Page 246 of Scorching the Alien Empire
I fold into a cross-legged seat, pulling my robe back into place like a sage descending from Mount Chaos.
“Don’t forget, Voryx,” I rasp, voice low, pulsing with half-truths and smoke. “This body isn’tjustmine. It belongs to the Gods. And they demand our union...when the time is right.”
He blinks again, slower this time. Not so cocky now. Something in himflickers.Not just arousal—but awe. “The Gods demand it?” he echoes, gray eyes downcast in thought.
“They demand everything,” I whisper, placing a finger to his lips. “To reject their gift is to reject them. You must align yourself to my cause. To the future we all crave—the will of the Gods.” I touch his chest, just above his heart. “If you don’t... you might not survive the consequences.”
His grin falters.
I shift closer again, lips brushing his long ear, just enough to feel the heat—but not the flame. “Cast your vote for Dracoth,” I whisper, “and afterward... maybe I’ll show you whatreal devotiontastes like.”
He stares, utterly still. Then nods. Slowly. Like a surfer praying not to drown. “Yes, War Chieftainess. You have my vote.”
I smile—not sweetly this time, but with teeth. “How wonderful! I knew you wouldn’t disappoint.”
Four votes against Bitch Brick’s two.
I’ve already won.
Chapter 46
Alexandra
Politics
I’mbackinthegrand summit room, shifting in my seat with the grace of a crab on hot sand.
Not just because my chair is a throne carved from what I assume is a volcano’s estranged offspring—jet-black, jagged, and about as comfortable as a family reunion hosted in a septic tank.
No, it’s also the nerves.
A full legion of Lexie-moths is dive-bombing my poor stomach like it’s D-Day down there.
And it’sBitch Brick’sfault.
She and Krogoth Cringe-Eyes are fashionably late, of course. Classic power play—make the rest of us plebs stew in anticipation. Gods, why didn’tIthink of it first?
So now we wait, bathed in the sterile glow of the enormous Elerium and sapphire spheres that hover over the metal-scarred table like smug crystal gods.
“Psst. Psst.” I hiss like a stepped-on cat. “What were you doing all morning?” I ask, a hint of accusation in my tone.
Dracoth sits beside me, towering like a frowning skyscraper sculpted from pure disapproval. Not helped by the fact his daddy volcano throne makes me feel like a toddler tossing stinky carrots from a high chair.
“Preparations,” he rumbles, arms folded, eyes closed. Classic chatty mood.
“Preparations?” I echo, lips curling. “Really? That’s funny, because I didn’t see you while I was out securing our win.” I flash him a knowing smile, stroking Todd—who softly clacks in his sleep on my shoulder—obviously in solidarity to how hard I’ve been working. Though I wonder if Dracoth can feel the sweat still clinging to my back through the bond.
His eye cracks open—just one. A single burning red glare. Like hellfire peeking through a crack in a condemned wall.
“Isthatwhy you violated our bond?” he growls, low and slow.
Oh. Fuck. He felt that?
“I didno such thing!” I snap, too fast, too loud. “I merely made a few strategic suggestions. It’s not my fault men lose all control aroundSexy-Lexie.” I grin, trying to mask the heat blooming in my cheeks like two fully ripened betrayal tomatoes.
Dracoth just... stares. No words. No twitch. No anger. Just one giant eyeball of eternal, silent judgment. I squirm under it like an ant beneath a magnifying glass of frowny solar condemnation.
How does he do this?
