Page 133 of Scorching the Alien Empire (The Klendathian Cycle #7)

He scampers from the table, sending the pancake plate crashing to the floor as he leaps like a lead balloon onto the wall.

Somehow, miraculously , he clings to the smooth surface despite looking like a bowling ball dangling off a twig.

Then he skitters higher, panting like an asthmatic accordion before collapsing near the ceiling, letting out panicked little croaks.

Tuckered out. Thank Aenarael.

And then—the dread returns. A part of me—the traitor part that wants me to die of cringe—demands I say the words. Just three little words. I mean, I love lots of things. I love Todd. I love Divine Mother and Father. I love partying and stuff. It should be easy...

But it’s freaking not.

I hate this! Wait. I know how to work this...

“Um... Babes?” I mumble, cheek mashed against his abs. “Do you remember me saying anything... you know, toward the end of the fight?” I breathe, whispering. “Something like... ‘ I glove glue’ ?”

My face ignites, heart pounding like I’m tightrope walking on G-strings. Too close. Too much. Like poking plug sockets with forks.

“ Glove glue ?” he repeats, confused. “I heard only the roar of the crowd. The Rush in my ears. Blood spilling from my wounds.”

All murder mountain. All serious face. Why is he making this so difficult?

“Oh,” I sigh, deflating. “No glove glue then.”

He shifts. Our bond fractures—waves of regret, shame, and hurt crashing through the silence.

“I failed to deliver you vengeance. Failed to cleanse my shame. Failed to win the glory and position that I promised.” He breathes, stepping back. I hold on like expensive perfume.

“Dracoth...” The words tumble out before my brain can stop them. “I don’t care about that.”

“You lie again!” he snaps, voice like a whip crack.

“Like a starving venefex, you drove me to challenge him. Demanded I take Krogoth’s place.

You were right to do so. Arawnoth’s teachings—the sacred words—they are clear.

Strength must be tested. Broken. Reforged.

So only the hard and strong remain. But I.

..” He snarls, pain thick in his voice. “I’m not arcweave.

I’m slag. The Shorthair Chieftain. A disgrace. ”

He exhales—a turbine spinning down, fury giving way to despair. “Is that why you lie now? To twist the claw? When our bond reveals all?”

His fingers begin peeling mine from his chest. Trying to untangle me. To walk away. To abandon.

“Perhaps you were right to seek other suitors,” he mutters, eyes hard. “Perhaps you knew I’d fail. Your mockery. The way you belittle the divine fire I’ve lost. The favors I’ve lost. I am... a falling star.”

“No...” I whisper, clinging harder, tighter, breath ragged. This has all the markings of a Dracoth-version of a breakup— it’s not you, it’s me, delivered with the frowny seriousness of a wounded demigod. My stomach drops straight to my boots.

“You called me Alexandra, remember?” I sniff. “You were saying goodbye. And I was too stupid to realize it... I never thought you could lose... Never thought you could die.” I look up into his stern face, eyes swimming. “Because you’re my Red Dragon. You always will be.”

I smile, hoping he sees the pain behind it. But he keeps trying to gently push me away. And the harder he pries, the tighter I cling. We’re locked in some perverse emotional standoff—sloth versus bear.

“Stop trying to peel me off like I’m an old banana!” I snap. “Because I’m not going anywhere. Not without you.”

Desperate. Pathetic. Stage-ten clinger: Activated. And I don’t care.

He averts his gaze. My blood chills. “My heart,” he whispers. “It’s weary. Hollow.”

No...

“I can no longer—”

“I love you, Dracoth,” I blurt.

Wait—did I just say that?

His eyes snap to mine, glowing crimson. I erupt into euphoric, delirious laughter. “Hah! There. I said it. Genie’s out of the bottle, babes !”

“Love...” he growls, like he’s testing the weight of the word in his mouth. Hard as diamond. Just as beautiful. “Once, I thought such a concept was the domain of liars and ancient fools. They spoke of peace. Of contentment. Of wholeness.”

His eyes drop to my chest. One massive hand traces a searing path over Arawnoth’s scorched runes, igniting them like a living furnace. I groan, back arching into his touch. Heat pulses through me in burning waves.

“But when I look at you, I don’t feel peace,” he murmurs. “Only fire. Chaos. Strife.”

Then his hand lifts. The fire extinguishes. Cold slams into me. Bitter. Biting.

“Look at me, Dracoth,” I demand, straining to cup his towering, chiseled jaw.

“Of course our love is different. I’m the Divine Daughter.

