessness in the face of their fire and spears.

             
The beast felt the vibrations of their approaching footsteps on the dry earth before he heard them behind him. With one last look at his mate, he turned to face his enemies. They would not feast tonight. He would come back for her, but now he would taste an animal he’d never craved. The thought sickened him, but not enough to stop him. They had stolen his heart when they took her life. The men froze when he walked toward him. Their spears were raised high in the air, but not one of them made a sound. The crackling of the fire that burnt his lover was silenced with a mournful roar, full of loss and regret at what he had to do next. He watched as the men’s eyes became large white, shiny balls. He smelled their fear and reveled in it. He wanted them to suffer. He would make sure of it. His tail swished at the red dirt beneath him. Without warning, he leapt into the air, easily taking down two of the men, clawing them down the front of their browned skins. His roars drowned out their screams as he ripped their throats open. Their sweet, rich blood splattered onto his chest, staining his yellow throat.

             
A sickening sway tore the beast from his macabre memories. The stench of something long ago dead permeated his dungeon like a low lying fog. He shook his muzzle, reacting to the putrid odors. A low grumble rumbled in his belly, threatening to expel the contents at any moment. The beast stood on shaky legs, moving to the farthest corner of his cage, away from the heap he now recognized as the dead carcass of a feral swine. Another sway nearly knocked him off his feet. With watery eyes, he watched as a table and chair overturned, knocking off a stack of leather bound books. Cocking his head to the side, he studied the objects. He knew he’d seen them before, perhaps in another time. Objects of man. Objects of comfort, of knowledge. He’d once known such things. Never again.

             
In an effort to clear his vertiginous haze, he lay down, placing his massive head on two mighty paws. He sighed deeply. Reality was becoming more focused. With one deep breath he knew. He was sea bound. Salt was in the air. That would exp
lain the swaying.
His eyes narrowed. He’d been captured by the enemy, man. He raised his head, surveying the small cabin that housed his iron prison. An oil lantern on a low setting sat next to the door. Another reminder of man. .  ..fire. .. .loss. Again he was transported to the jungle night as flames crept up the sides of his lover. He shut his eyes against the memory and then opened them wide.

             
Concentrate.

             
Boxes and crates lined the sides of his cage. He rose and stalked back to the gate door, pacing and eyeing, looking for any means of escape. Something glittered high up, near the top of the door. On a nail, perhaps two arm’s lengths from the left side of his pen. Keys. Glorious, silver keys. He paced again, thinking. He had no other choice. A broom lay against the crates. He backed up to the cage. He could reach it with the tip of his tail. He swished at it, knocking it down. It fell just inches from his cage. He paced again, sighing deeply.

             
The smell of the rotting carcass angered him more. What man would think this was fit for an animal of the hunt? What ignorant imbecile would think this would suffice? He only ate fresh meat, meat that he’d hunted and killed himself.  It only gave him another reason to hate man. Where were they taking him? He listened. No sounds came from outside the door. He guessed it was the middle of the night. Hazy images of his capture began to leak into his bleary mind. He remembered falling into a trap. A hole camouflaged by grass and leaves. It all came back to him. Men looked down upon him and then his world had turned black.

             
He hated to do it. There was no other way. Better to do it now, while the broom was within reach. He walked to the center of the cage and sat back on his haunches. Closing his black eyes, he shuddered. Golden particles of light flittered across his yellow fur, sparking from his mane, traveling down his spine and twinkling off the tip of his mangy tail. With one long feline-like shake, as if to dry himself off, the beast was changed. Now in the center of the cage, he sat naked, a man drenched in sweat. It had taken all his energy to shif
t. He’d nearly forgotten how.
It must have been at least fifteen years since he’d made the change. He’d have to work quickly. He had no idea when his captors would return or if he’d have the energy to shift back.

             
He stood on strong, awkward man feet and stumbled forward. The cha
nge in weight was staggering.
He felt almost as if he amounted to nothing at all and felt as secure now as a small deer. He had no weapons, no sharp teeth, no claws with which to fight. Would he even rem
ember how to use his fists? He knelt
down, reaching through the bars for the broom, grabbing it by the straw end. A ragged breath escaped him as he aimed the handle toward the keys dangling on
the hook. He’d have one try.
If they fell, he’d be out of luck. Gingerly, he balanced the broom through the ring, set his lips in a firm line and jerked up on the handle. The keys slid down the broom and hit the straw. It was nearly as
exhilarating as a fresh kill.
Nearly, but not quite. He’d soon know that rush again, but this time he’d experience it from a man’s perspective. One large hand held the broom steady while the other one turned it around, angling the handle inside his cage. He tilted the broom toward his feet. Cool silver landed on his toes. He snatched them up and made his way to the lock.

