Page 101 of Scorching the Alien Empire (The Klendathian Cycle #7)

Alexandra

Velvet Fist

“ H er hair’s so lovely,” Sandra murmurs, watching me comb Dracoth’s mother’s hair. The bright plastic comb glides through golden liquid silk like it’s brushing sunlight.

“Reminds me of yours,” she sighs, fingers trailing over her own fiery mop. “Ah, I wish mine wasn’t so dull.”

“Dull?” I shoot her a look. “Really, Sandra? Your hair’s brighter than these lights.” I wave at the bizarre orange-and-blue glow drenching the room’s opulent, undersized furniture.

Typical. One minute I’m a circus midget—next, I’m the elephant woman.

“Not the color,” Sandra says, limbs spilling off the edge of a floating bed, clearly not designed for human proportions. “The shine. Yours and hers—there’s this gloss to it.”

“Nah, hers is way nicer,” I mutter, rubbing a long strand between my fingers. “Right, Mrs. Dracoth?” I ask, knowing she won’t answer. She never does. The poor Klendathian women—none of them have shown any signs of improvement.

She sits awkwardly on a too-small stool, towering like an adult on a child’s swing—nearly as tall as me standing. She doesn’t respond—just begins her eerie humming again. A whisper of words buried deep in the tune.

“Aww, that’s my favorite,” Sandra perks up. “Sounds so sweet. So... loving.” She hops upright. “But shouldn’t we give her a proper name? ‘Mrs. Dracoth?’ is kinda cold.”

I snort. “And what if we get used to calling her Rose for six months, only to find out her real name’s Ivy?” I pause, thinking deeper. “...Wait. What even is Dracoth’s last name? Does he have one?”

“You don’t know?” Sandra giggles, turning my face into a fresh tomato wearing a blonde wig. “The Klendathians take their father’s names,” she explains, smug as lame old-human Todd would. “He’s Dracoth, son of Gorexius.”

“Bone-through-the-noses. Of course it is.” I stroke Todd’s squishy plumper self. “Well, we’re not calling her Mrs. Gorexius , that’s for damn sure. Not after what that prick did to her—and the others.”

While I’ve been out here bossing it—saving the universe, spreading Sacred Words. You know, typical Lexie things—Sandra’s turned full nerd, glued to her wrist console, devouring knowledge like me two months ago devouring cinnamon rolls.

A sudden horror strikes me.

“Wait...” I whisper. “Does that make me... Alexandra Gorexius ?” I whirl to Sandra, eyes wide in despair. “Great. I sound like an STD.”

She howls with laughter. Obviously not grasping the severity of the situation. “This isn’t funny, Sandra!” I snap, brushing Mrs. Dracoth’s hair with righteous fury—like I’m trying to comb the smug out of Sandra’s face.

“We can call you Gore-Lexie for short,” she teases, laughing harder.

“So rude,” I grumble.

“No, no,” she says finally, wiping tears from her eyes.

“Oh, you’re back with us, are you?” I sigh without turning around. “Thought we’d lost you to the land of crazy there.”

She only smiles, all sweet and innocent in the way only she can. “From what I’ve read, the Mortakin-Kis—the bonded female—keep their original family name.”

Her words land like a warm, rich cup of mocha on a cold morning. “Oh, praise Aenarael. Ah, such a relief.” I exhale loudly, feeling the weight of a hundred sleeping Todds lift from my chest. “Could you imagine?” I giggle.

Alexandra Gorexius . Ugh. I’d rather face a horde of murder-bots wearing jelly heels.

“It’s kind of sad,” Sandra says, hopping off the bed.

It bobs gently behind her. “We don’t even know their names.

Not really. Just Ruzeta. And she doesn’t know the others.

” She fusses with the pristine white robes, adjusting the strangely pointed, stiff shoulder section on Mrs. Dracoth’s gown.

Her expression clouds over as she gazes at the woman’s distant, unfocused eyes. “What if they never recover?”

I don’t know...

“They’ll be fine,” I assert, more confident than I feel. “I mean, the Nibs have all that fancy alien tech, right? They’ll be able to help.” I lower my voice, eyes wide. “They even have en suite bathrooms.” I pause for emphasis. “With toilets, Sandra. Actual sit-down toilets.”

Although they’re freaking small.

“I know, right?” Sandra beams, glancing around the room with its too-low ceiling painted an overcompensating royal purple. “I even ordered spaghetti last night—it was amazing.” She says it like she hasn’t just sold my entire wardrobe.

“You ate spaghetti?” I blink, disbelief dripping from my mouth like the pasta I haven’t seen in months.

“Yep.”

“Like actual spaghetti? Not Nib goo pretending to be spaghetti?” I demand, mouth maybe watering.

“It tasted like the real thing, I swear.” Sandra nods solemnly, like she’s swearing on the sacred pasta sauce of the ancients.

“No freaking way. How?” I whirl to Todd’s plumpness, snoozing on my shoulder, already dreaming of angel hair with meatballs. “Todd and I need answers!”

