Page 92 of Scorching the Alien Empire
Doubt flares through Princesa’s side of our bond, quick and sharp.
“Oh.Really?” Princesa’s voice is light, feigning casual disbelief. “Well, we should definitely scope the place outlater.”She glances up at me, searching my face, her wide eyes assessing. “Right, Babes?”
“Wrong,” I growl, suppressing a flicker of annoyance at her manipulation. Pretending shetrulybelieved menota clone. Pointless. Whatever I was is irrelevant—I am the harbinger of the Scythians’ destruction. Their weapon of control. Now backfiring with divine vengeance.
Ahead, the immense doors of my throne room loom.
A decision made. The gambler’s choice.
“I have a fleet to fill.”
Chapter 19
Alexandra
Vengeance
Theenormousthroneroomdoor slides open—far too slowly for my liking. I’m eager to leave this cursed place. Not just because of the murder-bots or the creepy Crucible, but for the death of my teacher. Ignixis’s loss stings, sharp and acrid, like cheap hairspray in my eyes. But I must be strong for Dracoth.
For all his pretenses of strength and honor, I know what lurks beneath his Mr. Frowny Face—the doubts he carries, the burdens he refuses to name.
I’ll support him like a sexy push-up bra.
It’s fine, really. Ignixis burns within us now. I can almost feel his glowing green eyes watching me from the shadows of his hood, hearing his cryptic words, his insults that wereso obviously meant to challenge. Like me, he was chosen by Arawnoth—not divine, but something close, something linked to the molten heart of our God.
But if Arawnoth’s defeat consumed Ignixis, then how has it affected Dracoth?
Concerned, I glance up at him. He strides forward with purpose, his hard face smeared with ash and singes—unreadable, boring, but deliciously dependable. He carries me effortlessly in his bulging arm, the lovely heat of his armor seeps through my robes. The massive new suit that looks like a volcano and a battle tank had a very angry child.
His muscles, at least, are still in top form. That’s for damn sure.
The guards lining the vast throne room snap their fists to their chests, gauntlets clanking like metal heels. They stand rigid beneath the towering banners, the heavy fabric barely shifting in the still, crisp air. A perfect display of power and respect. Their deference makes my heart flutter. Just like my Goddess Mother said:We are divine. We are dignified.
And then Drexios ruins it.
“Would you look at that?” His irritating voice, laced with mocking awe, pulls me from my lovely thoughts. But it’s where it’s coming from that has my teeth grinding with outrage—mythrone.
“Ah, you can almostsmellthe burning metal from here,” he drawls, inhaling theatrically. He’s lounging, legs thrown over the obsidian, bone-infused armrest, hands clasped behind his head like a drunkard sunbathing in the Mediterranean. “And the voiding voices have stopped. Not that we’ll live long enough to—”
“Drex-iot!” I cut in, savoring the smirk melting from his stupid face. “That’smyseat,ourseat. Now, if you’d be so kind—”
“Void kindness,” the rude prick snaps, sneering. The expression twists the vertical scar over his useless eye. “I’m keeping the throne nice and warm for the young War Chief. Wouldn’t want him getting piles, now would we?” His infuriating smirk returns, directed toward my red taxi.
Dracoth doesn’t react. Just crooks a finger at Drexios.
The long-haired bore reacts instantly. One moment he’s lounging, the next he launches off the throne in a blur of motion—fluid, feline, but frantic, like a cat leaping off a hot stove. His armored boots slam onto the marble with aboom, the impact shuddering through the vast chamber.
“Good doggie,” I coo, my tone dripping with tooth-decaying sugary sweetness. Unable to stop myself, the constant sight of him being put in his place, a gift that keeps giving.
His eye twitches. Perfect.
“Pink sorceress,” Drexios hisses through bared fangs, his crimson eye gleaming ominously in the dim purple light. “Did your trembling legs finally give out under yourplumpness?”
Rude prick!
He stalks forward, fingers curling into fists. “This is no place for those too weak to bear their own weight.”
I suppress the urge to recoil further into Dracoth’s arms. Instead, I reach through our sacred bond, seeking the comforting, blazing inferno of my Mortakin-Kai.
