Page 134 of Scorching the Alien Empire (The Klendathian Cycle #7)
Dracoth
Loose Ends
A guttural snarl rips from my throat as I drive into my Princesa. My hands seize her hips, dragging her back onto my punishing length with a need so feral it sends crimson clouds of Rush plums around us.
Her sex clenches—molten, divine, perfect. I’m torn between dueling instincts: to crush her under the weight of my desire, to consume her utterly... or to hold, to cherish.
Her body chooses for me.
Another orgasm tears through her—violent, trembling. Her cries crescendo from pained moans into a high, delirious squeal. Like wounded prey, I descend on her weakness, pressing deeper, channeling the last of Arawnoth’s fire through my cock, branding her from the inside.
“UHHH... Sparklers!” she laughs, half-mad with pleasure.
I tangle my fingers in her golden hair and yank her head back.
She gasps, squirming, trying to escape my relentless pace.
She can’t. She’s mine—now and forever. Sweat gleams across her pale skin, radiant and flushed, every tremor proof that the heat I pour into her is more than any mortal could endure for long.
“Perhaps I will claim your spine,” I growl, fangs brushing her ear, a claw tracing the delicate arch of her back.
“Do it!” she gasps, pushing back into me. “Tear me open and burn me to ash. My Red Dragon,” she moans, eyes half-lidded, utterly wrecked.
I erupt.
A roar bursts from my lungs—deep, primal, deafening—as the flimsy Nebian bed shatters beneath my thunderous thrusts. I barely notice the crash to the floor. I’m too consumed.
My orgasm surges through me like she’s ripping the soul from my body, drawing every drop into hers. In this moment of sacred madness, I want her to take it all—everything I am, everything I burn with—buried deep inside her. My thrusts slow, heavy, as jets of molten seed pulse into her core.
She collapses forward, chest heaving, body spent. Her glistening curves, her exposed and quivering sex, the rise and fall of her breath—all of it sends a twitch through me. Already, I’m stirring again.
Has a more beautiful female ever graced the cosmos?
“Babes...” she mumbles into the ruined mattress.
“Pretty sure you broke more than just the bed.” She rolls over, her silver eyes widening as they drift to my still-throbbing cock.
“ Again? No way. That’s just ridiculous.
That’s it, I’m using shields next time,” she laughs, half-threat, half-promise.
“It is a poor warrior,” I murmur, lips curling into a smirk, “who wilts beneath Scarn’s embrace.”
“Oh really?” she shoots back, eyes narrowing. “I don’t think any of those warriors embraced that mountainous meatstick.” She flicks a lazy hand as if dismissing me—but I only feel a strange pride swelling in my chest.
She glances at her wrist console, beautiful mercury eyes widening. “Crap, we’re gonna be late for the meeting.”
I scoop her up from the shattered, once-floating bed and carry her to the shower.
Laughter mixes with steam as hot water sluices over sweat and satisfaction.
She leans against me, tracing circles on my chest with a soapy finger, her body still trembling from the aftermath.
I kiss her temple, holding her close, savoring the quiet hum— the kind of silence that only comes after ruin.
Then—KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.
A fist pounds the door. Firm. Impatient.
My claws extend with a satisfying shriek , senses sharpening.
“Oi!” another knock. “Open up! Shortie inspection. We got reports of an illegal Klendathian cannon in these premises.” A pause. Then manic laughter.
A grin tugs at my lips. My claws retract with a sharp snap.
“ UGH ! Is that Drex-iot?” Princesa groans, grabbing a towel that does nothing to hide her glorious curves. “Just when I was starting to relax.”
I give her shoulder a sympathetic squeeze, though I don’t share in her disdain. Instead, I yank on my leathers—an awkward maneuver without punching more holes in this undersized, gilded cage.
Princesa’s thoughtful gift—my new Hemo-Tok belt—clicks around my waist as I reach for the door controls.
The solid metal shifts, becoming a shimmering hologram—and Drexios barrels through the gap like an overexcited aurodon.
“Come here, you big bastard!” he bellows, arms wide, scarred, and bruised face split in a grin.
He slams into me with a leap, limbs wrapping around my frame the same way Todd clings to Princesa. “Thought you’d be all swirled up, War Chief,” he says, mock-sniffling. “Thought I’d have to be Chieftain again.”
Despite his well-meaning words, shame spikes sharp in my chest.
“Almost,” I growl, tilting forward to drop him.
But he clings tighter. “Void, why are you so warm?” he murmurs, almost dreamily.
“What the hell are you two doing?” Princesa cuts in, arching a brow as she steps from the shower.
Her hair and head are wrapped in a towel like a fuzzy insect hive.
“And I’m doubly glad I covered Todd,” she adds, fishing a colorful tunic from the waist-deep pile of clothes to reveal the sleeping, bloated cyloillar.
