Page 35 of Scorching the Alien Empire (The Klendathian Cycle #7)

Alexandra

Marring Perfection

W ind howls past my ears, whipping my hair into a chaotic tangle as I soar through the sky at an impossible speed.

My heart slams against my ribs, frantic against the endless expanse of blue stretching above me.

Towering white clouds drift like silent sentinels, and the golden-orange sun casts a surreal warmth over the world below.

Am I back on Earth?

No. Something’s wrong. The last thing I remember was the darkness—the void, the moth, the dragon’s jaws. Now I am here, and I am me again. No frail, winged insect. No suffocating black nothingness. Just me, whole, solid, and riding on something vast and powerful.

The realization sends a bolt of panic through me.

Oh crap, I’m on the dragon.

Beneath me, the red behemoth’s scales gleam like liquid fire, each ridge catching the light in a dazzling array of molten hues.

Its colossal wings slice through the sky with thunderous beats, creating gusts that buffet me with each powerful stroke.

My hands clutch at the spines of its back instinctively, but—wait. Why am I not terrified?

My breathing is shallow, my mind reeling. A strange sense of déjà vu washes over me. A familiarity. An affinity . The thought should be absurd, yet I feel it—a strange warmth that connects me to the beast beneath me.

The dragon rumbles, a sound that vibrates through my bones. It isn’t flying aimlessly—it has a purpose. I follow its gaze downward, and my breath catches.

Below us sprawls a massive medieval city, its towering stone walls enclosing a labyrinth of winding streets, high-arched bridges, and rooftops of slate and clay. Banners flutter from castle spires. Far below, tiny figures move through the streets, going about their daily lives. But not for long.

A ripple of terror spreads across the city.

People stop, frozen mid-step, their heads snapping upward. Even from this height, I can sense their fear. Some drop to their knees in prayer; others scramble for shelter. Soldiers atop the walls abandon their weapons, staring skyward with expressions caught between awe and impending doom.

I glance down at myself—and nearly choke.

Gone are my black robes, replaced by a noblewoman’s gown of rich crimson velvet trimmed in gold embroidery, the fabric heavy yet familiar, as though it was tailored for me .

What the hell is happening?

“Ah, this is our very favorite cycle.”

Aenarael’s voice slithers through the air, reverberating in a chorus of layered tones—both ethereal and bestial—sending a chill down my spine.

“Am I not the most beautiful creature? Am I not kind? Am I not beloved? To gift you your heart’s desire—your very own red dragon.”

I whip my head around, searching for the source, my grip tightening against my dragon’s spines. Then my breath stutters.

A monstrous silver dragon hovers nearby, its wings rippling like liquid steel, each beat effortlessly keeping it aloft. Those eyes—mercurial, depthless—burn into my soul. I know them. I know her.

Aenarael.

She rumbles in amusement, her many voices overlapping in an eerie symphony. “ I know... ” Her enormous head tilts, mockingly thoughtful. “Let’s call him Dracoth. It rings with a wonderful irony, does it not?”

Laughter shakes her monstrous form, her mighty chest rising and falling in an unsettling rhythm. “The cycle burns eternal, after all.” Her slitted eyes narrow dangerously. “Isn’t that what the hypocrite scribbled into my spoiled pet?”

“They’re not scribbles! They’re his molten blessings!” I snarl, fury clawing its way up my throat. “He gave them to me because he loves me! Because I am his blessed daughter!”

“Love,” Aenarael scoffs, blowing out plumes of smoke from her bestial nostrils.

“Are atoms bonding in the heat of creation love? Does your blood love the oxygen it carries? Or are they simply processes? Love is nothing more than sweet little lies you tell yourselves to keep the darkness at bay. To infuse meaning into your fleeting, insignificant lives.”

Her words dig into me like fangs. But I refuse to falter.

“You know what your problem is, Aenarael?” My voice is steady, sharp. “You’ve lived too long. You’re just a cynical bitch who’s had it too easy for too long. It’s pathetic, really.”

My skin hums with the heat of my divine blessing, each mark a testament to my ascension. “If only you could feel what I feel—deeply, desperately. Inside me burns the unquenchable thirst for life that Arawnoth ignited within me. While you? You’re hollow. Brittle. Faker than dollar-store high heels.”

Aenarael’s eyes darken. A storm of fury builds behind them.

Good.

I exhale slowly, bracing myself. I’ll die here. I know that. But I won’t be her plaything. Not anymore.

I slap my hand against Dracoth’s neck, the movement familiar and natural.

“Fight for me, Dracoth. Like you always do,” I command, adoration flooding through me.

My eyes lock onto Aenarael, fire burning in my heart.

