Hunted & Seduced

by Shelley Munro

  Gweneth placed her device on her lap, her green eyes twinkling with mischief. One quick glance had his feline reacting with a purr. He liked her in this mood, even if it did raise his suspicions.

  “It means he will be envious. More Earth speak, I’m afraid.” She sighed. “We had such a good holiday on Earth. I miss Amme, but she is happy with Marcus.”

  “Tell me about your holiday. Why do you like Earth so much?”

  “Every day, I mean cycle, we did something new. We went shopping, to the beach. We helped Marcus on his farm and swam in his pool. We went dancing and to movies. Camryn taught us how to cook different Earth foods. We cooked our food outside. They call that a barbecue. I met Olivia, and she took me shopping and showed me about makeup.”

  Amusement bubbled up in him. So much enthusiasm and zest for life. The feline who claimed her would be a lucky man. His feline gave a silent snarl, which Ellard ignored. Maybe he should ask Jarlath and Keira for names of eligible felines for her to meet.

  “We could have a special day.” Gweneth’s excitement burst through his reluctant thoughts. “A day of celebration to spend with our friends and families. I wonder if Lynx would agree to a holiday so everyone can celebrate. And maybe during blacklight, we could have a dance or music in the square outside the castle gates.”

  “That’s not a bad idea.”

  “You think?”

  “Yes. You should suggest it to Lynx and Shiloh. Did Jannike enjoy your holiday?”

  “We all did. Ry said we can visit Earth again, but that won’t be until their child is born and is older.”

  The ship dropped without warning—a series of bumps causing his stomach to plunge.

  “Whoa,” Gweneth said. “That’s one good thing about deep space flight. No turbulence.”

  Ellard scanned the controls. “Computer, report on the storm.”

  “The storm remains on this side of the planet in the upper atmosphere.”

  “That’s what the instruments are telling me. It looks safe enough to fly over the search area. Computer, is the turbulence caused by the debris storm or the resonance the dragons mentioned?”

  “The predominate cause is the resonance, however conditions seem more unstable than usual due to the debris field, which has drifted closer to Narenda,” the computer stated.

  “There is something odd about that debris field,” Ellard said. “It seemed to have an energy field of its own rather than just debris drifting through space.”

  “Do you think it’s safe?” Gweneth asked.

  “I’ll try to go lower. Maybe we can get below the turbulence.”

  “Ten mins before we enter our search area. I’ll watch the heat seeker and let you concentrate on flying. What is that?” Gweneth asked, gesturing at the screen that registered their position and the landscape.

  Ellard studied the shimmering blob on the screen. He scanned their surroundings through the viewport and could see nothing but the slate-gray sky and putrid mustard-colored streaks that dissected their path. “Computer, identify anomaly on screen.”

  “Checking…checking… Anomaly unknown,” the computer announced.

  “I can’t see it outside, only on the screen,” Gweneth said. “It’s getting bigger.”

  Their ship bumped through another spurt of turbulence. Ellard took the ship off autopilot, wanting the illusion of control. His hands gripped the controls, the knuckles of his good hand turning pale with each rapid buck of their vessel.

  The last plunging dive swept them into a blanket of mustard-colored clouds. Ellard cursed, holding their ship steady through a series of gut-swooping bumps.

  “Computer, what course should we set?” he demanded.

  “Checking…checking…”

  Ellard gritted his teeth, muscles and his Stores arm straining to hold the ship level. At least he thought they were flying straight. Difficult to tell with this barlarkos-soup atmosphere. “Computer?”

  “Checking…checking…”

  “The screen has gone blank.” Gweneth thumped her hand on the screen. “Nothing. Computer?”

  “Checking…checking…checking…”

  “I don’t think it’s working. All the instruments are blinking out,” Gweneth said.

  Ellard peered through the viewport. “I think we’re exiting the cloud. The cloud is— Phrull, what is that?”

