Caveman Alien’s Riddle (Caverman Aliens Book 13)

by Calista Skye

  “I think it’s working,” Jennifer says while she finishes up. “The dark area is smaller now.”

  I grab her wrist and pluck the little leaf with the paste on it out of her hand. “Let’s see if it can work on others.”

  I roughly smear the rest of the paste onto Jennifer’s small wounds at her shoulders, making sure to cover them all and noting that her blood is indeed dark red, like I thought. Then I dab a dollop on a bruise on her forehead. “There. Now we will both look silly.”

  She smiles up at me. “Is that why you did it?”

  “It’s futile to ask a dragon for his reasons. You can never understand them, anyway. Now, let’s be on our way.”

  She bites her lower lip. “Actually…”

  “What?!” I bark.

  She takes a quick step back from me. “The not-sheep. If you could kill only one of them, I can get food for several days. They’re easy to gut and prepare. I’ll grill several pieces of meat, so that doesn’t need to be a concern while we walk.”

  I take three steps over to the heap of furry creatures. Two of them wake up and immediately faint again.

  I grab one by a hind leg, lifting it.

  “Gently,” Jennifer says. “The quickest way is to cut its throat and let it bleed out. It’s more humane.”

  I rip the creature’s throat out with one hand, and it dies without regaining consciousness as the blood splashes down on the gravel. “Now what?”

  “Put it there, please. On that flat rock.” Jennifer points, her face pale. “And could I ask you to gather firewood?”

  “No,” I growl. “You could not.”

  She shrinks away from me again, eyes big and scared. “It’s okay, I’ll do it later. No rush.”

  Still, I march into the woods, muttering vicious curses about my predicament, conscious of my incredible weakness in this form. I desperately need to get to my cache and regain my strength, but Jennifer and this lowly, pedestrian existence slow me down beyond belief.

  A big, toothy creature emerges from behind a tree and tries to hinder me, and I get an outlet for my anger by tearing it into little pieces, splattering the trees with its thin blood.

  When I return, Jennifer has cut the furry creature up into slabs of meat, and she’s busy scraping its fur.

  I approach her turned back silently, then dump my collected firewood on the ground right behind her in a satisfying crash. “Here.”

  She jumps and squeals, dropping the fur. “Caronerax! You scared me!”

  I smile with satisfaction. “That was my intention. It’s good to know I still have the power to scare. It seems the only power I have left.”

  She picks up the fur again. “That’s a lot of wood. Are you… sorry, that was almost a question. I’ll put it differently: you are planning to stay here for the rest of the day and the night.”

  “Maybe.” I have given it no thought. It has never been necessary for me to make specific plans about things like that. A dragon does what he wants at all times. And I wanted to gather wood, so I picked a lot of it.

  Yes. That’s it. I wanted to gather firewood. It was not because I want Jennifer to be warm and comfortable. It was because I want firewood.

  “I wouldn’t mind staying here a little,” Jennifer says, continuing her work. “I mean, I really need to get back to the village. But I would prefer to not run wildly, with no food and no way to get warm if needed. These woods are pretty cold. I can do some preparations today, and we can keep walking tomorrow morning with a good supply of food and the healing paste.”

  I’m not really listening. Her soft breasts jiggle hypnotically when she talks.

  I walk into the woods without a word.

  9

  - Jennifer -

  Caronerax has this way of leaving me alone, and each time I get really jumpy.

  It is of course totally irrational — a dragon should make me more afraid of him than of any other creature in this forest. When he walks away, that should make me lower my shoulders and breathe a sigh of relief. But that bubble-sphere of menace-slash-safety is pretty addictive.

  He is pretty addictive. When have I ever met a guy this certain of himself? Or this completely masterful about his surroundings? Caronerax is the undisputed king of every place he goes, and all the creatures here can sense it.

  I sure can. Oh my dancing dactyls, that kiss drew every thought out of my head and replaced it with pure sensation like nothing I have ever experienced. Even like this, even having barely survived a dactyl attack and then hypothermia, every care in the world was gone, and the surge of heat in my pelvic region was quite insane. That could get most addictive of all.

