Cage (Dark World Book 1)

by C. L. Scholey

  “Something tells me you’ll need these. It’s too bad we can’t pad and supersize them.” She wasn’t certain if it was disdain or sarcasm, or both, she heard in his words.

  It was a small token, but Cyra grabbed them and donned them, again battling the fur until Cage sighed and held it off of her. Cage climbed back in beside her and again pulled her into his arms. The small barrier at her juncture was useless, but it made her feel comfortable enough to close her eyes and ponder sleep.

  “Cage?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Thank you.”

  “If you really want to thank me, keep them dry.”

  I’ll try, but you try sleeping with a nightmare.

  * * * *

  The human female had been his prisoner for two days, and Cage still wasn’t sure what to make of her. Cage watched Cyra wander around his room. Her long hair swished at her ass that peeked out from under the wrap she insisted on wearing. Every once in a while she cast him a woe begotten look. There were so many fears within her he couldn’t at times keep pace. Images the likes he had never seen built within his thoughts consuming him. Animals from the very large to the very small swirled as she avoided dark corners. Furred beasts, winged creatures, slithering creatures, creatures with fangs. Some were cute, and he had no clue why Cyra would fear insects. Human females were a skittish lot. His own female would have been lying beside him, fear free, and making his heir.

  As Cage lay on his bed watching her pace, he shifted his mental thoughts from her fears to her movements. The pads of her bare feet caressed the cave floor as she limped about favoring an ankle. Her hands fluttered to small objects collected by his mother. He didn’t mind her touching the few items. A colorful rock, a twisted tree limb, leaves of various colors. It was good for her to familiarize herself with items on his planet.

  A tentative smile splayed for a brief second on her lips when her fingertips caressed a motella. She held up the hand-sized petrified rock-tree-leaf. Cage and his mother had found it on one of their many walks. The colors entwined in various lines, not unlike a motella in the sky—as Cyra would call a rainbow. Her words were strange, soft, and childish at times. Why would anyone put rain in a bow?

  Cyra peeked out the connecting hallway and glanced back at him. Cage said nothing, wondering if she would be brave enough to explore. She feared him, but she was also attached at the hip to him. Cage didn’t mind; it was instinct to keep a female as close as possible. The next room was Zenon’s. His warriors wouldn’t hurt her. She was an odd novelty and harmless. Cyra took a few tentative steps into the hall, her hand lingering on the hard rock as she rounded the corner. She slipped from his view. Cage waited a few moments and donned his man covering; Cyra wasn’t as skittish when he had something on, another strange human trait. He hoped Zenon wore his or she would be in for a surprise.

  As Cage rounded the corner Cyra ran smack into his chest. Zenon rounded the corner as well—minus his man covering. Cyra struggled from his arms and fled to his room. He watched her thinking her fear must be great to maintain the speed at which she moved with an injury. Cage leaned against the cave wall and smiled.

  “She fears your cock,” Cage said.

  Zenon looked like he could be knocked over by a baby praefuge. “My cock? She’s the one who pees at will. I need a rag for my floor.”

  Cage grimaced, wondering if she made it to the female’s room in time. “It must be some Earth thing. I only caught a glimpse of a certain fear, regarding males, but she was moving too fast and it dissolved before taking hold.”

  Zenon nodded then looked anxious. “Cage, would you not reconsider what you are about to do? The warriors will do as you ask, but to put a female through what you intend isn’t right.”

  “I won’t hurt the female I choose. She will do whatever is asked of her willingly.” It was a sore point with Cage. He knew a female wouldn’t resist, but he also knew what he intended was wrong. A necessary evil.

  “I know you would never intentionally harm one of our females.”

  Zenon’s words were tight and Cage didn’t miss the play on words. “I have not harmed the Earth female.”

  “She is fearful. She hardly touched her breakfast this morning. She looks so sad and lonely.”

  “I’ll let her wander the perimeter outside. The warriors will know how far to let her roam. As for any female the warriors bring me, they must know our survival is at stake. I can’t bear to watch my tribe die. I swear I will do whatever it takes to make the female I choose happy. I will be as gentle as I can and when she conceives I won’t touch her again. This isn’t a game, it’s our lives. I need my heir to keep you and my warriors safe. One of our females will understand. She will know, because I will make her understand there is no malice involved in what we need.”

  “What you will do will hurt you,” Zenon said.

  Cage knew he was right. He would never be loved—ever. It was a sacrifice he would make for his warriors. Cage straightened his shoulders and turned to go.

  “Cage?”

  “Zenon, I have made my choice.”

  “Your human female fears the one male who is supposed to keep her safe.”

  Cage cringed. “Then I will try harder to lessen her fear. These animals she shows me, I can transform them away from her sight. It’s not really the animal, it’s how it’s mega sized that causes the real fear.”

  Cage knew Zenon wanted to talk more about Cyra and the planet’s females, but Cage wasn’t interested in what his warrior wanted. He cringed at his callousness. He would call the emotion for what it was—his own inability to contemplate what he must do. The fault wasn’t Zenon’s, he was a good warrior. His room was empty when Cage returned. The safe perimeter on the cave’s walls was down, but he knew Cyra wouldn’t leave without his permission. There was nowhere for her to run. She was trapped on the planet. When he pushed back the door to the female room, he saw her in the pool with panties in hand grumbling furiously.

  “I’m stuck on a planet with commandos. Not just commandos, but naked ones who have huge-ass cocks. Can my life possibly get any worse?” Cyra ranted.

  Cage smiled. The curve of her back was sweet. The water was hot and she had turned a brighter pink at her ass and thighs. Human skin was an oddity. It appeared she had no control over when she would change color. As she turned, Cage squatted down to appear less threatening. When Cyra saw him her face reddened.

  “Do you mind?” she snapped.

  Her arm crossed over her rounded breasts. Her hair was dry and curled in waves to caress her ass. She was angry. Cage sensed no fear of him.

  “When you were searching my home, a thought flickered in your mind, a small fear really. I caught a glimpse and it was gone. I want to see it.”

  Cyra scowled at him. “You won’t be happy until you scare me to death.”

  “That is the last thing from my thoughts. You know I’m under the beasts I turn into. In exchange, you can wander free, outside. I swear no harm will come to you.”

  She pondered his suggestion; Cage could see her thoughts flicker. She was trying to remember what she had seen that would be so interesting to him. Nothing came to mind. Cage held up her wrap and Cyra walked to him while awkwardly sticking each foot into the holes of the washed panty. It looked uncomfortable to Cage and she slipped a few times.

  Why anyone would wear something so cumbersome is beyond me.

  Cage followed her to his room. His bed was higher than the few lighter furs he had given her placed near his bed. She didn’t like to sleep close to him and yet the heavy furs of his bed would suffocate her. He settled having her within arm’s reach. The idea was annoying; he’d be dealing with two females who didn’t like him soon.

  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.

  Chapter 6

  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.