Page 72 of Caged

Why the hell have I never heard about the resistance before? Probably because I was so bound up trying to survive, I never asked the right questions.

“We are the resistance,” another Jiaka squeaks. The first silences him with a glare.

“We know the resistance. They help us avoid the council,” she says.

“I don’t want to get you into trouble at all. I’m in more than enough myself. If you can either point me in the right direction or show me how to get into the main city undetected, that’ll be help enough,” I say.

My skin itches, but it’s not with the dust which blankets everything. I want to help Sylas. I want to be with Sylas. My gorgeous gladiator, with his soft as velvet, hard as steelpersonality. I want his arms around me once more, his lips on mine, the endless depths of his eyes fixed on me.

He makes me feel like the only creature in the universe, and I need him here, now, badly.

“You have a mate,” the Jiaka says as a tear slides down my cheek, unwanted but unstoppable.

“How can you possibly know that?” I burst out a sob.

“Because we can sense pain.” She looks around at the others and they nod as one. “And because we all have mates we care about.” Yet another communal nod.

“I have a…mate…a gladiator.” There is a collective hiss of breaths taken.

“Sylas, the victor?” she says in awed tones. “He was injured when the dome was attacked by the resistance and hasn’t been seen in the games since.”

“No, he wasn’t. We escaped, together.” I run the back of my hand over my cheek to clear the water which insists on falling. “Wait? The resistance caused the explosion? Why?”

“Because it’s about time the council understood they don’t run Tatatunga, or Trefa. It belongs to those who live here,” a deep voice growls out of the dark.

A pair of eyes glow at me. I take a step back, but the female Jiaka takes my hand and gives it a gentle stroke.

“The resistance,” she whispers.

Out of the shadows, a large, shaggy alien emerges, with deep red fur which shines in the light, a wolf-like snout, and gimlet black eyes.

He wears bandoliers filled with weapons, one furry paw slotted into the left hand one as he appraises me coolly.

“Are you the human?” he asks.

I consider my position, which isn’t exactly great, but at the same time I get a vibe from wolfie which grips at my gut.

“Do I look like a human?” I reply.

He snorts. The fur on his broad chest ripples with the breeze.

“Yes, you do. I’ve met other humans. Are you the human with the Gryn?”

This conversation is going to end up being very boring if it continues like this.

“Yes, I’m with Sylas. The Zavaro have him, one called Medius,” I reply. “I need help to get him released and to recover his memories. I was told the resistance would provide that help.”

Wolfie lifts a lip to reveal a set of slightly yellow fangs.

“Is that what you were told?”

Okay, the constant questions are getting to me. I need help, not an interrogation.

“Yes,” I sigh. “But if I’ve come to the wrong place, I will find someone else to help me because I’m not leaving Sylas in the clutches of those…creatures.”

This time, wolfie doesn’t snort. Instead, he growls.

“You’re coming with me,” he says, taking hold of my arm.

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