Page 122 of Scorching the Alien Empire (The Klendathian Cycle #7)

These questions will haunt me for centuries—if I have the strength to survive.

I thought I’d severed our bond. Cast off my duty.

Released her. But it struck back—violent, divine, unrelenting.

A need. A fury. A collision of soul and fire.

I stormed through the ship like lightning incarnate, body aflame, mind overtaken.

Afterward, her regret and sorrow poured through our bond in waves—wild, frantic, aching to mend what might always be maimed.

She swore on the Gods, her treasures, even on Todd—never to betray me again.

Her voice trembled with desperation so raw it would bring shame were it not so utterly heart-wrenching.

She collapsed at my feet. Into my arms. Her warmth melting into mine. Her body. Her scent. Her need. Intoxicating. Unbearable. Our bond ignited.

And I caved.

The fortress of my resolve crumbled in seconds. She offered herself like a prayer of penance—desperate, devouring, unhinged. I nearly surrendered. But the path ahead demands strength. Focus.

Now, her breath curls against my skin, her bare body pressed to mine.

“Was it a nightmare?” she asks, lips brushing my shoulder. Her fingers trail a teasing path from my abdomen down. “Do you need help...” she purrs, “relaxing?” she smirks, eyebrows bouncing, tugging at my rapidly expanding male-hood.

I groan despite myself, catching her wrist and pushing it away. “No,” I growl low in my throat. “I must preserve my strength.”

“Pfft,” Princesa scoffs, “I know Cringe-Eyes is big, but compared to you...” She burrows closer, all sunbeams and silk dancing on my skin.

“He’s nothing. You’re the strongest,” she moans into my ear.

“The biggest.” Her lips spark along my neck.

“The hardest—my Red Dragon.” Her hand wraps around my full erection, smirking beneath hooded lashes.

Gods, I want her.

I bolt upright— crack —my head slams into the cursed low Nebian ceiling, denting it again. “Size and strength are but one aspect,” I growl, rubbing the ache from my skull.

“You heard how they spoke of him. How he moved like lightning—against my father . This battle will be unlike any other.” My fists tighten, bones creaking.

I cannot wait to face him.

Princesa rises, bare and glorious in the amber-blue glow. Her breathtaking silhouette—full breasts, cascading hair, those ample curves—a beautiful sight searing itself into my memory for perhaps the last time.

“You really are playing hard to get,” she teases, bending to grab one of her many variations of black-gold-inscribed robes. “Such a waste of a mighty, meaty meat stick.” She sighs theatrically, shimmying into the fabric—a star disappearing behind a horizon.

“They talk about him like that because he’s blessed .

The Gods made him faster, stronger,” she says, offhandedly, as though discussing how best to gut an enemy.

“Your father wasn’t. You are. You’re more than he ever was.

The greatest fighter the universe has ever seen—isn’t that right, my little Chug Bug?

” Her voice shifts into a maddening coo as she lifts the useless creature and drapes it over her shoulders.

“Daddy’s gonna kick Krogoth’s ass, oh yes he is. ”

Her conviction surges through our bond, blazing as bright as my desire.

She believes in my strength. Believes I am invincible in combat.

That belief honors me. But still—I recall the Krak-Tok with Jazreal.

Smaller. Quicker. More experienced. My arrogance nearly doomed me, if not for a single misstep—one stone, one instant, one twist of fate.

Victory is never certain. To forget that is to invite death.

I tap my wrist console. Time flickers in luminous blue.

“Do we need to go?” Princesa asks, perked, her eyes following the display.

“Two hours,” I murmur, a spark of anticipation rising as I begin the task of donning my father’s obsidian armor. A difficult task in this confined space. The thick plates bear down on me with a weight only I can bear.

“Oooh, exciting!” Princesa exclaims, clapping.

“Soon we’ll be Boss Babe and Babette.” She sighs dreamily.

“Ah... the look on Bitch Brick’s face is going to be delicious .

And I’ll finally get my ginger-in-waiting back.

” She glances around, tapping her pinched chin.

“Do you think afterward...” She pauses. I’m already bracing.

“We could, I don’t know, beat up the Smurfs and take the Imperator’s Manicure. .. I mean, it’s almost my birthday.”

“ Imperator’s Fist ,” I correct.

“Whatever,” she snorts.

“No,” I growl, not surprised—but always amazed by the scale of her ambition. “Is Sandra no longer your war sister?” I ask, curious, trying not to dent the walls while stepping into my greaves.

She shrugs. “More like brunch-munch sisters,” she snorts, smile fading, tone dropping. “No... I thought she was my Ginga Ninja. But turns out she was just a double-agent disguised as a red squirrel.”

