Page 16 of Scorching the Alien Empire (The Klendathian Cycle #7)

Alexandra

Words

T he door to Sandra’s room hisses shut behind me, sealing me back into the cold, cavernous black marble corridor.

The chill bites at my skin, so sharp it’s a wonder I can’t see my breath.

It’s probably thanks to Todd. The cute little living scarf clings to me—a welcome nugget of heat and company on this derelict ship.

Despite my determination to find Ignixis, I don’t have a clue where he is.

He’s like a creepy shadow that only materializes when you least expect it: in cells, ash storms, gate-crashing parties.

The bathroom? Okay, the last one hasn’t happened, but I wouldn’t put it past him.

I can almost picture those glowing green eyes peering from a shadowy corner while I hover over a hole I refuse to call a toilet.

Eww.

With no better plan, I veer right, my soft boots tapping against the hard black floors.

The sound echoes through the stillness, mingling with the faint hum of the ship’s machinery and Todd’s gentle, clacking snores.

Together, they echo spookily through the interior like the whispers of ghosts on some haunted house ride I can’t escape and definitely didn’t pay for.

I pass a myriad of doors—all identical—seemingly endless on this massive ship. Stairwells, shrouded in shadows, break the monotony at uneven intervals. I groan, hoping I won’t have to go crawling around dust-covered floors like some tricksy little mouse hunting for moldy old cheese.

Occasionally, shimmering viewports break up the oppressive darkness, framing breathtaking vistas of the galaxy.

Streaks of color ripple and pulse, painting the corridor in shifting hues—a psychedelic addict’s wet dream that feels at odds with the gloom.

I pause to admire them, letting the spectacle distract me from my growing frustration.

I’ve been walking forever—or what feels like forever.

And a dull ache in my lower back only fuels my building frustration.

It’s my boobs fault—so big and bountiful—both a blessing and a curse.

Another reason Dracoth should carry me everywhere.

It’s only fair, considering he’s the one who benefits most from them.

I should’ve asked the bruised banana to show me the way, but I didn’t, and now I’m lost.

Ugh.

I sigh dramatically. They’ll probably find my body later—beautiful and tragically lifeless—starved, most likely. Todd feasting on my remains.

“Ignixis,” I call into the void, my voice bouncing off the cold walls. It’s pointless, but strangely satisfying to hear my own echo. “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” I sing-song, the words dripping with mock cheer.

Todd stirs slightly as I stroke him for comfort, jealous he can just relax while I have to do all the hard work.

Maybe if I put a little leash on him, he’d know the way?

Though, glancing at the sleepy scamp, he’d probably just scuttle onto my shoulder again and nap.

And who could blame him? We’re both far too beautiful and gifted to struggle so pointlessly.

“Ignixis!” I shout, this time with a hint of not-so-quiet desperation. “Totally not creepy, weirdo Demon Egg-head!”

As if summoned by dark magic, distant, heavy footsteps echo through the endless corridor.

“It worked!” I exclaim, clapping my hands in delight. “You just need to say his name three times to summon him.”

I wait with bated breath as the pounding steps grow louder. A massive Klendathian silhouette emerges from the shadows, its form exaggerated by the flickering light streaming through the viewport. But as the figure steps closer, my budding joy deflates faster than a punctured balloon.

No robes. No hood. Just an armored mini-Dracoth with short brown hair and painfully boring blue eyes.

How disappointing.

I stroke Todd absently, smiling faintly in anticipation of a greeting. But the rude prick doesn’t even glance my way—just stomps past like I’m some smelly beggar waving a filthy rag and a bowl of pennies.

“Uh, excuse me!” I snap, unable to keep the irritation from creeping into my voice.

The mini-Dracoth stops abruptly, like a wind-up murder toy that’s just run out of power. His piercing blue eyes lock on me with the emotional range of a dead hamster. These guys make even Dracoth’s deadpan expression look like amateur dramatics.

“War Chieftainess.” He slams a fist to his chest and bows his head in one sharp, mechanical motion.

I flinch at the sudden movement, my nerves already frayed by his robotic demeanor. Exhaling slowly, I smooth my clothes, stalling to gather my thoughts.

“Um, can you take me to Ignixis?” I ask, flashing him my best super-cute, alluring smile. “That would be such a big help.”

Nothing. No smile. No reaction. Not even a twitch.

Suppressing a shiver—probably just the cold air—I wait as he studies me with all the warmth of an overdrawn bank account. After what feels like an eternity, he finally moves. With a swift, practiced motion, he retrieves the terrifying angular mask from his belt and seals it onto his face.