  I guess I had bottled up a lot of stuff that I could release when I heard he had not killed Heidi. A lot of attraction and tension, and showing myself naked to him didn’t exactly put a damper on that. Heck, the guy has saved my life how many times now? It’s a lot, anyway. He even changed to dragon form to get me out of the claws of that dactyl, and I know that must have cost him. He couldn’t stay like that for more than a handful of seconds.

  One after the other, the not-sheep wake up, glance at me, and briefly consider fainting again, then find me more silly than scary, and flee into the woods on their short legs.

  Putting the not-sheep fur aside, I quickly build a fire and light it with the now perfectly dry matches. I hang my dress on a branch right next to the flames so it will dry out.

  I think I’m safer with Caronerax than I’ve ever been before on Xren, and when he returns and I eat some grilled not-sheep and have made some soft furs, then who knows what can happen. I hate the term ‘alpha male’, but now that I have met a super alpha to the thousandth degree, I’m starting to see the attraction. He’s unusual and weird and rough, but I think he has a very un-dragon-like heart under those scales.

  And that’s kind of my thing. The unusual guys, those with personality. The unconventional ones. The balding guy with a passion for Transformers and playing the recorder. The scrawny one who’s deep into old cars and fancy Chinese teas. The jacked wrestler who can’t shut up about Emily Dickinson. The guys with the courage to be themselves.

  This guy is like that. He’s totally dragon, no doubt about it. And yet there’s more there, not all menace and threats. I’m not quite sure what it is yet. But I have a feeling I’ll find out.

  I’ve put my dried out dress back on and hung some slices of not-sheep meat over the fire when he returns.

  He saunters over to the water, ignoring me. His yellow stripes shine in the sun, looking like bolts of lightning across the blue sky of his skin.

  “I’ll eat now,” I call to him, making sure not to phrase anything as questions. “If you want some grilled meat, this is the time.”

  There’s no reply. He keeps staring out at the lake, his broad back to me, his perfect shape and vivid colors completely out of place in this gray and dark green forest.

  I’m inside his bubble again, totally at his mercy. But he is the only possible threat inside that bubble. Nothing else can get to me. And I’m not sure how much of a threat he is to me right now.

  I know dragons don’t need to eat, of course. They only need hoards. And yet, some part of me wants to nourish him.

  “Get a grip, girl,” I admonish myself under my breath, then bite into the first piece of not-sheep. Without any salt or seasoning it’s kind of bland, but it contains a lot of energy. If I get nothing else to eat, the meat from this not-sheep alone should keep me going for another week. I will grill all the rest of it, pack it in leaves, and fashion some kind of carrying pouch from the fur. That one fur can also be used as a kind of duvet for sleeping under at night.

  I munch on the meat, enjoying the rays of the sun on my face. Things are looking up, just the tiniest bit. My shoulders weren’t that badly hurt by the dactyl, I have real food, the dragon isn’t nearly as bad as I feared, and he’s a lot more friendly. Although ‘friendly’ isn’t the word. He’s slightly less brutal and demanding than in the beginning.
>
  I’m still far from the village, and the girls could be taking off any time now, leaving me alone on Xren. That particular ball of tension in my stomach is still there, etching away at whatever little calm I feel. One part of me wants to get up and run south at full speed, swim across any water there is, and not rest until I’m there.

  Of course, that wouldn’t work at all. I have no idea how far I am from the village. It could be hundreds of miles. There could be oceans between me and it. It could be on a different continent.

  I squint up at the sun. As far as I can tell, it’s not noticeably lower or higher in the sky than back at the village. That could mean I’m not as far from it as I was afraid of. I mean, the sun must be much lower in Canada than in Florida at two o’clock in the afternoon. That stands to reason. So if there is no difference, the distance can’t be that huge—

  I drop my piece of meat as Caronerax spins on his heel and marches towards me. His movements are so sudden and his presence so overwhelming that the combination keeps jolting me.

