Page 53 of Scorching the Alien Empire
“This?” Drexios thrusts his massive hand in my face, his fingers wiggling like deranged sausages. “Didn’t feel a thing. High as an arrohawk’s ass, I was. And those healing pods...” His voice trails off, his eye glazing over in a haze of fondness. “Oh, those sweet, sweet fumes fixed me right up.”
Before I can interject, he snaps back to the present, wiping the slick sheen of sweat from his scarred face with a jerk. “Say, you aliens got any scoomer?”
Scoomer? Sounds like something with handlebars.
I cross my arms and exhale sharply, frustrated this prick is not only here asking stupid questions, but he escaped his rightful suffering.
His breath edges closer, grazing against my neck, sending a cold shudder down my spine. I feel his shadow stretch over me like a smothering cloak. I can’t help myself—I turn my head, only to jerk back as his face looms inches from mine.
“You deaf? Got any scoomer or not, female?” His tone sharpens with impatience.
“No!” I snap, louder than intended, earning disapproving frowns from the guards. “No scoomer, no scooters, no hoverboards, and definitely no fucking patience!” My words are a venomous hiss.
His reaction? Nothing. Just that maddening smirk. He swivels his gaze to Sandra.
“Hey fire-on-head, how about you?”
Sandra, the ever-pleasant one—as everyone is quick to point out—turns with her signature sweet smile, completely wasted on this tower of prickdom.
“Oh, I don’t even know what that is. Sorry,” she says, leaning in slightly like she’s sharing a secret.
“You pinkies are sorcerers but don’t know what scoomer is?” He raises a jagged eyebrow, incredulous.
Sandra shrugs while I roll my eyes, wishing he’d just shut up.
My wish dies instantly.
“Void, the old bastard has my balls in a barrel full of vipertails.” Drexios mutters, flicking a glare toward Ignixis. My teacher is listening to Corsark’s endless bragging but somehow still manages to cast an unsettling side-eye in my direction.
He’s like a giant gecko!
“The hypocrite, voiding reeks of bloodroot but moans Arawnoth forbids scoomer.” Drexios sneers, claws dragging scratches down his neck and cheeks. “Crazy cultist confiscated every last bit of it.”
I round on him, fury igniting in my chest. My teeth grind as I speak. “You’re the crazy one for turning your back on Arawnoth’s flames. He should sear your soul to cinders for doubting him.” My glare could cut steel.
His single red eye widens in mock surprise before his smug smirk resurfaces. “Well, well,” he says, leaning closer again, hisnostrils flaring as he sniffs the air. “Would you look at this. You reek of it too, don’t you?” He circles his head like a predator sniffing prey, taking exaggerated whiffs. “Yep, a little pink, plump cultist wafting out.”
Straightening with a sudden movement that makes me flinch, he adds, “If the Elders were half as breedable as you, I’d be guzzling down Arawnoth’s blood and squirting rivers of borack shit too.” He barks a laugh.
“Oh, you don’t need any help in the bullshit department,Drex-iot.” I retort, refusing to look at him as my fists clench into tight balls.
“So, how’s this work?” Drexios asks, his voice grating like fake nails on a chalkboard, seemingly allergic to a single moment of silence. “The young War Chief got two for one? You both take turns, or is it a jiggling free-for-all? Twice the pussy, twice the power?” His predatory grin shifts between Sandra and me, as if we should dignify him with an answer.
“Why are you being so rude?” Sandra snaps, her face scrunching in anger. It’s adorable—like an indignant, barking fox cub trying to scare off a grizzly. “We’ve been nothing but nice to you.”
“Nice would be answering my questions,” Drexios retorts, his tone losing its amusement. He leans down, resting his chin on my head to glare at Sandra, a blatant taunt that makes my skin crawl.
“Back off,” I hiss through clenched teeth, shoving against his armored chest with all the force of a kitten batting a brick wall. “Dracoth’s my Mortakin-Kai. Sandra’s my ginger-in-waiting.”
“Lexie,” Sandra scolds, her tone dripping with disapproval. “Now,you’reboth being rude.”
Drexios presses his lips together like he’s thinking—which I doubt he’s capable of—and straightens slowly.
“Superstitious, preposterous, voiding nonsense,” he mutters under his breath. But his scarred face twists into an ominous grin as his gaze shifts back to Sandra. “Hey, Fire-on-head, come back to my quarters, and we’ll see if we can get lasers shooting out of my nipples.” He snorts at his own joke as if it were funny.
“No chance!” Sandra exclaims, her hand flying to her mouth as if she can stuff the words back in. Too late.
The guards whip their heads toward the source of the outburst. Sandra’s freckled face flushes as red as her hair. “Crap. Sorry...” she whispers, shrinking into herself like a mouse caught stealing cheese by the house cat.
