Page 115 of Scorching the Alien Empire (The Klendathian Cycle #7)
Ugh. Should be Pine and Apple. With him as Head Idiot.
“Aww,” Elera purrs.
“I love when you say that, Voryx—I mean, Chieftain,” Umi giggles, catching herself with all the grace of a falling barstool.
I sigh. “Oh. Well. Who am I to interrupt a sacred bonkening. ”
The sinking feeling hits low and deep, dragging my confidence down to my boots.
“But you’re wrong about Dracoth and me,” I add, voice slipping into something smooth and sharp.
“We actually completed the Mortakin-Tok. Not like you fakers.”
I shoot the girls a knowing look. Enjoy the mind bomb, ladies.
Surfer Bro stiffens like someone just handed him a stack of parking fines from every quadrant south of the Milky Way. “No. That’s not—”
“Oh, it is,” I interrupt sweetly. My voice drops low. “Where do you think our powers come from? The fire that burns on my chest?” I stroke the rune gently, feeling it flare beneath my touch. “They’re gifts. From the Gods. ”
I smile like sugar and knives. “Ladies... if you don’t mind, the War Chieftainess needs a moment alone with the Surfer Supreme.”
Neither moves.
I lean in slightly, my voice velvet, edged with glass. “Somewhere out there... a pizza desperately needs some pineapple. That wasn’t a suggestion.”
Elera huffs. Umi snorts. They slither to their feet, wrapping themselves in fabric so sheer it’s practically a suggestion.
“Voryx, we’re off for a quick puff,” Umi says, over her shoulder as she stalks toward me with passive aggression dialed to eleven.
One of them bumps into me on her way past. Deliberate. Weak.
Todd snaps awake with a clackclackclack of his mandibles, sounding like he’s being attacked by vengeful jelly sticks.
“Don’t eat that one,” I murmur, gently stroking his rubbery runed back. “You’ll catch something.”
The door hisses shut behind the pineapple twins, and suddenly it’s quiet.
Just me, the Surfer Supreme, and the smell of damp coral sex stew hanging in the air like war crimes in aerosol form.
Voryx reclines against the ruined bed, his smugness returning now that the vote-blockers are gone.
His eyes crawl across my body like he’s tasting me with his ego.
I cross the room slowly, letting my hips sway with cosmic purpose. Divine Daughter on a mission. Sexy-Lexie: fully deployed.
“I wonder,” I murmur, brushing a strand of golden hair behind my ear, “have you ever touched something truly divine ?”
Voryx tilts his head, smirking. “I’ve touched plenty of things. Many considered... divine.”
I laugh softly, letting it curl around him like smoke. “No. You haven’t.” I climb onto the bed, sinking into the cratered mattress beside him, hovering just outside reach. “You’ve only touched basic girls. Not an Earth girl blessed by the Gods.”
I lean in. He doesn’t breathe.
“You’ve never tasted divinity. Never fucked a star wrapped in a woman’s skin.” My hand trails along his collarbone, fingers tracing the curve of his chest.
His pupils blow wide.
I watch his hunger bloom—and let it. Feed it. Because I can feel the fire curling inside me too. Between my thighs, behind my eyes. This isn’t just a performance anymore. It’s exhilarating. Control. Adoration. Beautiful chaos.
“I was chosen, Voryx,” I whisper, lips inches from his ear. “Aenarael called me daughter. Arawnoth gave me fire. Their voices echo through me. Their marks... burn inside me.”
My eyes lock with his. Hungry. Wanton.
“If you prove yourself worthy, maybe I’ll let you feel what that’s like.”
He swallows. Hard. The air vibrates with tension.
His hand rises, reaching for my waist. And for one glorious, reckless heartbeat—I let him.
Then— Agony.
White-hot nausea slams through my gut like I’ve just eaten another brunch extravaganza. My breath catches. My stomach flips . Through the sacred bond, Dracoth’s side howls— rage, grief, betrayal —so loud it’s like being impaled with light.
My head spins. The room tilts.
Crap. Crap. Crap!
I lurch away, clutching my side, doubling over like I’ve just been stabbed in the ribs by Aenarael’s godly hairpins.
“Are you—are you okay?” Voryx blinks, startled. “Do the Nebians have a healing pod—?”
Play it cool, Lexie. Do. Not. Barf.
I cough dramatically, waving him off with a trembling hand. “Yes—yes. Just...” I suck in a breath, force the lie past the rising bile. “Our energy. My attraction to you—it’s too intense.”
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’t just mine. 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 him flickers. 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 what real devotion tastes 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.