  “Time is being wasted,” he seethes and looks down at me. “And there is water everywhere, trapping us.”

  I pick the sliver of meat back up, dust it off, and bite into it again.

  “So,” I chew, “we should make a boat or a raft to help us cross the lakes. Especially if we come to a really big one. Could save time.”

  “Perhaps. A ‘raft’ is a flat bundle of trees, yes?”

  I pick a pine needle out of my mouth. “Pretty much. Tied together and floating. One of my friends made one once. In a different lake than this, though.”

  Caronerax looks over at the edge of the forest. “How many trees?”

  “Depends on the size and how well they float on water. It may not be necessary, though. Only if this is an island. Do you think it is?”

  His eyes bore into me. “Did I tell you what would happen if you asked more questions?”

  I instinctively cross one arm across my chest. “You did. Sorry! I forgot the rule.”

  “I will not forget that you forgot. This is an island. Water on all sides! It’s ridiculous. As if someone made it specifically to slow me down.”

  I shrug. “Well, it wasn’t me.”

  He kicks at a boulder. “That was already known.”

  And now he’s being petulant. It’s charming, but I should probably find something for him to do. “If you can somehow pull down a couple of trees, then we can build a raft right now. Sailing on one might be faster than walking. If this lake is really big, that is. The trees should be light and not too thick. Five or seven of them should do it. Without the branches, just the trunks.”

  “More manual labor,” he grunts, giving me a suspicious look. “From dragon to slave in one shot from an evil weapon. One might think there was a plan behind it.”

  I can’t help but chuckle. “If I could plan like that, I don’t think I would be stuck on this island, practically naked, and nearly dead from cold.”

  “Perhaps.” Once more he walks off, disappearing into the woods.

  And once more, I feel less safe.

  Until there are sharp breaking noises from where he went and the treetops sway back and forth. He must be laying the trees down with his bare hands.

  After a short while filled with hard cracks and the sound of trees falling, he comes back to the beach dragging two trees, heavy crowns sweeping the ground. They’re leafy trees, which is probably a good thing. The pines look kind of heavy and don’t seem like they would float that well.

  He dumps the trees on the ground and goes right back in after more.

  Ten minutes later there are twelve trees on the ground, two of them with roots and all, seemingly pulled straight up from the ground.

  “Wonderful,” I praise the dragon. “You are incredibly strong! That will make a great raft. I wonder if it might work better without any branches on the trees. And no roots, maybe.”

  He gives me a suspicious little glance, then attacks the trees in much the same way a living chainsaw would. Branches and twigs and leaves fly, along with slivers of trees and bark and torn-off roots. The noise is indescribable, more like a wood chipper than a chainsaw and ten times as loud. He seems to let off a good bit of fury this way, and that’s fine with me.

  By the end there are twelve logs on the gravel, their ends ripped off and not neatly cut the way I’m used to. But this works, too.

  “Now I imagine some rope is needed,” Caronerax comments, looking at his handiwork with clear satisfaction. “To keep the logs attached to each other.”

  “Precisely!” I exclaim. “Have you built— oh, sorry. I mean, you have clearly built rafts before.”

  He frowns at me. “The only thing I’ve built before is my hoard. As you well know.”

  “Oh. I thought… okay. They are some nice logs, anyway. Back in the village, we make rope by braiding strips of bark. Mostly.”

  He points at the heap of various branches and roots that his work has created. “Then braid.”

  I go through the pieces and find enough tough strips of bark to make probably thirty feet of rope, which might be enough to tie the logs together in one place. In the village, we all have to make lots of rope, because it has a surprising number of uses. The bark we use back there is different from this, and sometimes we find trees with long vines we can use. In this forest, I haven’t seen that.

  I braid bark ropes and fry up not-sheep meat until darkness falls.

  Caronerax goes into the woods once more and returns with a big sheaf of red plants.

  He dumps them in front of me. “More rope.”

