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, and 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
ThesteamyheatwokeEllard.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.