“You just ask the wee orb machines,” Sandra says, grimacing as she scans the pristine interior. “Wait... where are yours?”

My cheeks heat up.

“You mean the murder-bots? I sent those creepy things away.” I shiver just thinking about it. “Asking me weird questions. Projecting black death rays. I’m not taking any chances—especially now...”

My hand drifts to Arawnoth’s scorch-brand, the faintest warmth still pulsing under my fingers.

“What do you mean?” Sandra’s voice softens, instantly tuned into my shift. Classic bestie behavior. “Did something happen?”

“A whole lot happened—a whole lot of cringe,” I groan, curling into myself. “Cringe layered on more cringe—a big strawberry, triple-tiered cringe-cake.”

The mortifying breakdown I had with Dracoth still stabs me with a thousand icy hairpins of embarrassment and regret.

It was wild. Total loopy-loop insanity. I’ve never been that vulnerable before—not even close. And now he knows my darkest secrets. The sprinkles and the warts. I mean, I barfed them all up—years of trauma, hurled right over his big Bobo the Clown boots.

Anxiety churns my guts like a platoon of backflipping Lexie-moths.

It’s terrifying. But also... weirdly comforting?

Like he paid off all my credit card emotional debt.

Except now he’s got my fragile heart in his big clawed hands.

A little poke there, one little squeeze here, and poof—I’ll explode into glitter and pain confetti.

How did I go from Divine Daughter to viral breakdown meme in record-breaking time?

It’s Dracoth. It’s always Dracoth.

He could’ve walked away. He should’ve. But he didn’t. And I might be fully dickmatized. Because no matter what gets thrown at him, he wins . It’s kind of crazy. Crazy and... very hot.

“I’m... no longer...” I wince. Each word feels like ripping out an eyelash. “Divine.”

There. The cat is out of the celestial bag. Oversharing is now my spiritual practice.

Sandra stands blinking, as if expecting more, looking like a ginger fox caught in Nib headlights. “Um...” she says, clearly stalling. “Okay, but... you were never divine?”

“ Rude . I totally was,” I snap, scandalized.

My best friend. A non-believer. A heretic.

The betrayal stings—like getting heel-stabbed by discount stilettos.

Anger sparks, but I smother it under a wet blanket of sadness.

She’s right. Just like Dracoth. I’m not divine. Just... extremely, super powerful, gorgeous, blessed, adored, and awesome. I mean, okay, it isn’t that far off?

“Mr. Frowny Face somehow found his Zen,” I mutter, still brushing Dracoth’s mother’s hair as my gaze drifts. Through our bond, Dracoth’s blood-red flame, no longer blazes like a big grumpy inferno of constant rage. Now it’s a calm campfire, simmering like he’s keeping his soup or spaghetti warm.

How did I miss the spaghetti!?

“Wha... I don’t understand. Did Dracoth do something? I saw you two head off with that scary feather guy,” Sandra presses, frowning, interrupting my delicious musings.

“He cut me off Sandra.” The words snap out faster than intended. “No more frowny juice.” I lean in, tugging my eyelid. “See? My eyes? Totally normal. No divine glow. Which means... no shields. No powers. And with the Nib–Big Chief–Krogoth showdown looming?”

Just the mention of it sends my blood pressure skyrocketing. This is my moment. Our ascent. The Lexie-verse is waiting . Soon we’ll finally meet Krogoth Cringe-Eyes and Bitch Brick and the other bone-through-the-nose big chiefs. I need to shine.

No, dominate .

Dracoth insists we do this peacefully. And I did sort of agree... well, I said I’d at least try. Ugh. Not like it matters anyway. I can’t even sparkle.

I don’t know how serious Dracoth is about removing Krogoth, but I’m not taking any chances. I’ve got a few tricks to play. I’m not letting this opportunity slip.

“Yeah, I see,” Sandra leans back nodding after studying my eye. “Is that why you brought his mother?” she nods toward the seated woman. “For this meeting?”

“Yep,” I admit without hesitation, grinning.

I’m not showing up without my Charizard again.

“ And ,” I add with a mischievous glint, “You’re going to help me too.”

“Oh, really?” Sandra crosses her arms, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, really.” I stroke Todd’s plump, segmented belly, loving the look of surprise curling across her face. “You know this Krogoth guy? He’s just like Dracoth. Bonded to a human woman.”

Her jaw drops in an adorable way.

“Her name’s Rocks.” I roll my eyes. “ Ugh , such a dumb name. But anyway, I want you to come with me to the meeting. Be your usual sunshine self—extra nice, super friendly. Shouldn’t be hard, right?

That’s so you.” I smirk. “Befriend her. Get close. And then... feed me all the juicy details. Anything I can use.”

I watch her closely, waiting for the hesitation. The judgment. The “ Lexie, are you seriously trying to infiltrate a super-important political summit through brunch tactics ” look.

Instead, she grins like a kid handed a water pistol.