  I test the thin stalks, finding them surprisingly tough. Even using all my strength, I can’t snap them. “Great! We might have enough for the raft.”

  The dragon tosses another bush on the ground, roots and all. The twigs are heavy with dark blue berries. “Hopefully, those won’t kill you.”

  I gingerly bite into one berry and taste it with the tip of my tongue. It’s tart, but more than sweet enough to probably not be poisonous. The berries are almond-shaped and have tiny, grain-like pips like strawberries. They’re much nicer than the not-redcurrant ones.

  “Thank you!” I sniff. “These are great.”

  “So great they have your eyes getting wet?”

  I wipe the tears of joy. “Yes. Because it makes me happy to taste them. Sorry. It’s just that this planet rarely gives you something good, and today has been pretty… difficult.”

  “I see.” He gets busy tying the logs together.

  It’s not like I’m overjoyed by the berries. I’m in a fragile state, and every little nice thing is unexpected. Aaand… maybe it’s because he didn’t have to find berries for me. It’s really a super sweet thing to do. Yeah, he’s an unconventional dragon.

  I diplomatically and gently, without asking questions, make him construct the raft with two layers – the seven thickest logs on the bottom and the five thinnest on top. That way, I hope the raft will float higher in the water. But it won’t be a luxury yacht any way you look at it.

  At my careful suggestion, he gets another, smaller tree to use as an oar or a pole.

  While he works, I get an idea and get busy with a little project of my own, carving a small object from soft wood.

  The sun has long set when Caronerax stands back with his hands on his hips. “A magnificent creation. Ludicrous, but magnificent.”

  The raft is done, and it is indeed a ludicrous contraption, twelve roughly broken tree trunks held together with a bit of what is essentially twine.

  But it gives me hope. If this is in fact a major lake, then we can make better time traveling on that than walking on foot through woods where raptors lurk behind every tree. Of course, the dactyls are more of a danger when we’re on the raft, but I have a feeling the presence of the dragon might weigh up for that particular issue.

  It also gives me hope because both Aurora and Phoebe did a lot of travel on rafts and little boats, so it’s almost like those two are here in spirit
, helping me along.

  I walk over to him. “It’s glorious. Let’s get started really early tomorrow morning.”

  “Very early,” the dragon agrees.

  I reach up and touch one finger to his injury. “Still sore?”

  His eyes flash. “Still sore. Also question.”

  “Not a question!” I object. “It was a statement which only sounded like a question.”

  “A statement that sounds like a question is a question.”

  I prod the little hole in his scales. “Sit down, and I’ll apply the paste. Did that sound like a question?”

  “That last part did.”

  “Damn. Yes, well. It’s only because you confuse me. And you know, we lesser beings are so easily confused.”

  “So I hear.”

  He sits down without more protests. I get the leaf with the paste and apply it to his scales again. “This looks better now,” I say softly. “It is healing. It hurts less for you when I do this. You are feeling much better. Notice how I am not asking questions.”

  “Good,” he growls. “Keep it up.”

  “You will soon be completely healed. You will not be mean to Jennifer. You will continue helping her and get her safely to her village.” It’s like one of those self-hypnosis things I briefly tried to get rid of some of my worst anxiety back when I was a teen. “Also, you will help us against the other dragons.”

  “When I said ‘keep it up’, I didn’t mean the talking that sounds suspiciously like giving commands,” the dragon grunts.

  I shut up.

  When I’m done, Caronerax grabs the paste and smears it onto my shoulder injuries, more gently than last time. “You are also healing. These are only small wounds. No nasty fragment inside. You are feeling much better as well. Not asking questions is healthy for you. You enjoy not asking questions and interrogating your betters. You prefer simply agreeing to requests and orders without always asking. There, all done.”

  His voice is gruff, but his touch is a light as that of a father tending to his kid. This dragon is being so gentle and nice and acting so counter to his nature that once more, tears threaten to break out. Again. Damn it, when did I become such a crybaby?