Page 27 of Scorching the Alien Empire (The Klendathian Cycle #7)

“I know Dracoth better than anyone,” I counter, deflecting with humor. “If I asked, he’d just say—” I clear my throat before continuing. “’ Princesa, while stunningly graceful and beautiful, you talk too much!’ ” I grunt, mimicking Dracoth’s deep, wind-tunnel rumbling.

Sandra snorts, her frown melting into laughter. “Yeah, not sure about the first part!” she teases, turning her attention to the oversized wardrobe in the corner.

I laugh with her. “Though, honestly, I don’t think he’d use so many words—”

“What’s this doing here?” Sandra cuts me off with an ominous jingle.

Oh no.

“I thought this was destroyed back in Scarn?” She turns, holding up my metal chain and collar. The glinting silver catches the dim purple light as she dangles it between her thumb and index finger, like it’s some venomous snake.

“Give me that!” I leap off the bed, heat rushing to my face. “It’s private,” I protest, flapping my arms at her like a panicked ostrich.

“Oh. My. God!” Sandra gasps, squirming and squiggling to keep the humiliating chain and collar out of reach. “You naughty pervs had another one made, didn’t you?”

I did.

“It’s for Todd!” I blurt, my voice and face already breaking under the absurdity of the blatant lie.

Sandra freezes, her face a mix of shock and disbelief. “ Todd? ” she repeats with a scoff. “He’s not that plump!” Then her nose wrinkles, and her grip slackens. “Eww, wait.” She recoils, dropping the chain onto the fur-lined floor with a sharp clink. “You used this. It’s about your size!”

Not tight enough for my liking.

“Forget you saw anything, or we’ll go for a little rummage through your drawers next,” I snap, my face as red as Sandra’s hair. In a frantic blur, I scoop up the incriminating evidence and stuff it back into the towering wardrobe, slamming the treacherous door shut.

“Come on, let’s see if Dracoth’s done with those boring introductions,” I bark, shoving Sandra toward the exit, using my size advantage to herd her away from this embarrassment.

All morning, my space husband has been stuck in the throne room, entertaining a parade of fighters.

I’d stayed as long as I could stand, which wasn’t long.

The whole ordeal was the universe’s longest roll call—an endless stream of names, exaggerated war stories, and absurdly grandiose battle feats.

Each one more ridiculous and unbelievable than the next. Poor little Todd’s head was spinning.

“All right, all right, give me a chance!” Sandra protests as the bedroom door swooshes open, revealing the wide, gleaming corridor.

Unlike our old junky death trap, with its dusty, rust-speckled surfaces and spooky, empty corridors, this ship is alive and polished to perfection.

Black marble gleams underfoot, and the constant din of marching boots and gruff voices fills the halls.

Banners and trophies line the walls with all the unsophisticated subtlety of a horned-up frat house—but it’s an improvement. A smile tugs at my lips.

One step closer to the top.

“Um...” Sandra mutters, biting her lip as her dazzling blue wrist display glows against the dim corridor. “This way,” she says, pointing to the left.

Praise Arawnoth we have maps for this ship, because if we got lost within this labyrinth of endless halls, we’d never be seen again. A terrible loss for everybody—the universe would be lost without Todd and me.

We walk in companionable silence, Sandra’s eyes glued to her glowing holographic guide. She calls out directions at every junction, keeping us moving at a steady pace.

Many groups of towering Klendathians pass us, their scarred, jet-black armor shimmering with embedded flecks of gemstones. Their long hair, shaved bare at the sides, lends them a ferocious appearance—part medieval space-knight, part bone-in-the-nose savage.

Each is broad-shouldered and towering, even by their kind’s formidable standards.

Unlike the granddads back in Scarn’s volcanic mountain, these guys range from fresh-faced young to seasoned middle age.

Their eyes gleam with a mix of cunning and confidence, their swagger claiming ownership of everything in sight.

Their respect doesn’t escape me. Several nod as they pass, their gazes lingering on my chieftainess cloak. I tug it closer around my shoulders, relishing the quiet admiration, which makes me love Dracoth’s gift all the more.

It sends a thrill through me. These brutal killers belong to us . Our own private army.

Who else could boast that back on Earth?

The president? The king of England? Elon Musk?

Please. They can’t even figure out how to colonize Mars, while I’ve already got my own spaceship palace—decked out with super-important Elerium, enough trophies to fill a museum, and, oh yeah, the title of War Chieftainess. Beat that.

Yes. I must be the most powerful woman alive... oh, wait. There’s still that bitch Rocks. She’s like the one smudge on my otherwise perfect crown. Soon I’ll knock her down a peg—and hoist myself up two.

A handsome fighter stomps past, his piercing blue eyes and confident smile pulling me from my glorious musings.