             
Within seconds he had freed himself. Leaving the stench of his cold, damp prison behind, he opened the cabin door and walked on deck. Moonlight bathed his naked body. Sails billowing in the wind cast dark shadows, disguisi
ng his figure as he explored.
He’d need some clothes. Killing for a pair of trousers and a shirt was not beyond him. In fact, it may calm him, he thought. He’d have to learn to adjust quickly. His life depended on it.

             
White capped waves rocked the sides of the boat. He stumbled forward. He’d only been on a ship once. He and his brother had once been Londoners, shifties who longed for the wilds of
Africa
. Together they’d boarded a slave ship, taking jobs in the slave trade with no intention of capturing and taking slaves back to work for the rich. It had been their ticket to freedom, a chance to live the life they craved. A life in the wild. The life of a lion. The trip had taken months. Over half of the men on the expedition had died of scurvy, but he and his brother had survived. Once on land, they’d pretended to set out with a herd of men, intent on capturing slaves to take back home.

             
Shivering, the naked man looked out across the ocean, remembering the last time he’d seen his brother. They were deep in the jungles of
Africa
, both of them salivating from the delicious myriad of animal aromas within their reach. Never had they had such a smorgasbord before them. They were accustomed to dining on forest animals, mainly deer. Night had fallen. Tents had been pitched. They made their getaway while the men’s snores mingled with the jungle night creatures. Both brothers had placed their hands on the other’s shoulder, looking one another in the eye, knowing this was it. They’d likely never see each other again.. This was their plan, their freedom, their gift to one another. Both vowed to never live life as a man, choosing the jungle as their kingdom, their wild domain. Neither uttered a word when they dropped their arms and too
k off in opposite directions.
Once inside heavy jungle foliage, he had changed. The exhilaration, the thrill of freedom pumped through his lion’s heart as his swift padded feet carried him deep into the night, away from civilization and the creatures he despised, man.

             
Now he was back among them, forced to be one of them. He heard footsteps. Slipping deeper into the shadows, he watched and waited. A gangly sailor walked the deck, swinging a lantern as he whistled. Within seconds he’d be upon him. The man inched along the edge of the shadows, away from the night watchman. A door knob bumped him in the ribs. He sighed softly when it turned easily. The creak of the door was camouflaged by the howl of the wind. He stepped inside. The room was pitch black, but his night vision brought every object into full view. A rotund bearded man rolled over in his sleep. He scanned the room for clothing. A pair of breeches hung over a chair. He snatched them up and quickly dressed. Were it not for the suspenders, they’d have fallen to his ankles. These would do for now. He exited the cabin, opening the door slowly, listening for the sailor. He must have passed by.

             
Clothing brought him a small measure of comfort. Now he’d have to explain his appearance and what of the missing lion? He’d worry about that later. One man couldn’t be to blame for a creature who seemed to disappear from his cage. The thought made him chuckle inside. He suspected the missing beast would create hysteria among the passengers. Watching from the shadows, he saw the night watchman walk down the stairs to examine the lower deck and then s
omething else caught his eye.

             
A w
oman.

             
He sniffed the air and groaned. Luckily the oversized breeches hid his stiff cock. It had been ages since he’d been aroused by a human
, something he dearly missed.
He hadn’t mated since man had killed his lioness and she had been pure animal. He’d missed the tenderness of a full blooded woman.

             
The woman’s shoulders shook. He heard her sniff as he approached. Startled, she turned at the sound of footsteps and yelped. His brain fought to make the words form. He hadn’t spoken with a man’s tongue in eons. Somehow the words came. Luckily he had retained his British accent. “Pardon me. I didn’t mean to frighten you, miss.”

             
The woman looked up at the man half clothed and gasped.
             

             
“Forgive me. I came on deck for a smoke. I didn’t know there were any women aboard. I apologize for my attire or lack thereof.”