As always, her nonsense hides the truth. “Regrettable,” I say, solemn. I admired the pleasant female. The grounding effect she had on Princesa will be missed.

“Yeah,” Princesa murmurs, absentmindedly twisting her diamond and Elerium bonding rings. “It was that fucking Bitch Brick . She’s mind-controlling Sandra. That’s why we need to stop them. Well...” Her silver eyes meet mine—hungry, imploring. “That’s one reason.”

“Unlikely,” I mutter, frowning as I recall a few of my Berserkers drinking themselves senseless alongside some drunken Draxxus warriors after the battle. “They claim her powers only last a few minutes.”

I expect a flicker of relief. Maybe even a smile.

Instead, her face twists into a sneer, eyes narrowing.

“No way. That’s just another load of crap she’s spreading.

” She waves a dismissive hand, like swatting away an annoying znat.

“Or maybe Bitch Brick’s been pumping her full of commands like some creepy force feeder. Hmm?”

Then, with a sudden shift, her expression softens into a mischievous smile. “Speaking of ginger, that reminds me—I have a gift for you.” She lets out a giggle and spins around to rummage through a polymer drawer.

A gift? For me? She’s never given me anything before. Curiosity stirs inside me—warm, eager.

“Ah-ha! Found it!” she cries triumphantly, whirling back around, nearly vanishing behind a massive swath of fabric. “Taa- daa!” she sings, her voice playful as she lets the material unfurl. “So, what do you think?”

The banner comes to life in a wave of crimson and gold.

A fierce, red-scaled beast rains fire across a battlefield, its majestic wings stretched wide against a storm-wracked sky.

Claws the size of siege weapons tear through ranks of armored foes.

Along the top and bottom, flaming runes burn like brands into the cloth. They read: “The cycle burns eternal.”

“Impressive,” I murmur, stunned by the gesture. Something warm unfurls in my chest. “That you made this for me... you have my thanks.”

“Well, I can’t take all the credit,” she replies, her voice muffled beneath the folds.

“It was my design, but Sandra actually created it. I didn’t think she’d deliver it after, well.

.. everything. Of course, she still couldn’t resist messing with it.

” She exhales, loud and theatrical. “I saw how many banners you bone-through-the-noses hang in our ship, so I figured you needed one of your own.”

Each banner marks a warband. A champion. A legend. And now—mine. A legacy written in fire, still beginning.

“You honor me,” I say, running a hand over the embroidered flame. “Soon, I’ll wash it in Krogoth’s blood.”

“Eww. Don’t ruin it,” she shoots back, wrinkling her nose. “Hey—do you recognize anyone on it?”

I squint, noting vague figures in the chaos. And one odd blotch. “No. But there’s an unfinished section, above the creature?”

“Unfinished? Please.” She snorts. “ That was supposed to be me. Riding you.” Her giggle is wicked and light.

“You know—my red dragon. It was Divine Mother who gave me the idea. But of course, poor, bitter Sandra just had to sabotage it.” She groans dramatically.

“Jealous, obviously. She made my head humongous . Like, grotesquely massive. Bigger than the dragon’s with demon eyes.

Hair floating like evil spaghetti. Totally unhinged.

” A chuckle slips from her lips despite herself.

“What is she like? Such a rude bitch. So yeah, I had to scratch that sacrilegious nightmare off. But don’t worry—I’ll find someone better to finish it. After you win.”

So this is the red dragon she speaks of. That’s how she sees me—an unstoppable, fire-breathing beast. Amusing. Apt.

“I shall treasure it always.” A smile curls my lips, her humorous story, the blemish only heightening its meaning and sentimentality.

“Gods, this thing weighs a ton,” she mutters, folding it with care before giving her shoulders a roll. “I’ll have to find a minion to carry it around for me.” She frowns, already lost in some private scheme.

I study her face—those inviting lips, eyes like pools of liquid mercury, fine-boned beauty crowned with gold-spun hair. Right now, like this—caring, clever—she is perfect. My Mortakin-Kis —powerful and deadly, witty, and graceful.

Something swells in my chest. A thing unknown to me—light and electric it spreads like wildfire.

My heart beats like war drums. Words gather on my tongue—heavy, necessary, burning for release.

“Before... Elder Ignixis’s death, there were words... words I should have spoken. Words I regret leaving unsaid.”

I take her hands in mine, eyes burning into her soul. Searing this moment into my mind so I can cling to it for eternity.

“I... I would not wish to rest with my ancestors without saying them now. The feelings that burn in my heart. The fire I can no longer contain.”

A breath. A pause. Every word a mountain moved.

“I love you, Princesa.”

There. It is done.