You’re Arawnoth’s chosen. We are the fire.

We are the chaos. Ours isn’t safe, boring, or soft.

It’s fierce, wild... alive . That’s who we are, and I wouldn’t trade it for the entire Lexie-verse . ”

Our eyes lock—molten silver against blazing crimson.

“That’s why I stopped the fight. Seeing you slip away... it shattered something in me. I realized how much I needed you, how much you meant to me. And I swear, on Todd’s holy booties—” I grin softly, “—I’ll never push you away or dishonor you again. Because I love—”

His lips crash over mine.

A molten avalanche. His arms wrap around me, a living furnace pressing me close like a warm blanket on a lazy Sunday. I squeal into the kiss, feet lifting clean off the floor. I melt into him—a gooey marshmallow sinking into a boiling mocha.

My mouth opens. His heat floods in, greedy and desperate. Our tongues meet. I tease. I pull. Drawing him in, like I always do. I want all of him—his fire, his fury, his everything. Let my Red Dragon claim me. Let him burn the world down to keep me. The thought ignites a wildfire inside me.

I fumble at his tunic, frantic fingers battling fabric that’s basically fused to his god-tier muscles—

And then I see it. Above. Movement. Black and red.

Croak.

Ut oh.

Todd drops from the ceiling like a chubby meteor. Slapping onto Dracoth’s head with a wet, unapologetic plop .

“Grub,” Dracoth mutters, frowning. He freezes. Like someone dumped liquid nitrogen down his back. His glowing eyes roll upward as Chug Bug’s black orb peers down, spindly booties gripping his freshly shaved scalp like the cutest alien facehugger.

“Todd, you little cock block,” I shriek, scrambling to retrieve the traitorous burrito-bug. “Get off Daddy’s head this instant, mister!”

I tug. He clings like a cursed laundry tag.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter to Dracoth, cheeks flaming. “He’s started doing this head-crab thing, Might be the heat. Or territorial dominance. It’s hard to tell.”

I glance around the cramped Nib room, searching for something to pry Todd off with. My eyes land on the massive axe Dracoth was swinging around earlier— Cloudcutter . Or was it Thunderwhacker?

Fingers wrap around the warped, half-crushed shaft. I give it a lazy tug, expecting a nice clean lift.

Nope.

“Uff!” The breath whooshes out of me as the thing refuses to budge. It’s apparently fused with the wall—very Assemblage.

“Rawr!” I grunt, yanking harder, teeth clenched, every muscle straining like I’m trying to outlift Dracoth. The axe shudders, wobbles... then slams sideways onto the floor with a deep metallic clang. “What the hell is this made of? Compressed mountains?”

Dracoth steps in, crouching low, looking slightly ridiculous with his Todd hat acting as a rubbery, black lighthouse.

My Red Dragon scoops the weapon up with one hand like it weighs nothing, fingers brushing along the shaft—now bent in a perfect U, complete with his massive handprints molded into the metal.

“Looks like someone turned a boomerang into a murder stick,” I mutter, unimpressed.

“Vorthax will curse my name,” he growls. His arms tense, muscles coiling like tectonic plates as he heaves on the mangled shaft. It groans and creaks like some metallic beast with a toothache. Then—with a grunt and a flash of pure meathead jock determination—he straightens it.

“Boom. Problem solved,” I bark a short laugh, impressed.

“No.” He turns the axe, testing its weight, gaze shadowed. “Not just Stormcleaver . But vengeance lost.” His fingers tighten on the hilt. “The future I swore. The one I failed to deliver.”

His eyes meet mine—raw, blistering with unspoken guilt. It scorches through our bond. “I don’t know what comes next. High Chieftain Krogoth may demand I kiss Scarn’s volcanic heart for defying him.”

My breath stutters.

“Exile, if he’s merciful,” he mutters, tone suggesting that’s unlikely. “If I survive, I will scourge the Scythian filth from the stars. Alone if I must.” His eyes blaze like volcanic glass. “That is the glorious destiny Ignixis promised. A path of fire and blood. A flame to cleanse, not destroy.”

He takes my hands. His heat rolls over me in waves. “This is who I am. What I am. I can’t offer you beautiful Klendathor. The title of High Chieftain. The opulent Nebian Empire. Only war.”

How cute. He’s trying to scare me off again. But like Todd, I’ll cling to his head like we’re nesting for a long winter.