  Instinct had Ellard shoving the controls to the right, but they worked as slow as his cambeest in a stubborn mood.

  “It has the appearance of a space gate, but it isn’t mapped on the charts,” Gweneth said.

  Ellard fought to turn the sluggish ship but the shimmering blob pulled them closer. Their ship accelerated, and it wasn’t because of anything he’d done.

  Gweneth reached over and laid her hand on his Stores. His imagination and the embedded sensors told him her fingers were clammy, yet she didn’t panic, didn’t scream, didn’t demand he save them.

  The mustard-color dispersed, the sparkle becoming red, brighter, larger.

  A threat.

  Ellard struggled to turn their ship. His feline snarled, a harsh cry of fury.

  Without warning, their velocity increased, and they slammed into the shimmering object.

  Gweneth’s safety harness gave with the force of the collision. She crashed into the viewport, despite his grab for her. The ship shuddered and groaned and the computer burst into speech.

  “Checking…checking…checking…”

  They whooshed into darkness, going faster, faster, faster.

  The pressure within the cabin grew until each breath strained his chest.

  “Gweneth!”

  No reply, and he couldn’t see her.

  “Gweneth!”

  The weight on his chest grew, his mind going dark. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t function.

  Chapter 7

  The steamy heat woke Ellard. Sweat poured down his face, 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 on 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 leapt from his sitting position, every inch of him aching. The tendrils broke, a pained cry coming 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 he felt marginally better, thanks to the speedy healing and recovery of a feline.

  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 leapt at the tube plant in front of 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 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, 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.”

  Gweneth gave another pained moan and it spurred him to action. He directed her limp body from the path of the seeking tendrils. She moaned but staggered beside him. He followed a narrow path into the trees, trying to help her as much as he could. Once he could no longer see any plants, he halted.

  “Gweneth, tell me where it hurts.” He stared down at her, concerned at the renewed path of blood running down her cheek.

  “Head. Ankle. Chest,” she croaked after a pause.

  “I’m going to ch
eck you for injuries. Just want to make sure we’re safe.”

  “What were those things?”

  “Plants. They tried to eat me.”

  A shudder ran through her. “What happened? I remember the storm and I think I struck my head in the ship. That’s all I remember.”

  “We crashed. I couldn’t see any wreckage.”

  “So we’re stuck here?”

  “For the time being,” Ellard said. “We have no way of contacting the dragons.”

  “I know.”

  Ellard frowned at the place where his hand used to be. A burst of cold attached to his stinging stump and he felt as if he possessed an arm again. He blinked because there was nothing there. No arm. No fingers. But it felt…

  “Dragons,” a voice whispered.

  Ellard started and whirled around, his heart thudding against his ribs. “Who’s there?” A reply wasn’t forthcoming, so he made a wild guess. “Sheera. Leeam?”

  Silence reigned, and he couldn’t decide if he was hearing things or not.

  “Your uncle is worried about you,” Ellard said. “Your parents are desperate to find you. Everyone is searching for you.”

  The voice didn’t reply, and he shrugged, turning his attention back to Gweneth. Her usually vibrant features were pale, the wound leaking blood again and her eyes had slid shut. He stroked his thumb across one grubby but silky cheek. At least, she was alive. Her breasts rose and fell with each even breath. Phrull, she looked so small, so defenseless. The weight of responsibility for her safety crushed his confidence.

  “I don’t know what to do,” he whispered.

  A tiny smile played around her lips until she attempted to sit upright. A groan slipped free, prodding at his insecurities.

  “Don’t move.”

  “Not going anywhere,” she whispered.

  He stared at her, and unable to resist, he brushed a kiss on her pouty lips. She sighed, a murmur of something resembling satisfaction. Some of the weight on his chest lifted. He repeated the caress because he’d enjoyed her sigh. Then he squirmed a little, because in truth, the contact lessened his panic. He tasted her sweetness, a hint of blood.

  “What would you do if Jarlath injured himself?”