Page 4 of Scorching the Alien Empire (The Klendathian Cycle #7)
Alexandra
Battle for Pulsar’s moon
“ C ome on! We’ll miss the fun if you don’t hurry!” I exclaim, unable to contain my excitement as I tug on the sleeve of the reluctant Sandra’s gnomish-blue tunic.
Her gaze drops, and she drags herself more stubbornly than one of those giant snail monsters from Celutok’s farm.
“I... I don’t know about this, Lexie,” Sandra stammers, her blue eyes flicking nervously from the black metal floor to the command bridge door behind me. “A space battle sounds a lot more terrifying than fun.”
“Didn’t you want to experience everything the universe had to offer?” I reply with a grin, taking her hands in mine. “This will be like a cosmic fireworks display!”
“Besides, Jazzy will be there,” I add, teasing with a mischievous smile.
“Ack!” Sandra scoffs. “You’re more excited to see him than I am.”
Rude!
My smile wavers, faker than my mother’s eyelashes. I swear, try to help people, and they just throw it back in your face.
“Hurry up!” I snap, taking advantage of my larger size to yank Sandra toward the large metallic door.
“Wait! What happens if the screen breaks?” Sandra asks, eyes wide as the command bridge door slides open with a smooth swish.
“Then we’ll all die, child,” the totally-not-creepy Ignixis replies. His head swivels smoothly, revealing green eyes and sharp yellow teeth glinting under his hood, like a living shadow or billowing black smoke. “But such is the fate of all life.”
The bridge is a hive of activity, with all the mini-Dracoths busy at the glowing blue holographic controls. Dracoth, standing in his ashen armor and scaly cloak, faces the viewport, his gaze fixed on the simmering hues of space beyond.
“Oh,” Sandra squeaks, her hand rising to her chest. “Hello, Ignixis. It’s nice to see you again,” she says, smiling sweetly—far too sweet for the Lexie-snatcher.
“And you, pleasant one,” Ignixis replies, inclining his blackened egg-head with the slightest gesture. Any greater effort is probably beyond him. “Do try to stay out of trouble now,” he adds, his smirking gaze flicking to me.
My lips part, ready to unleash a few well-earned insults at Ignixis, until Jazreal turns dramatically beside Dracoth, his long black-gray hair tousling through the air.
He’s taller than the others—except Dracoth, who is in a mountainous league of his own—clad in polished ashen armor, the red flecks shimmering like fire.
“This is no place for such beautiful females,” Jazreal says with all the smooth confidence of a giant, eight-foot-tall, handsome, murderous silver fox. “Let me escort you back to your chambers,” he offers, gesturing with a long metallic spear as tall as he is.
“That’s what I was trying to explain to Lexie!” Sandra snaps, flashing me a knowing frown. “Well, apart from the ‘beautiful’ part,” she adds with a nervous chuckle.
Jazreal moves with eerie grace, almost gliding over the black metal floor like a huge red ballerina. It stirs something in me—my heart flutters, and heat builds in my chest.
How exciting!
Then I remember Dracoth, but the rude prick hasn’t even acknowledged me! He’s just standing there with his back turned, like a massive sour cherry gummy statue, eyes glued to his precious viewport. If this were Earth, he’d be covered in pigeon poop!
So what if I flirt a little? Serves him right for ignoring me!
“Nonsense.” Jazreal stops, peering down at us with a mature smile—well, the side of his face that isn’t like wrinkly red paper. “You both shine like the brightest stars in a lonely night sky,” he adds, sweeping his open green eyes over us.
He wouldn’t be lonely if I had my way.
Sandra—poor, sweet, innocent Sandra—giggles uncontrollably, like a flustered schoolgirl, her face burning as red as her hair.
“Oh... um, that’s...” she stammers, a disgrace to feminine elegance the universe over. It’s okay, she has me to help.
“You look very dashing in that armor, Jazzy,” I murmur, making a point to study him from head to toe while my finger trails slowly along the runic brand on my chest and neck. “Yes, the very picture of manly strength and grace,” I add with a breathy laugh.
Then, to my disgust, I notice Dracoth wearing that horrible belt of bone and guts again.
“Unlike that filthy murder belt Dracoth is wearing!” I shout over at him, my plan to make him jealous evaporating in the heat of my anger.
Ugh , it’s so annoying that I can never get a rise out of him. Annoying... and strangely reassuring. He’s like a mountain—immovable, solid—always there for me.
“More will adorn it soon,” Dracoth grumbles, an alluring promise that draws me closer like debt to a new credit card.
“Is that right?” I ask, clinging to his arm like a sexy purse. The strange heat he radiates makes my body hum, a soft moan slipping from my lips as I almost melt into him like a puddle of cozy goo.
“I can hardly wait,” I add, my heart quickening. “To repay these creeps.”
