Page 118 of Scorching the Alien Empire (The Klendathian Cycle #7)

Alexandra

Breaking Bonds

I jolt awake in the form-fitting bed, that doesn’t float anymore. Groggy, I wipe at my eyes—crusting so thick I could launch a cereal brand.

Lexie-O’s: now with extra shame flakes.

It can mean only one thing. It wasn’t a nightmare.

I lost.

Lost to Bitch Brick . Not only lost. Utterly humiliated. Exposed. All my dirty laundry—pink lingerie, emotional desperation, the star-fuckery flirting—fluttering in the wind like white flags of surrender.

Ugh. Kill me now. What do I even do now? Where do I go from here?

Maybe I’ll crawl into the toilet and flush myself into the void. A little Lexie-poop, orbiting space. A shooting star of remorse—a cautionary tale. A floating turd of regret for weird bug-eyed aliens to giggle at while they blast past at confetti-speed.

Why did I say a tie meant they win? Why did I seduce a coral-scented idiot? Stupid. Stupid. STUPID.

I should be in a zoo. Eating bananas. Scratching my ass. That’s all I’m good for.

This is why basic Father never wanted me. Why Arawnoth has ghosted me. It’s obvious in hindsight. They could smell my loser vibes. It oozes from my pores—a choking miasma of cheap perfume and desperation.

I hate it. I hate me. I wish I was never—

“Here.” Dracoth’s voice breaks through like thunder cracking glass. I look up. He’s holding something out. A squirming shape in my bleary vision. “Your... creature.”

“Todd?” My breath catches. I blink the blur away—and there he is. Chug Bug. Spindly legs reaching, giant singular eye gleaming with unconditional love and zero taste.

But all I can see is my reflection in his lens: a puffy-eyed disaster. Hair tangled. Makeup streaked. A hobo in space.

“You’ll have to find a new bug-mother...” I mumble, each word another stab in the gut. “Mommy’s a loser-turd now. Go on. Crawl to Sandra. She’ll—”

WHUMP.

Todd launches at me like a black-red bowling ball of plumpness. The air rushes from my lungs in a stunned uff!

“Stop it! Mister!” I yelp as he scrambles up my chest like an Adderall-addicted tarantula.

“Get down! Right now!” I flail, but freeze as he curls on my shoulder, wee clackers clacking in croaky, sleepy snores.

How does he do that?

I look at the room—and finally at Dracoth. He’s seated, barely fitting in the space. Like me stuffed in an old dress.

“What... happened?” I whisper.

He glares at me. Red eyes burn like furnace coals. Fangs visible beneath curled lips—hot irons poised for judgment.

Oh no.

“You ask this,” he growls, “feigning ignorance .” His voice rumbles through the floor.

“You brought dishonor. To me. To us. Shame that will stain for centuries.” His voice cracks thunder through my chest. “Defiling our sacred bond. Seeking to mate another male behind my back! ” He roars, eyes spilling crimson mist into the air.

“Honor demands I challenge Voryx to Krak-Tok.” He rises slightly, armored hand curling into a molten fist, fangs bared in rage. “But he is a znat. A pathetic pawn whose spine would not ease the pain that sears my soul.”

He looks at me. And that’s when I see it. Not rage. Not fire. But something worse. Sadness. Betrayal. And it shatters me into a thousand jagged, useless pieces.

“Do you no longer favor me?” Dracoth growls. His voice rolls through the room like thunder made of grief.

“Do you doubt my strength? My resolve? Have I not bled for us? Fought and killed in your name? And this”—he gestures wildly, fangs flashing—“this is how you honor me? Honor our bond? Honor the Gods’ blessing?”

His red eyes burn. Fuming. Glistening. Hate and sadness tangled like storm clouds.

“Dracoth, I...” My voice falters. My heart pounds. Eyes sting, grasping for something, anything I can say to escape this despair. “I did it for us. I only said those things to secure his vote—nothing happened between us. I swear it. Please, believe me.”

But even as the words leave my lips, that moment twists in my gut. The heat. The chaos. The lust that coiled inside me before the sickness drowned it. It hangs there. Heavy. Waiting. A guillotine over my neck.

“You lie.” He grabs my collar. Effortless. Like I weigh nothing. He yanks me to his face, a sneer carved in fire and bone.

“I felt your betrayal through the bond.” His voice breaks—then turns hard as granite. “You longed for him. A lowly male, unworthy even to polish my armor— and yet you offered yourself. This is what you are. What my honor was worth.”

I close my eyes, waiting for the end. Let him kill me. It’s fine. I welcome it.

“I could kill you now,” he whispers. “The ancient penalty for violating the sacred union.” He exhales. “It has not been invoked in thousands of years. But you—” His voice cracks. “You sink lower than the lowest wyrm.”

A silence falls.

My breath stills. My eyes stay closed, waiting to be torn apart. I want it. Wish he could burn me. To end it. Burn me in Arawnoth’s love and send me to his realm of fire once more.

