Rewrite the Apocalypse dream (by Dee Cari) novel Chapter 332

Chapter 332 He Is Not The Most Dangerous Thing Here

With a flick of her wrist, Joanna folded space around the three men, and the frozen office fell away.

Finished

Warm, clean air rushed over them. Ambient light spilled across rolling grass, and the sudden absence of cold made even Glacier exhale in relief. Joanna turned to Caleb. “Pack a bag for the trip. Enough for a few weeks, and grab the extra comm gear.” Caleb saluted with two fingers and jogged off toward the villa.

Glacier straightened his jacket and jerked his chin at Fletcher. “Come on. You might as well see what you signed up for.”

He led Fletcher first to the warehouse, where shelves stretched back farther than seemed possible, stacked with crates of food, medicine, tools, and neatly labeled bins of supplies. Fletcher walked the aisles slowly, running a finger along the edge of a shelf, and for once had nothing snide to say. Then Glacier took him out past the trees to the fresh energy spring, its water clear and shimmering, energy slimmering on the surface.

“Revitalizing,” Glacier said. “Drink some. You look like you haven’t slept since the first snow.”

Fletcher grunted, but he was tired enough not to argue. He knelt at the edge of the spring, cupped his hands, and bent low to drink.

Something large and orange shifted in the grass behind him.

A pair of golden eyes locked onto the nape of his neck. The great striped form advanced, a fluid ripple of muscle beneath fur, paws soundless in the grass. Belly brushing the ground, tail twitching in a slow, deadly rhythm-he was every bit the apex hunter honing in on prey. Mr. Bubbles, Lord of Destruction, had entered stalking mode.

Fletcher caught a glimpse of movement in the rippling water, and his head snapped around. He found a mountain of fur and fangs a few feet away, and he yelled, scrambling backward and landing flat on his back in the grass.

Glacier doubled over laughing. It was a rare, helpless sound, and he had to brace a hand on his knee to stay upright. “You should see your face, Fletcher!” He wiped his eyes. “Don’t worry, I looked exactly the same when I first met him.”

Fletcher glared up at him from the grass, which only made it worse.

The commotion carried, and Joanna appeared over the rise, one eyebrow arched. She took in the scene at a glance: the warlord sprawled in the grass, the enormous tabby crouched like a lion, the man beside him barely able to breathe. “Mr. Bubbles,” she said, in the tone of a mother who had seen this before. “Get over here.”

The giant fat tabby flattened his ears, his tail sinking guiltily. He let out a low rumbling growl and turned to face her. “I wasn’t going to eat him or anything, my human!”

He trotted up to her with his head held high and his most innocent expression, weaving once around her ankles as though he had been nowhere near the crime.

Fletcher stayed on his back in the grass, staring at the sky. “That,” he said hoarsely, “is the most dangerous thing I’ve ever seen.”

Joanna smirked, the corner of her mouth curling as she looked down at the man in the grass. “Oh, Mr.

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Chapter 332 He Is Not The Most Dangerous Thing Here

**Finished

Bubbles?” She scratched the tabby between the ears, and he preened. “He’s not the most dangerous thing here. Come on. Follow me.”

Flecher pushed himself up and dusted off his jacket, dignity in tatters, and fell into step behind her. Glacier trailed after them, still wiping the corner of his eye. Mr. Bubbles padded along at Joanna’s heels, tail high, looking deeply pleased with himself.

She led them around the side of the villa, past the garden beds and the long shaded veranda, to the back of the property. The air grew heavier there, warm and sweet and faintly green, the way a greenhouse smells on a summer morning.

Then the trees parted, and Fletcher stopped walking.

Piper sat against the back of the villa like a small mountain of living vines. Thick green-violet coils rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm, as though the whole plant were breathing. A soft, rumbling snore rolled out of her, and the grass trembled faintly with each exhale. At the center of the tangle, a large violet flower hung closed and drooping, its petals folded tight like a sleeping eyelid.

“This is Piper,” Joanna said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “She’s a poisonous pulsor plant. She’s in hibernation right now, but in an all-out fight…” She tilted her head, studying the great sleeping mass. “I’m honestly not sure I could take her. She’s the most dangerous plant in the whole world.”

Fletcher swallowed. “And you keep her behind your house.”

“She’s very sweet when she’s awake.”

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