Chapter 7
The steamy heat woke Ellard. Sweat poured down his face and beaded on his torso until his tunic stuck to him like an extra skin.
He attempted to move and couldn’t. Panic roared through his feline, leaping to the fore and tensing every muscle in his body.
A groan slipped free, and he swallowed. Thirsty. Stuck. Sore head. Chest. Dark.
His mind returned slower than his body function.
His eyes flickered, and he realized something covered his face.
His arm lifted, sluggish yet working. He’d landed in a bush, a tree of some sort.
Something soft and abrasive brushed against his cheek.
Immediately, fire consumed his face, and something sucked at his skin.
The suction eased then began again. He thrashed, attempting to move, his eyes now fully open, reality sinking in its hooks.
The phrullin thing—the plant—intended to eat him.
Move. Move. Move.
He struggled, forcing his good arm free. His feline snarled, the testy panic echoing through his mind. His other arm refused to work despite the instructions his brain sent through the neural transmitters.
Shift. Shift. Shift!
The transformation began almost before he made the decision, but tendrils of plant held his arm firm. He felt a pull on his arm stump. A wrench, then debilitating pain. Too late, he recalled his Stores.
Needed to detach it properly.
The tug and pull continued from the plant as he corralled his panic enough to halt his shift.
Nothing happened.
Too far gone.
Agony writhed through his stump where the special connections slotted.
He heard as well as felt the separation, the wrenching of his Stores from his body.
Fur rippled across his skin. His tunic ripped—another hindrance to movement—but he wriggled and thrashed and crawled from the mouth of the tubular plant.
Tendrils grabbed for his limbs and tail. Ellard roared—his anger echoing through the sun-blasted clearing. But finally, he scrambled free.
He retreated and whirled to study the plant.
It stood as tall as him with a cream-and-yellow tubular body.
Half a dozen green leaves, covered with fuzz, protruded from the base.
Something—maybe his Stores—bulged out the side.
As he watched, the bulge reduced and disappeared.
The plant released a sound, almost like a belch, and rotated in Ellard’s direction.
Then, the plant moved, dragging itself along the ground.
The tangle of roots extended in front of it and propelled the tubular body in a forward motion.
Ellard found himself gaping at the weird sight.
Phrullin’ hell. Seemed as if his Stores was gone unless he managed to cut it from the plant somehow.
No weapons. He scanned his vicinity, his mind still not functioning at full speed. Must’ve hit his head. He retreated farther to get away from the plant, which seemed to be stalking him and—
Gweneth.
His feline growled, fear a red-hot spear ripping through him. He lifted his head to scent for her. Grunted. A putrid scent lay in the air—one of rotting flesh and damp soil. He tried again, searching for the fresh green scent—the familiar bouquet of Gweneth.
Nothing.
He spun and tested the air in each direction. He backed up, sat on his haunches and tried again. He had to find her.
Strong, wiry tendrils slid around his tail and spread around his belly before he could blink.
He leaped from his sitting position, every inch of him aching.
The tendrils broke, and a pained cry came from the plant.
He blinked in horror. Phrullin’ great. Not only did they want to eat him but they had feelings too.
Nothing but those bloody plants. And…targool! The phrullin’ things were moving, massing around him.
Which one had swallowed his Stores?
They all looked the same—tubular bodies—white and mustard yellow in color with furry red tongues.
The tongues flickered in a rude gesture, the tiny filaments covering them flickering in ceaseless quivers.
The green tendrils that had held him prisoner ran along the ground in front of the mass of plants, grasping, searching, reaching for food.
Phrull.
He searched for a weapon again and saw nothing useful. No, better to remain in feline form. He was stronger and felt marginally better, thanks to a feline’s speedy healing and recovery.
The nearest plant moaned with such longing and desperation that Ellard’s hackles rose. He growled, low and menacing, but the tube plants kept coming.
Screw his arm. He’d run and search for Gweneth.
While his mind had dissected his choices and come up with a decision, the plants had surrounded him, cutting off his escape.
Gweneth. He had to find Gweneth.
Ellard leaped at the tube plant before him, mowing it down as he scrambled over the top of the white-and-mustard body.
The plant shrieked—an ear-piercing scream—that cut through him like a sharp dagger, twisting his thoughts.
He hesitated, scratching his scalp and then knocking it to clear his confusion.