But no flame comes. Like everything, even that’s gone now.

Only more silence.

“Your death would not extinguish the inferno of pain you lit inside me,” he mutters.

His hand lets go. I collapse. Limp on the bed like a broken, discarded doll.

“Dig deeper, little wyrm,” he says coldly. “So the Gods cannot witness your shame.”

He turns, crouching to exit—and the room buckles under his weight and haste, my soul with it.

I reach out. Not to stop him. Just to touch the trail of his red rage still curling in the air. Clinging desperately to this fleeting piece of him. I want to pull it into me. One last ember of his heat. One last anything.

He’s gone.

And I shatter.

Sobs tear from my throat—raw, jagged, uncontrollable. They shake through my ribs like aftershocks. Like I’m screaming into a hole I dug myself. There’s nothing I can do, nothing I can say.

I killed us. Death by Surfer Bro.

I laugh. A sharp, shrill thing. Hysterical.

It’s funny , isn’t it? I thought I was playing him. But no. He’s the one who’s laughing. He and Bitch Brick. They planned this. They baited me like I was some big dumb goldfish—and I gulped it like a fucking idiot.

No wonder Dracoth hates me now. I threw him away.

The only person who’s stuck by me. The only person who’s ever truly seen me.

The real Lexie. Not the glitter. Not the snark.

Just the mess. Gods know I tried to push him away, when our bond first formed.

How naked and exposed I felt. Warts and trauma all hanging out like my tall chubbiness.

But he accepted me, encouraged me to embrace who I was—what I was becoming.

And this is it? This is what I became? A shallow, horny bitch who sold out the greatest man in the universe for a salty surfer bro?

With fucking corals.

In his hair.

Seriously? Is that really what I did? I threw away my Chanels... for seaweed.

A fresh round of sobs shakes me until Todd clambers onto my head.

“Chug Bug...” I sniffle, swatting weakly at his plumpness.

“Get down, you little menace.” But he clings on like a living fascinator.

Then his wee clackers droop over my forehead, dabbing away the tears.

“Aww... thanks, you wee sweetheart.” I let him stay.

Let him cover my shame like a too-cute crown of kindness.

Thump! Thump! Thump!

Knocking. Echoes.

I jolt upright, frantically wiping my eyes and tugging at my robes. I probably look like I was dragged backwards through the ugly-crier factory.

“Off. Todd . Someone’s at the door.” I try to peel him from my scalp, but he clings tighter—needle booties digging into my skin like bug-shaped acupuncture.

“Great. Thanks.” I sigh, heading toward the door. “Now we’re going to look even more ridiculous.”

Todd croaks defiantly, showing me the same mercy he shows jelly sticks—none. His mandibles already snapping at the would-be intruder.

“How does this thing work again?” I mumble, sucking my lip as I grope around like a drunk frat boy at a stripper club. “Um... come in?”

The door sighs into liquid, and I brace myself for another helping of cosmic shame pie.

But instead of a towering space-knight or Robo-Nib come to take me to cringe jail, it’s...

A Smurf. I blink.

The little blueberry head waddles in, orange robes swishing, a circular collar framing his head like a coin slot on legs.

He’s also not very impressed by what he’s seeing. Beady yellow eyes trawl slowly down me, grimace deepening with every inch of mascara-smeared, sleep-creased, dignity-deprived me.

“Madam,” he drawls, “are you aware there is a bloated lifeform currently nesting on your scalp?” He blinks like there’s an army of stray hairs lodged in his eye.

“Rude.” I snap, already offended. “This isn’t a lifeform. It’s the Divine Cherub.” I lean forward, letting him bask in Todd’s glorious clacking majesty. “Isn’t he just the best?”

“Please!” he recoils, face twisting like he swallowed a lemon sprinkled with lemons. “That’s quite enough. I wouldn’t wish to spoil my supper.”

You’ll be his supper if you keep talking like that, you overgrown jelly stick.

“The reason for my visit,” he sniffs, stubby fingers fluttering over his wrist console, “you’ve been summoned by Consul Juliara to discuss today’s... events.”

Then my own console chirps a bright, blinky bonk of doom.

“I’ve transmitted coordinates,” he says. “Do not dally. Time is of the essence with such... volatile matters. Good day, War Chieftainess.” He bows, spins like a fussy coin, already scampering down the corridor.

“Huh?” I murmur, dazed like I’ve just been hoodwinked into joining the Jehovah’s Witnesses. “Wait.” I call after him. “ What is this about?”

But it’s too late. He’s gone—a spent penny. It’s just me. My shame. My bug hat. And a blinky, bonking display.

“Consul Juliara...” I mutter, activating my device, seeing the location isn’t far from here. “Isn’t she the sour-faced one?” My eyes roll to Todd above, who clacks in agreement. “Yeah. They all are, really.” I laugh, brittle and thin. It bounces off the walls and dies before it reaches the floor.