“Um, hello?” I wave a hand in front of his towering head, rising onto my tiptoes for good measure.

The rude prick just ignores me. He sweeps his masked gaze over the corridor as if he can see through the marble walls.

“Elder Ignixis is in the laboratory,” the mini-Dracoth declares, staring directly into a wall like a naughty school kid told to stand in the corner.

“You sure?” I ask with a heavy dose of skepticism. Frowning, I follow his gaze to the wall he’s apparently addressing, wondering if he’s not also blind as well as a terrible bore.

“Positive,” he replies with all the fun of a toothache.

“Well, let’s get going then,” I say, gesturing toward the wall. If he walks straight into it, I swear I’m tossing myself and Todd out the nearest airlock.

“At once, War Chieftainess,” he salutes again—because why not?—then, in one smooth motion, removes the mask he just put on and hooks it back to his belt.

Thankfully, he stomps back the way he came, and I follow close behind, slightly to his side. I exhale a long-held breath of relief—finally, guidance on this labyrinthine ship. I mean, Todd was starting to look disturbingly more delicious with every step.

We settle into a steady rhythm: his thudding boots pounding a militaristic beat, while I, the epitome of delicate grace, tread lightly beside him.

Although my lower back still aches, I resist the urge to ask him to carry me.

It feels... wrong. Only the real Dracoth has that privilege—not these creepy pretenders.

“So,” I begin, clicking my tongue against my teeth to stave off boredom, “what’s your name?”

“Vexius,” he answers immediately with that infuriating robotic tone.

More like Vexing.

“I’m Princ—” I catch myself just in time, cursing inwardly. Dracoth has me so utterly dickmatized I almost used that ridiculous name he keeps calling me. “Um, I’m Alexandra.” I recover, glancing at him for a reaction.

Any embarrassment at my mistake quickly melts away under Vexius’s non-reaction. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment. He just keeps marching ahead, his strides so long I have to work to keep up. I’m practically panting now, struggling to match his pace.

“Sure is cold in here,” I venture, side-eyeing him for a response.

Silence.

“Your hair is short and stupid, and you walk like you’ve got a stick up your ass.” I blurt out in a rush, testing him by throwing insults like darts at his emotional void.

Still nothing.

It’s like he’s barely alive. Maybe he’s some high-tech alien robot programmed only to respond to direct commands.

“Can you walk slower?” I ask, testing my theory.

Without a word, Vexius slows his pace. A triumphant smirk curls my lips. If only Dracoth were this obedient.

“How about...” I ponder, tapping my finger against my pouting lips. “Oh! Can you see through walls?”

“Some warvisor vision spectrums can pierce surfaces,” he answers, and I nod my head, confirming my earlier suspicions.

Wait. Was pervy Dracoth staring through my clothes this whole time?

“Let’s try a hard one,” I mutter, determined to stump him. “What’s the meaning of life?”

“Killing,” Vexius replies without hesitation.

The word, combined with his flat, emotionless tone, hangs in the air like a dead man swinging from a noose.

“Killing?” I repeat, letting out a disbelieving snort. “I think your cyber-whatsit circuits are a little fried, Vexius. Pretty sure that’s not what you meant to say, right?”

“It was,” he states.

For the first time, his deep voice carries an edge, the faintest ripple of something not entirely monotone. I wish it didn’t.

I tighten my grip on Todd, stroking him nervously as the identical doors, endless corridors, and viewports blur past.

“It’s the blood—the way it comes out,” Vexius begins, his tone eerily conversational, as if discussing fine wine.

“Sometimes it spurts in jets; other times, it oozes like the weakest stream.” He barks a short, jarring laugh that sends a shiver down my spine.

“It depends on the cut, the weapon, the body. I find it... fascinating. Hacking an artery, watching the hot gore gush out, bathing me in its warmth.”

His pace slows, his gaze turning distant as if reliving some twisted memory. “And the colors. The shades of green, yellow, blue, richer tones—it’s intoxicating. How I long to be drenched in all their blood at once, their screams a symphony to my craft.”

His vivid blue eyes mist faintly and I recoil, instinctively reaching for Dracoth’s flame through our bond. My own flame blazes with fear and an unquenchable desire to live. But Dracoth’s rage simmers too faintly to bridge the gap.

Shit, I’m totally helpless!

A wave of terror ripples through me, stealing the air from my lungs. I’ve dealt with crazy before, but nothing compares to this monster standing before me—a monster who lives only for blood.

Stay strong, Lexie. Don’t let him smell your fear.