camping supplies for the night.
I count the sleeping pallets and help the others with the stew cauldron. “We’re going to need more—” Turning, I take off at a run. I don’t hear Beth’s distress as much as I feel it through the bond.
“Gareth, what is it? What’s wrong?” Chastain follows at my heels as I climb the tall dune and stare southward. When I see movement in the vines several yards away, I dash down the sandy slope, Chastain still with me, and thunder over the reaching greenery. Drawing my sword, I chop the way clear ahead of me until I reach a writhing mass of leaves that seems to be roiling away, back toward the craggy hills ahead of us.
“Beth!” I grab the thickest vines and yank them loose.
Chastain goes to her other side and does the same. We rip and claw until I see her face, her eyes wide. Gripping the vines across her mouth, I yank them back.
Her scream is a relief. She’s alive. Scared, but alive. The vines are all around us now, some of them slithering up my legs and trying to bind me. My sword makes quick work of them, but there’s always more, the woody stems lashing around me and growing thicker by the second. I keep ripping them from Beth until I can encircle her waist with one arm and pull her free.
I spin my sword in my other hand and bring it down hard on the vines in front of us. They retract for a moment, then re-fortify and come for us.
“Chastain.” I look around for him, but he’s encased in vines the same as Beth was. He still fights, but the vines are winning, and soon they’ll still his sword hand.
“Parnon!” Beth yells into the night as she clings to me, but we’re too far from camp.
I swing my sword again and again, but the vines never stop. They’re endless, flowing over the sand from the dark green hills to the south.
“Parnon!” she screams again. “They’ve got my ankles.” She kicks and tries to free herself as I swing and pull her forward, trying to head back to camp. “Gareth, I can’t move.” The panic in her voice pulls the feral to the fore, my claws lengthening.
“Take this.” I hand her my sword, but she can barely lift it, and the vines are quickly overtaking her. “Hold onto it for me while I trim the greenery.”
I kiss her ashen lips and dart away from her as the feral rips through me. I land on my paws and whirl on the vines, my claws out as I swipe, cut, and destroy. The attack is working, but the vines are growing thicker, as if sending reinforcements. I can barely see Chastain, and Beth’s legs are too wrapped for her to move.
The feral whispers what I need to do. What I have to do. But Chastain is too far away. If I unleash my magic, I’ll kill him. I’ve only ever been able to protect Beth, and that was just one time. What if I hurt her?
I keep clawing and biting the vines as they whip at me, lashing against my fur and leaving bruises with each strike. There are too many, and I realize they’ve been pulling us farther and farther from the camp this entire time. My magic. It’s the only way. I fight to Beth and wrap myself around her. With a roar I reach inside myself and dip my hand into the well of magic. I grab the tendrils and pull, destruction eddying in swirls through me.
“Chastain, I’m so sorry,” I want to tell him, but I can’t. I must save my mate.
My magic builds, and I crouch low as I summon it. It’s almost free when the sun rises. No, not the sun, but a light just as bright. It blooms in stunning shades of gold and white, the beams rushing over us and sending the vines skittering back. They seem to dissolve, going up in smoke as they unwind and try to escape. But they aren’t fast enough. Their onslaught was too much, and they can’t retreat quickly enough to avoid the burning light.
Beth is freed, and she climbs onto my back. I rise and turn toward Chastain. He slices the retreating vines, but there’s no need. Any greenery close to the light turns into gray soot.
The light begins to fade, and a figure emerges from the glow.
“So, you’re a tiger, eh?” Iridiel digs his hoof into