The Star Caster

Text Copyright © 2012-2013 Jamie Loeak

All Rights Reserved

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I also accept responsibility for linking this book to another forum.

First Digital Edition: 2013

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Loeak, Jamie, 1987-

The Star Caster; a nove
lla / by Jamie Loeak – 1
st
ed.

Editing services provided by Mara Biggs and Stacy Loeak.

Cover Designer: Jamie Loeak

Summary:
Danika wakes up, trapped in a barbed wire cage. All she knows is darkness, fear, and unending questions as to why she was kidnapped. When two strangers walk in, talking about a metamorphosis, Danika seeks to find answers in a handsome stranger, Sterren. Sterren shows Danika the world of the Star Caster, and they find themselves tangled in not only their escape, but in each other as well. When they face their worst enemies together, they grow stronger, and find that they are capable of making their own wishes come true.

For those that still wish on shooting stars.

May all your dreams come
true.

Chapter 1

Barbed wire;
I’ve never seen so much barbed wire. The rusty, jagged edges reach toward me like claws stretching to capture me. It’s so close, almost touching me, and I have to stay huddled up in a ball to stop the wire from scratching my skin. I can smell the familiar metallic scent of blood and know that the deeper grey of the points holds other people’s blood and fear. I pray that it will not hold mine as well.

The room is dark, so dark that I can’t see anything beyond the barbed wire.
The only source of light comes from a single, small oil lamp that swings precariously over my head. The light is a dull orange color that paints everything in shades of brown and grey. I strain my eyes in an attempt to find something outside my enclosure, something familiar, but all around me is stained an impossibly dark black. I resort to my sense of hearing and focus on a distant trickling somewhere to my right. The slow sound of water hitting concrete almost calms me; hearing something is much better than listening to the ring of silence. I change senses once more, and tilt my head up so that my nose is pointed upwards. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, bringing in the scent of blood and dirty water. Polluted water. I could be anywhere in the city. I lower my head again, giving up. I will never figure out my location without a substantial clue. And I don’t think I’ll find one while caged in here.

My first thought is about who brought me to this place. I have no mortal enemies or persistent stalkers. I know no one that would hold me here out of anger or pleasure or greed. The being must be unknown, a secret enemy. But who would want me? I have nothing to offer. I am no one. I don’t own anything desirable. I have nothing.
What would someone want with a person with nothing to give? I don’t know.

The sound of soft voices and shoes scraping across gravel hits me. The noises are coming from my right; if I
ever escape this cage I will have to follow the sound of the dripping water. It leads me out of this holding cell. It leads me back home.

“Does she know?” says a deep, scratchy voice. “Is she aware of anything?”

I stall, knowing that I am the ‘she’ that this man is referring to. I strain my ears in earnest, hoping to catch more of the conversation, and am rewarded when I hear another voice. “I’m unsure of her depth of knowledge,” says the other, equally deep voice. This voice appears less violent than the first one, less like breaking glass and more like a roaring fire.

“I see,” replies the first man.
His voice is louder now, and I can hear it clearly, even though I can tell he’s whispering to his companion. I grow afraid and hope that he is not coming nearer so that he can harm me; I’ve already been through enough pain.

My thoughts fl
ash back to the dark, empty parking lot. I remember the rough hands and sharp nails as they dug into my flesh. Their hands ripped the tender skin of my upper arms as they pulled me into their vehicle. I replay the desperate fingers that stole the screams from my throat. Those fingers choked me until my breath came in shallow gasps, my throat raw and bruised from their petty violence. The memory that burns the most, however, is the blindfold they slipped over my brown eyes. It blocks my most needed sense, and I still haven’t gotten it back, even though the blindfold has been removed for some time now. The empty darkness is my current blindfold, and I pray that the sun will bring some form of light with it.

“How long has she been here?”
the deep, scratchy voice asks his companion. His footsteps stop now, and I can feel his eyes on my body.

“It ha
s been two hours,” the second voice replies matter-of-factly. I calculate the time in my head. It’s nearly four in the morning.

“
When shall we expect the metamorphosis to complete itself?” the first man continues as he takes a step closer. He appears almost impatient, as if this process should have already finished itself. I pull my legs closer to my chest and wrap my arms around them in an attempt to make myself appear smaller. I feel like an animal in the zoo. I feel as if I am on display, a form of entertainment for the men that are near me, and shudder.

“I am unsure,
once again.” The second voice sounds almost fearful, as if his lack of knowledge will insult the man with the questions. His voice is smaller, almost like the flame of the roaring fire is dying. His fear fills me with my own, and I close my eyes.

I listen to the sound of the water dripping against
the concrete and push the men’s voices out of my thoughts. I hope that they will leave me soon. I would rather be alone, surrounded by the dim orange light and the dripping water. They are more comforting than any human presence, especially since I associate them all with my kidnapping.