He glances down at me, his fierce ruby eyes gleaming in the dim purple light. My fingers tighten around his massive fist, loving the weight of him—someone real, someone who accepts me for who I am, what I am. He not only accepts me, he encourages me—protects the real Lexie.
Out of the corner of my eye, the brilliant blur from the viewport shifts suddenly. I gasp as the stars snap into focus, revealing an immense white star glowing with an ethereal light, like the sparkle of my diamond ring.
“Look!” I exclaim, pointing to the viewport. “We’ve arrived!” My heart pounds, and I look at Dracoth, excitement flooding my veins.
My Mortakin-Kai turns toward the blinding light streaming from the void outside. A black planet drifts into view—barren, unlike Earth or Klendathor. Just a massive ball of obsidian rock with a gray, swirling atmosphere.
“Keth, report,” Dracoth growls, his voice as steady as ever.
The black-haired mini-Dracoth manipulates the navigational console like he’s playing a particularly intense game of Pokémon.
“Pulsar’s moon is ten thousand clicks away,” Keth reports in his annoyingly monotone voice. “A dozen small vessels in its orbit.”
“So few!” Ignixis sneers, his voice dripping with disdain. “But is it a trap, young Dracoth?” His laughter cackles through the air, unsettling in its echo.
Dracoth remains as poised as ever. He flicks his hand forward, the edges of his Chieftain’s cloak billowing dramatically. “Full speed toward the moon,” he commands. “Nexarn, signal Balsar. The Shorthairs remain here.”
“A suicidal charge?” Ignixis tuts, clicking his tongue. “How unimaginative, even by your thick-headed standards,” he snickers.
I shoot him a withering look, but he merely grins back at me, his yellow fangs gleaming in the shadow of his hood.
The ship groans, the floor vibrating with a steady rhythm as the white moon grows larger with every passing frantic heartbeat.
“War Chieftain,” Nexarn’s voice cuts through the tension, emotionless as ever. “We’ve received comms from the Whores’ Orphans. Reads: ‘Death to traitors.’”
“Well, that’s not very friendly,” I quip, my voice steadier than I feel, trusting in Dracoth, my red dragon. His unreadable expression, however, is starting to get really fucking inconvenient.
“Prepare weapons, shields at full strength. Maintain course,” Dracoth commands, his tone an iron edge. The mini-Dracoths’ fingers fly over their consoles, rushing to obey.
“War Chieftain, approximately three hundred and twenty-five small vessels are registering from within Pulsar’s moon.” Keth’s words hit like an eviction notice, sending my stomach into freefall. I’m strapped to a rollercoaster of death I can’t escape.
“That... that’s more than we have, right? Like a lot more?” I stammer, my gaze darting up to Dracoth, hoping for some shred of reassurance. Instead, I’m met with more Mr. Frowny Face. But through our bond, I sense the blood-red flame of excitement blazing within him.
He’s actually enjoying this!
“Oh dear,” the annoying prick Ignixis mocks, threatening to fray the last nerve holding back my flood of panic. “Who could have guessed it would be a trap? I wonder if the great Gorexius would have made such an obvious blunder.”
That’s it. We’re all going to die!
“Silence, you old gas-cloud,” Dracoth says absently, sounding as confident as I feel in new heels.
Has my Dracoth got some trick hidden up his giant Bobo the Clown sleeves? Some miracle, straight from Arawnoth himself?
“I’ll prevail with not a single loss,” Dracoth announces, whipping his head over his shoulder to flash an ultra-rare, tiny grin at Ignixis. Despite his gruff voice, his words go straight to number one in Lexie’s greatest hits.
Ignixis scoffs, but it’s Jazreal who speaks next, his laugh rich with disbelief. “Surely, a wild boast!” he chuckles, as though this is all one huge twisted joke at my expense.
Dracoth steps forward, his towering frame silhouetted against the viewport. Hands clasped behind his back, and I can’t help but trail after him like a lost puppy begging for a treat called hope .
“Keth,” he says, his voice a low growl, “evasive maneuvers. Engage and destroy the approaching ships.”
“At once, War Chieftain,” Keth replies. The ship tilts, forcing me to steady myself against the giant red pole of man muscle that is my Dracoth.
Outside, the incoming ships shimmer like specks of dust against the blinding white of the moon, growing larger with each heartbeat. I shield my eyes, my pulse hammering.
Maybe Sandra was right. This is far too terrifying.
Jazreal’s excitement cuts through the tension. “The fools advance before their forces have gathered?” he exclaims, half in disbelief, half in delight. “They’re moving outside the range of their battle moon!”
Wait, that’s good, right?
“Eager amateurs,” Dracoth rumbles, a faint note of grim amusement creeping into his voice. “It shall be their doom.” He sweeps his arm wide, as though dismissing the enemy ships like chess pieces from a board. Then, with the force of a thunderclap, he roars, “Open fire!”