“I’ll put you out of your misery, you godly bitch! Kill her!” I roar, gesturing toward the silver monstrosity.

Dracoth lets out a deafening roar, his mighty wings buffeting me with incredible force as he swoops toward Aenarael’s draconic form.

“How uncouth,” Aenarael tuts, sounding almost bored. But I’ll make her care—I’ll make her feel . Then, with an earth-shattering roar, she plunges toward us, jaws wide, massive fangs gleaming like silver swords in the dazzling sunlight.

The wind tears through my hair, making my eyes water as the roaring dragons hurtle toward each other like colliding meteors. My heart pounds in my chest as I grip Dracoth’s spine ridge with all my might, clinging to him as tightly as I would if he were the real Dracoth.

Then—impact.

A monstrous force nearly tears me from Dracoth’s back, my legs barely keeping me anchored.

They collide with an ear-splitting cacophony, molten ruby and gleaming silver twisting and snapping like wild beasts locked in a death struggle.

My world spins in a chaotic blur of mesmerizing colors and thunderous sounds.

“Kill her, Dracoth! Rip out her throat!” I cry into the howling wind, murderous elation blooming within me.

Massive claws the size of cars rake against Dracoth’s chest. Sparks and a deafening shriek erupt from the impact, leaving huge rents in his thick scales.

Fiery flumes and hissing crimson ooze from the wounds, filling me with fury.

Dracoth roars in agony and rage, terrifying heat building beneath his tough skin.

I gasp in awe as he belches forth an immense wave of molten flames, bathing the blue skies in liquid fire.

Aenarael tilts her elongated neck, narrowly avoiding the blazing death. The flames reflect beautifully off her polished, mirror-like scales.

Panic grips me—she’s inhaling. Her chest expands with terrifying power.

“Down, Dracoth!” I order, my eyes locked on the immense, opening jaws.

Dracoth tucks his wings, diving fast enough to make my stomach lurch. The clouds swallow us whole, the world turning to mist—until a booming crack splits the sky above.

I glance up just in time to see Aenarael’s attack: a wave of liquid metal, solidifying into jagged shards midair, streaking downward like a meteor shower. The air shrieks with their speed, the projectiles punching through the clouds, a heartbeat from tearing us apart.

“Now, Dracoth!” I command as Aenarael swivels her head, searching for us. My red dragon bats his colossal wings, carrying us upward through billowing clouds.

Aenarael’s mercury gaze snaps to us—red lightning thundering below, partially veiled in the clouds. “Nice try, my little pet,” she booms, her voice bestial, tinged with amusement.

Her monstrous limbs spread wide, huge claws gleaming with menace as she prepares to meet our charge head-on. There’s a smirking glint in her draconic face that fills me with rage—the smug certainty I yearn to smear from her face using her own blood.

Closer now, her claws rise in anticipation, poised to strike.

The wind whips through my hair, my heart thundering with life as I reach through my bond, feeling Dracoth’s flame blazing fierce and strong.

I surge toward his fire, toward his protection.

Arawnoth’s warmth burns hot within me, igniting the brand scorched into my chest, molten like the sun beaming above.

My eyes mist brilliant crimson and silver as I will my divine barriers into existence before Aenarael’s massive claws strike.

“Tear out her throat, Dracoth!” I roar.

A sickening force crashes through my mind—Aenarael’s strikes are the force of mountains, her immense claws screeching against my impenetrable shield. But I hold firm, fortifying my barriers with unbreakable, murderous desire.

A flicker of surprise widens her silvery, slitted eyes. But there’s no time to savor her shock. Dracoth slams into her, a snarling mass of titanic claws and fangs.

The impact nearly sends me toppling forward off his enormous neck, but I cling to his spine ridges with all my might. Aenarael, unable to break through my shimmering shields, is helpless against my red dragon’s brutal assault.

“Yes!” I exclaim as Dracoth sinks his massive jaws into her scaled neck. “Kill her!” I shriek as white-silvery blood steams and oozes between his fangs.

“Ouch,” Aenarael yelps, as if she merely pricked her finger on a pin—despite her neck now being a bloody ruin of exposed flesh and shattered scales.

Then, in a blink, everything changes.

The world of dragons is no more.

I’m plunged into cool water, the sudden shift both jarring and terrifying. Frantically, I twist and turn, clawing desperately toward the hazy white light above.

My head breaks the surface, and I greedily gulp in air, eyes darting anxiously, bracing for Aenarael’s next horrible trick.

But I’m not in water—I’m in a sea of silver that stretches endlessly in every direction.

The surface is perfectly still, a pristine mirror reflecting a huge, flaring white sun looming above.