“That is quite all right,” the man with the questions says. His feet scrape across the gravel as he turns away. “We shall continue this conversation when we reach the upper levels of this building. They state that you
have a lot of knowledge on this sort of phenomenon, and I am eager to hear your professional opinions on the matter.”

What?
Don’t leave now! I lift my head up and turn to face the voices. I strain my eyes once more, hoping to catch the smallest movement in the blackest shadows, hoping to stumble upon a hint of my whereabouts. I see nothing in the thick, liquid darkness that surrounds me, and feel my heart falter as the sounds of the men recede. They walk back the way they came, back toward the dripping water, the exit from this tomb. I keep my eyes trained on their invisible bodies, hoping that I’ll memorize their path somehow, hoping that I will escape and use it to find my way from this horrid place.

When I am once again filled with the silence that has grown comforting, I
sigh. The sound of my voice echoes against the walls of this expansive room; the sound goes on and on, almost as if I am in a cave of sorts. I close my eyes again, tired of staring at the barbed wire that holds me still. My muscles are beginning to cramp from this constant position, and I lift one arm at a time so that I can stretch it out; I need my arms to remain strong enough to hold my legs against my chest. The needles of wire are enough to keep me in this spot, but my mind and body do not always agree. I fear that my weak muscles will stop holding my legs in place, and I will find myself leaning against the wire, inviting it to pierce my skin as I rest.

I shudder at that thought and whimper as my shoulder touches part of my encasement.
No, I will not allow my body to tire. I pull my legs in tighter and lift my head from my knees, wondering how long they will leave me in this cage. At this point in time, I do not care how long they keep me here, as long as they move me from my current location. I sigh once more and lean my head on my knees as I stare into the black emptiness and wait for the next person.

Thinking about people brings m
y sluggish thoughts to my empty apartment. There is no one to notice that I haven’t returned from my errand. I chastise myself silently, wishing that I hadn’t insisted on being alone and independent. I wish that I hadn’t thought to purchase myself those colorful birthday candles. I shouldn’t have been so sappy. Instead, I should have just stayed inside my safe, locked apartment, where no men could capture me. I shudder once more as my thoughts drift to their intentions.

What could these men want from me? What is a metamorphosis? Are they intending to
torture my body? Are they intending to sell me somehow? I use my time to ponder what I would do if they have any of these intentions and settle on ending my life somehow, possibly by the barbed wire that contains me. The pain will be torturous, but it will be better than allowing these men to do whatever they will with me; I would rather suffer.

The s
ound of a single person’s footsteps pulls me from my dark, horrible thoughts. I hope that this stranger does not leave as quickly as the others and stare in the general direction of the racket. This new person kicks the gravel as he walks, and I listen to the thud of the tiny rocks as they move across the stone floor. The person begins humming a soft, haunting melody that echoes as he moves closer to my prison. I recognize it instantly, a nearly perfect rendition of Beethoven’s
Moonlight Sonata
. The familiarity of the melody comforts me, and I feel connected to this new person, even though he is probably part of the team of people that brought me to this place.

The footsteps stop suddenly, and I know that the person can see me now. His humming slows and stops as well, leaving us in silence once again. I’m almost tempted to ask him to keep going but bite my tongue.
I sit, waiting for the stranger to speak, move, anything. We sit in comfortable silence for about five minutes, his eyes on me and my eyes focused somewhere near where he is standing.

“Why are you here?” I finally ask.

The stranger doesn’t speak, just begins to move closer to me. I watch intently, curious and disgusted at the same time, worried that he could hurt me, but wishing that he could save me instead. When the person reveals himself in the soft, orange glow, I falter. This person is a man, a tall, dark, handsome man that towers over my hunched figure. He’s nearly six foot two, with defined muscles that intimidate as well as mesmerize. I stare at his lean torso in awe. He stands there, hands in his pockets as he examines my enclosure with a small smile. His smile is more of a smirk or grin actually, something that I want to tear from him for doing this to me, and I shut my eyes before looking into his. Why would I want to look into the eyes of the man that stole everything from me?

“I am simply here to see you,” he says with a small shrug. His voice is deep and lazy, almost as if he finds none of this disturbing, and I can’t help but look up at him. His eyes are grey, and stand out against his tan skin, his high cheekbones and strong jaw. His hair is longish in the front; it falls over one of his grey eyes like a mask. The rest of his hair is short. Normally, I would think that this kind of hairstyle is weird, but this stranger seems to make it work.

I blink furiously as this man smiles once more in realization of my thoughts. My features must have betrayed my thoughts, and I blush slightly and look down at the wire. I take a deep breath, steeling myself before looking up at him again, my eyes wide and worried about my attraction to him. “Why are you here to see me? What do you want with me?” I ask him boldly. I keep my eyes trained on his, waiting for him.