“Your wee innocent cherub eye would’ve been traumatized, isn’t that right?
” she purrs, cuddling the useless grub like it’s aware of anything beyond its next meal.
Drexios blinks, eyes darting between me and her, an unspoken question I’ve often wondered myself.
“ Pinkie got a touch of the ol’ space madness?” he mumbles.
“No,” I growl, prying him off and setting his feet back on the floor.
We both stare at Princesa, who’s now cuddling the plump grub like a newborn, humming a tune.
“That so?” he replies, smirking, red eye glancing behind me. “See you’re recovered.” He gestures to the smashed bed, little more than a mattress surrounded by snapped polymer. “That explains the stench of cooked meat and spoiled milk.”
He makes a dramatic show of sniffing the air—then throws a knowing look at Princesa.
“Ugh! You are so FUCKING disgusting, Drex-iot!” she snaps, cupping her hands over Todd’s head segment, its mandibles clacking at Drexios.
“Right. Let’s go. Before he starts lapping up my toilet water next,” she sighs, slinging Todd over her shoulders and scooping up a few more wrapped gifts on the way out.
“Ah, don’t leave on my account,” Drexios sneers as she sweeps past him, his grin widening.
I suppress a smile. Their verbal sparring is as entertaining as any warriors’ duel.
Heading for the exit, I scoop up Stormcleaver , hoping to return it to Chieftain Vorthax.
“War Chieftain!”
The title rings out from a dozen throats as I step through the wavering holographic doorway.
I see them—Jazreal, Sarkoth, Corsark, Balsar, and others—lined along the opulent marble corridor, flanked by six statuesque Nebian Battlesuits. My heart surges at their beaming faces, their fists pounding their chests, my title echoing through the hall.
My lost title—War Chieftain.
My pride is snuffed out by shame’s cold weight.
“You honor the vanquished?” I sneer at them. “You praise the shameful?” I look to my palms, unwilling to meet their eyes. Unworthy of their adoration.
Princesa appears at my side, her hand rubbing my back in some kind of pitying gesture.
“There is no shame,” Jazreal says, clapping my shoulder. “You fought with skill and heart. A contest that will echo through the ages.”
“Indeed,” Sarkoth adds, laughing. “I call it a draw. If not for your honor—returning his respirator and spear—he couldn’t have mounted any defense against you.
” He rests his thumbs on his belt. “The Prospects and War Brother Forgers will study this Krak-Tok for generations—the pinnacle of prowess, grit, and honor.”
I merely neutralized my Scarn-born advantage... to meet him at full strength.
“Me and the Shorthairs,” Balsar snorts, brushing a hand over his shaved flaxen scalp. “We couldn’t see a voiding thing. You both moved at hyperspeed. And the strips of flesh...” His tusks quiver. “It... it wasn’t meant for mortal eyes.”
“Isn’t it strange?” Corsark says, voice quieter. “How Krogoth’s Rush changed hues mid-fight—just before his final charge?” His gaze flicks between me and Princesa. “Could that be the Mortakin-Tok’s doing? And yet... your eyes stayed red, War Chieftain.”
I recall it vividly—Krogoth surging like a storm, eyes blazing stars of purple and hazel. A divine fury of vengeance and lightning—an unstoppable demigod.
“I knew it!” Princesa exclaims, stroking Todd’s back as if to scrub off his mirror rune. “They cheated!”
“We don’t know—”
“Oh, come on . It’s obvious, babes! ” She cuts me off.
“They rigged the vote, then cheated the fight. How else did Cringe-Eyes survive that kind of a beating? He looked like a burrito bowl thrown into a blender!” She stops suddenly, eyes narrowing, her grip tightening on my wrist. “That’s right!
What if they slimed your brain? What if Rocks made you give back his gear? ”
A chill slices down my spine.
Could they have?
“No...” I murmur, my eyes going distant. “No. Krogoth was to fall by my hand,” I clench my fist, bone and sinew creaking beneath my power. “Not by ash and wind.”
“But you didn’t have—”
“Enough!” I snap, turning to her. “The matter is settled. I lost. Krogoth is the victor. I will face the consequences.”
She stiffens, chin lifting, then turns away with theatrical flair.
“What are you gonna do?” Drexios sneers, dragging a claw across the shaved side of his head. “Shave yourself again ?” He cackles, gesturing at my smooth scalp. “Maybe Pinkie here can trim your pubes next—you can toss those in Krogoth’s face.”
Laughter trails behind me as I march toward the Bellatorium, footsteps echoing against polished marble. The others follow close, flanked by hulking Nebian Battlesuits, their servo-gears whining to life.
“How about trimming that barf-inducing rattail swinging behind your knees, Drex-iot?” Princesa scoffs up at him. “You know, since you did lose to my Dracoth, remember?” she finishes sweetly, though her eyes gleam like silver blades.