“War Chieftainess,” he greets with a cocky nod, his voice laced with a hint of mischief that’s oh-so-very appealing.

“Well, hello there, ” I purr, my voice dripping with allure as my gaze lingers—so much so that I nearly walk into Sandra’s back.

“Sandra,” I whisper, nudging her with my shoulder, “what about that one? His eyes are blue like yours.” The image of little Klendathian-Sandra babies makes me gasp with excitement. “Imagine how blue your kids’ eyes will be!”

“Huh?” Sandra mutters, her disinterested confusion pouring water on my enthusiasm. “Oh, sorry, what was that? Something about kids?” Her eyes flick from her wrist console to mine, a smile lighting up her face. “Hold on—are you... pregnant?”

“Please.” I scoff, rolling my eyes. “I’m far too young for that.”

Although, we probably should use protection. Maybe a shield or two...

Sandra gasps, her eyes widening in horror, then amusement. “God, with Dracoth’s size, it’d be like giving birth to a baby elephant.” Her hand flies to her mouth to stifle a laugh, but it’s already too late.

“Right, no more talk about babies or elephants, thank you very much!” I declare, clapping my hands over my ears like a child and chanting, “Lalala, not listening!”

Yep, we’re definitely using protection from now on.

We continue down the corridor in silence, following the blue neon map cast from Sandra’s wrist console.

The polished black marble of the halls hums with distant vibrations, the faint clang of boots echoing in the distance.

Suddenly, a darting blur and a soft buzzing noise up ahead make us both halt.

“What is that?” I ask, squinting into the purple and blue dimness.

We edge closer, each step deliberate, like two very cautious sexy mice sneaking past a hungry cat.

“It looks like... a drone?” Sandra says, peering down the corridor.

She’s right. A gray orb zips through the air like a demonic baseball given life.

“A murder-bot!” I yelp, diving behind Sandra, pulling Todd closer for protection. “Look! It’s using a death ray!” I point over her shoulder at the horrible thing as it projects a yellow beam sporadically.

“Class!” Sandra exclaims with excitement for some unknown reason—probably terror-induced insanity.

“It’s cleaning.” She gestures toward the drone.

It hovers beside a long, rippling banner, its yellow beam vacuuming away dust like some hyper-efficient housemaid from hell.

“Wish we had these back on Earth,” she adds with a chuckle, glancing back at me with a grin.

I frown at the drone, not trusting it for a second.

It reminds me too much of the terrifying murder-bots from the Mortakin-Tok vision.

A shudder runs down my spine as the memory surfaces—those people, swarmed by that green smoke.

The way it ate through their clothes, skin, flesh, and bone until there was nothing left.

Not even ash. It totally gave me MBSD—Murder Bot Stress Disorder.

“I still don’t trust it,” I mutter, my gaze drifting unbidden to a nearby viewport.

Beyond the glass, the void churns with chaos.

Countless red-lensed murder-bot drones reflect the eerie pulsing light from the energy beams they nimbly dodge through.

Massive ships, jagged and monstrous, lumber like evil space whales carved from obsidian—all of it framed against a planet so black it swallows light, belching green and blue fumes from crooked spires.

The tips shimmer with almost imperceptible movement —like swarming colonies of metallic ants, an endless, seething tide.

Another shudder courses through me. “Yeah, no. Screw the murder-bots,” I mumble, reaching for the comforting warmth of Arawnoth’s blessing scorched into my chest and neck. I press harder, wishing the heat could drive away the chill creeping over me.

“Well, I still think they’re class,” Sandra persists, grinning at the horrible cleaning drone like it’s a celebrity signing autographs.

As we pass, I give the thing a wide berth, practically hugging the wall. The last thing I need is for it to give me space cooties or ‘ clean ’ the flesh off me.

Sandra snorts. “What are you like?” she says, shaking her head as though I’m the crazy one.

I don’t dignify her with a response, just urge her along with a few extra nudges to quicken our pace.

Moments later, we find ourselves in front of an enormous door emblazoned with creepy, bleeding red eyes.

I sigh, folding my arms. Who thought this was a good design choice?

It looks like glorified gang graffiti. Maybe I can convince the big bore to redecorate.

Something in pastels, perhaps, to brighten the place up. ..

“Hm. Sounds busy in there,” Sandra whispers, leaning toward the door with a hand cupped to her ear. Her expression shifts, nervous and uncertain. “Maybe we should come back later?”

“Not so fast!” I snap, grabbing her shoulder with enough speed to make Dracoth jealous. “There’s no way they’re not nearly finished.”

Sandra barely has time to protest before I seize her wrist and march us toward the throne room’s massive entrance.

“Come on! We don’t want to miss anything.”