“First,” I say sweetly, “the only thing getting kissed is my ass if Krogoth Cringe-Eyes even thinks about laying a claw on you.” My smile’s sugar. My glare’s steel. “Especially after you spared that prick from coughing his lungs up.”

I take a deep, steadying breath.

“Second. I won’t lie, Dracoth. I need control.

Power. Adoration. That’s who I am,” I trace a finger over the scorched runes seared into my chest and neck.

“But let them have Klendathor. You and me? We’ll carve out our own Dracie-Lexie-verse.

Smash the murder-bots, steal all their toys.

I’m not greedy—just a couple planets, a few palaces. .. you know, the usual stuff.”

I laugh—low, husky. The thought alone lights a fire inside me. “Together, we’ll boss it up. Unstoppable. Glorious. The ultimate power couple.”

His hand cups my cheek, rough and reverent. “ Princesa... ”

“Oh!” I gasp, remembering. “Speaking of being completely perfect, I’ve got another gift for you.” I giggle, glancing over my shoulder as I retrieve it from the wrapped pile like I’m Santa’s Sexy Helper.

“Another?” His voice softens in disbelief. “You honor me.”

“Don’t say that until you see it,” I warn, holding it out like I’m presenting a soufflé to the galaxy’s most terrifying cooking judge.

He rips the cloth off like it’s my panties on a victory night.

“Well?” I blurt before it’s even halfway unwrapped, my traitor Lexie-moths dive-bombing my insides like they’ve spotted a Chanel clearance sale.

A grin slowly unfurls across his lips as he unveils his shiny new—not-at-all-gross—belt.

A smile? That’s basically a ticker-tape parade by Dracoth standards.

“Hemo-Tok?” he rumbles, eyes flicking to mine.

Then—gods help me—a deep, booming laugh shakes out of him like thunder in a cozy log cabin.

My heart goes full supernova. “You crafted this?” he asks, turning the belt over.

The faux-spines wobble like creepy wind chimes, swinging between the dangling hooks like the world’s most aggressive bead curtain.

“You like it!” I squeal, clapping like an overcaffeinated seal at a fish-chunk festival. “I totally did! Though...” I eye the weird frayed bits with a frown. “I couldn’t quite get the... um, bloody-stringy guts part right.”

Probably for the best. I shudder just thinking about it.

“And the bones?” I point proudly. “Plastic replicas. I mean, they turned out decent, but they’re just placeholders until we— uh, acquire some fresh ribcages. Or! We could use murder-bot parts instead. Much more hygienic. Less... slimy horror film. ”

“Oh, and I’m making one for Todd too! So he can wear it instead of his bowtie during fights.

Fear shall descend when enemies hear the cherub ruffle of fallen jelly stick wrappers— the Wrapper-Tok.

” I reach to tickle his jelly belly, only to find him already dozing like a pudgy war god in hibernation.

He’s going to look so cute!

I giggle, lifting the snoozing Divine Cherub from Dracoth’s head and draping him over my shoulders like a warm, weaponized neck pillow.

“I know the disgust you once had for my Hemo-Tok,” Dracoth says softly, his voice thick with something molten and dangerous—emotion. His gaze pins me like I’m prey and he’s not sure whether to kiss me or worship me.

“That you overcame it... for me.” He lifts the belt in one powerful hand like it’s sacred. “To craft this. ”

He steps closer, pressing his forehead to mine, his nose tickling mine. Our hot breaths mingle in the space between us. A pressure cooker of bubbling gravy that belongs to us alone.

“It warms my heart more than you could ever know.”

Oh.

Oh gods.

I melt. Straight-up fondue.

“Ah,” I purr, voice low and husky as my fingers trace the divine topography of his abs, like a blind pilgrim worshiping Mount Olympus. “I think...”

My fingers slide down to the quickly growing evidence of his approval. “You. Should. Fuck. My. Brains. Out.”

They spider down his stomach like a very sexy tarantula. Lexantula.

Beep!

My arm vibrates. Of course.

“Ugh! Seriously? A blinky bonk now ?” I groan, trying to focus on the shimmering message as Dracoth trails those molten fangs over my neck like I’m a naughty Snickers bar begging for unwrapping.

Then I freeze. A chill knifes through me.

“A summons,” I mutter. “To meet Krogoth and the Imperator. At the Bellatorium. Within the hour.”

Dracoth pauses, eyes flicking to my wrist console. The heat between us simmers.

“Don’t stop,” I breathe, wrapping my arms around his thick bull-neck, peppering his chest with kisses like a lip-powered machine gun.

“Never stop. I need you— always will. ”