Page 11 of Scorching the Alien Empire
“Over half the moon’s pulsar cannons have been destroyed,” Keth announces, his calm tone cutting through the noise. I wipe a bead of sweat from my forehead as he continues. “We are now outside their effective range.”
“Good,” Dracoth growls. His eyes gleam with anticipation as he sweeps a hand through the air. “Order Balsar to form the Shorthairs into a crescent moon formation.”
“Ah, a killing field,” Ignixis hisses, his emerald-green eyes glinting deep within the shadows of his hood. “But who will be the prey, young Dracoth? Do you trust them, knowing their weak flesh courses through your veins now? Can the vipertail truly be tamed? Or will they strike the woundedvenefexin the back? An interesting conundrum, make no mistake!” He cackles again, mad and shrill, like a lunatic skipping butt-naked out of an asylum.
Fuck, he might have a point.
“Silence, you old gas-cloud,” Dracoth mutters, his lack of concern easing my growing doubt a tiny bit. “They will not betray me. They are Dracoth’s Shorthairs now.”
Both Ignixis and Jazreal scoff, their derision sharp enough to cut. Even I have to stifle my own snort of disbelief, only holding it back because of my abundance of elegant, ladylike poise.
“You gamble on the loyalty of this rabble?” Jazreal challenges, his voice sharp as the spear he points toward the viewport. The screen now shows the semicircle of glittering ships stalking us in the black void of space. “The war brothers of the very junkers we assault?” He shakes his head, sending his long, silver-streaked hair tousling.
Jazzy,Hotty of the Berserk Crazies, makes a damn good point. My eyes dart to the screen, worried I’ll be summoning barriers until I die of old age.
Dracoth whirls around like a crimson tempest, his fury twisting his face into a terrifying sneer. “Even now, you question me, your War Chieftain!” His voice booms, raw and guttural, as he lunges forward to tower over Jazreal like a monstrous beast poised to strike. “I do not gamble—Iknow!I monitored their ship transmissions. That’s the foresight it takes to lead. Couldyoudo better, Jazreal? Could you achieve victory without a single loss?”
His eyes flash an otherworldly mix of red and silver, wisps of power curling at their edges like smoke from a smoldering fire.
Jazreal stiffens, his grip tightening on his spear. For a moment, he looks as if he might argue—but his gaze flicks toward the viewport, where the battlefield unfolds. He exhales sharply, the rigid line of his shoulders loosening ever so slightly.
Jazreal finally bows his head. “No,” he admits, quieter this time. “I should not have doubted you, great War Chieftain.” The title is spoken with no mockery—only genuine respect.
Oh my.
A flush of heat rushes through me, pooling low in my core and sending tingles through my limbs. I have tostop myselffrom letting my hand wander across my chest. Dracoth is absolutely the hottest—making even Jazreal, with all his brooding warrior appeal, look like a schoolboy who just failed his math quiz.
I sneak a glance at Sandra, curious to see her reaction. A secret part of me relishes the thought that Dracoth belongs to me—that I, alone, tamed the sexiest man in the universe. But to my disappointment, she seems oblivious, her blue eyes fixed on the viewport with an expression of awe.
Whatever. At least I know.
Without another word, Dracoth strides back to the viewport, his cloak sweeping dramatically through the air. Even the tension in the room seems to follow his movements, crackling like a live wire.
“Keth, order Balsar to fire on the oncoming ships,” he commands without a trace of his earlier fury. “Nexarn, send a transmission to theWhores’ Orphansdemanding their immediate surrender—if they value their pathetic lives.”
The semicircle of Balsar’s ships inches closer, their weapon muzzles beginning to glow ominously, lighting up the void like deadly beacons.
I suck in a breath, the sight is equal parts mesmerizing and terrifying. Dozens of them charge their cannons in unison, and for a fleeting moment, I prepare to summon barriers, ready to shield us from the incoming barrage.
But then I exhale in relief as the blasts streak past us, hurtling into the voidbehindour ship. Their shots miss, aimed at the aliens trailing us.
“SixteenWhores’ Orphansships destroyed. The others are scrambling to retreat, War Chieftain.” Keth announces the good news with all the cheer of a mortuary.
“Yay, you did it!” I exclaim, partially wrapping Dracoth in a fierce hug, joy and relief flooding through me. “Of course, I never doubted you for a second!” I add, hiding the little lie behind my beaming smile.
Dracoth pulls me close, his lovely warmth radiating through me, making me moan softly. “Mere rabble,” he growls, as if he’s simply brewed a cup of coffee, not won a great victory.
How boring and small.
I suppress a sigh—though it’s good he has such high standards. His ambitions won’t be satisfied until we reach the top.
“An Arch-Captain, Duriel, responds,” Nexarn interrupts, drawing my attention, eager to hear of the loser’s surrender. “Reads: ‘Go void yourselves.’”
“Really?” I sneer, spinning to face the blond-haired mini-Dracoth. “Well, you tell him to go fuck himself!” I shout, unable and unwilling to hide my disgust. “Can you believe this loser, Dracoth?”
Dracoth’s clawed fingers absently stroke through my long hair, his lips curled faintly in what, under a microscope, could be called amusement.
“Bring us about,” he rumbles, sweeping his hand toward Nexarn and Keth. “Destroy their remaining pulsar cannons. Order Balsar to prepare boarding parties.”