Green tendrils snaked toward him, twisting under his tender stomach.
They burned through the lighter fur on his underbelly.
The sting worsened, and he roared. He wrenched his body, rotating and leaping at the tube plant behind him.
Smaller in stature, it didn’t seem to expect him.
It shrieked at his sudden attack. Must find Gweneth before these plants hurt her.
He scrambled over the plant, snarling when the green tendrils attempted to fix him in place. Using the power in his hindquarters, he sprang away. For a sec, he thought the tendrils might hold him, but they snapped without warning.
The plants cried out, their unholy shrieks grating on his mind. He staggered at the sharp pain in his brain, his momentum keeping him flying forward. He landed awkwardly, his balance off due to his missing front leg. A pained grunt escaped, the air bleeding from his chest.
Ellard rolled and scrambled to his feet. He lurched away from the plants. Gweneth. Got to find Gweneth.
The whispers and screeches coming from the lumbering vegetation made every hair along his backbone stand to attention. Phrullin’ creepy.
Determination propelled him onward, even as he cursed his slow ineptness.
Lynx and Shiloh made him shift and practice, but they were always there to help him remove his arm.
Jarlath encouraged it too, and the confidence they showed in his abilities helped jerk him past self-pity.
Gweneth needed him, and he wouldn’t fail his bright sprite.
His?
Huh. He continued his awkward run-hop-lurch action until he couldn’t hear the plants’ shrieks and whispers. Once assured of his safety, he paused to scent the air.
Forest. Plants—he’d never forget their putrid scent. Water.
No Gweneth.
Panic began to swirl through him. Had the plants found her already, eaten her?
He listened intently.
Nothing.
Think. What to do? He needed to go back to where he’d woken and move outward. They’d been together. Gweneth should be close.
Ellard slinked along a path, which wound between the trees.
Tall, pale pink and uniform trunks stood in rows that reminded him of the castle soldiers on parade.
The plants hadn’t followed him into the trees, which told him they needed the heat of the glade, the direct light. Perhaps if he circled the open ground.
The hiss of the plants followed him, and they turned to watch his progress.
Ellard growled. Phrull, those plants were creepy. They were watching him from the clearing, and those closest had already sent out seeking tendrils. Keep moving. Don’t stop. He lurched around the edge of the plants.
Blood. He smelled fresh blood.
He hastened his pace, going so fast that the lack of one leg didn’t seem so bothersome. Phrull, it was Gweneth. Her still form lay on the far side of a small pond. No sign of the ship.
Although urgency urged him to enter the water, he slowed. No knowing what lived in that. Better to go around. Curse those phrullin’ dragons. Why hadn’t they mentioned the carnivorous plants?
Ellard skirted the pond and approached Gweneth with trepidation. Phrull, she couldn’t be dead. She couldn’t.
Blood tricked down her cheek. He nudged her, and when she didn’t move, he licked her face, clearing the worst of the blood coming from a gash in her skull. Gweneth. Gweneth.
Ellard stood back and shifted.
A series of shrieks snared his attention. The tube plants had arrived, circling the pond in a mass, moving in a ponderous fashion, their roots dragging their bodies across the open ground. Already, their green tendrils crept toward the water.
He’d have to move her, go deeper into the trees. Assess her once they reached a safer location.
He bent to scoop her up, grunting at the pressure on his one arm.
He almost dropped her before a burst of energy had her sliding against his chest. Phrull, he couldn’t carry her.
He’d have to dump her over his shoulder and hope he prevented further injuries.
Her limbs appeared normal, but her lack of consciousness bothered him. And the blood…
Panicked urgency gave him extra strength, and somehow, he lifted her until she dangled her over his shoulder. On shaky legs, he straightened and almost face-planted. Gods, this was why he shouldn’t be with Gweneth. His limitations made him a liability.
A sibilant hiss made him jump. How had the bloody plant crept so close? Gweneth slid off his shoulder and he cursed at his inability to save her. A quick glance showed the plants had built a bridge of green tendrils across the pond, and the tubes at the front of the pack were starting to cross.
“Phrull.” He struggled to lift Gweneth again. “Gweneth?”
“Burns,” she croaked.
“Ah, phrull.” A green tendril had slid stealthily around her wrist and burned her skin. Ellard freed her with a jerk and slid his arm around her waist. “You’ll have to help me.”