Page 8 of Caged

In an instant, she has gone, diving down a hidden trap door like she was never there, the thing falling back on her, closing up and concealing itself and her.

The dome guards clatter their way to me. I lean back against the bars and fold my arms. If I can keep a lid on my temper, I might get free.

I might be able to get to her. Find out her name, touch her skin, sheath myself in her…

Vrex! My cocks are tight in my pants. What is going on? One nova-minute I was contemplating death and destruction, the next I’m so aroused I could do with some self-care.

“Sylas.” Cryko, the head clerk, an unpleasant Habosu, smaller than most, sneers at me. “In the hole again, I see.”

“You’re the ones come looking for me.” I glare at the guards, then at him, slowly extending my claws while I attempt to cling on to the lingering scent of the female.

“You’re wanted in the dome,” he says.

They’re not looking for her? Part of me relaxes. Given the way she came in, the way she exited, I was sure she was being chased.

Maybe she is safe. Maybe, if I can somehow get out of the hole and get my privileges reinstated, I can find her, out there, in Tatatunga.

A guard jabs a neck restraint through the bars. I snarl and grab it, pulling in a single movement and slamming him against the metal. He reels away, stumbling and shaking his head.

“You don’t get a choice, Sylas.” Cryko looks bored at my antics. “You know you don’t. Your little stunt earlier means you fight in the games, and you go back in the hole until the procurator decides whether you can leave or not. So, don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

I can still feel the softness of her long hair on my fingertips. I bet if I could hold them to my nose, I could scent her for days.

“It’s only hard for you,” I rasp in reply. “At least I don’t cause havoc in the undercroft like Blayn.”

“No, you attempt bodily injury on the procurator instead.” He laughs without any mirth. “Not clever, Sylas. Now get in the position or I’ll tell him you refused to fight.”

If the procurator thinks I refused, not only am I never getting out of the hole, there could be further consequences, ones which might result in my termination.

I have no contract. I’m only done with the dome when the dome is done with me, and my life is forfeit. For all the privileges (given up by my attack on the procurator), all the credits I can earn in bonuses, I cannot leave Trefa, or even Tatatunga. I am bound to the dome because of my crimes.

The crime of rebellion.

I snort and open my wings. The guards keep their distance until I turn my back on the door, close them up and sink to my knees.

There’s a click, rattle, and then cold metal around my neck as the restraint is fitted. Once it is done, another guard comes in and clips my wrists together.

“Don’t bother with any funny business,” Cryko says nastily. “No one’s in any mood for it, and you really want to go into these games fully functioning.”

“Why?” I growl, and the restraint is tightened around my neck as I’m shoved out of the cage and out of the hole.

“Because the procurator has determined you’re in the beast fights today.” Cryko’s mouth twitches up when I release a snarl. “You’re not going to fight with the others. They have their opponents.”

My blood chills, but fighting, here and now, isn’t going to get me anywhere other than back in the hole and more trouble than ever.

If I do well in the beast fights, there’s a possibility I might gain a reprieve.

I might find myeregri, my fated mate. My soul and my bond. She shouldn’t be here…but she is, and I will cut off my own wings in order to find her.

Having been dragged into an empty ante-chamber, I can hear the crowd baying for blood.

The armorer, a squat Oykig male, straps on my sword, dagger, and fits the straps over my shoulders containing the monitoring equipment those who are here to bet on my survival will be watching closely.

“What am I fighting?” I murmur, not wanting Cryko to overhear.

“Ziggurag,” he replies, sliding on a single piece of shoulder armor. “There are some shields buried in the usual spot, should you need them.” He looks at me, tugging at the heavy metal and leather to make sure it’s tight.

“Where the vrex did the procurator find a ziggurag?” I grumble. “The last one was…messy.”

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