Page 47 of Scorching the Alien Empire (The Klendathian Cycle #7)

The ground beneath my feet continues to rumble rhythmically in time with the shimmering blue glowing from the void outside. Distant thuds and zaps reverberate through the ship like a steady drumbeat matching my pounding heart.

And that’s when it hits me—I am a sexy priestess blessing warriors before battle . The thought thrills me, visions of them slaughtering our enemies in my name , emboldened by me —perhaps even worshipping me—filling my mind.

Ah! How wonderful!

The last guard slams his fist against his chest plate with a resounding clink. I breathe a sigh of satisfaction, tucking the hefty pouch of Ignixis’s ashes back into the folds of my black robes, glad there’s plenty left.

Turning, I grimace noticing Dracoth is not even watching my glorious Blessed Daughterness. Of course not. Instead, the rude prick has rotated his towering throne away, focused on the viewport. Typical, turning his back on me, on this, my hour of divinity.

Fine. Whatever!

I scoot around the wide plinth, stroking Todd for much needed comfort. His chunky, sleepy rubberiness and lazy clackers clacking soothe my irritation.

Dracoth sits a titan upon the throne, burning red eyes fixated onto two shimmering blue display consoles. His massive hands fly over them, like he’s playing the universe’s most intense game of Pokémon.

I lift my arms, feeling like the biggest toddler demanding a hug, waiting for Dracoth expectantly, but of course he doesn’t even notice. He’d rather stare at the blinky bleeps glowing on his terminal.

I’m certain Divine Mother would never tolerate such nonsense.

“Ahem,” I feign a loud cough, faker than my old so-called friends.

It has the desired effect.

Dracoth glances down, my arms still raised like the cutest zombie, ravenous for some warm Mr. Frowny Face brains. Though, knowing him, I’d likely be feasting on volcanic rock and bone—much like our throne.

Without a word, he moves like red lightning, pulling me effortlessly into his lap. Despite the thick plates of his new armor, his lovely warmth radiates in waves. I nearly purr, melting into his embrace, into his looming, protective presence.

I exhale, sinking deeper—until my breath catches at the mesmerizing sight outside.

The vast machine world, once belching green fumes into the cosmos, is now a blazing inferno. Its surface writhes beneath the endless volley of our cannons, blue plasma engulfing it like divine wrath. Not just our firepower, but the entire rag-tag space hobo fleet.

The celestial band of grey-red that once ringed the planet—a writhing mass of countless murder-bots, moving in eerie synchronicity—cannot withstand the onslaught.

They ignite like fireflies caught in a flame, their metallic bodies liquefying, scattering into void.

The planet itself glows , a fractured ember, molten veins pulsing beneath its dying crust.

The sight thrills me.

“Such a delightful view, Babes ,” I breathe, stroking his jaw, my body burning hotter than the wretched planet below. “Kill them, Dracoth. Every last one of them.”

I laugh, husky and electric.

The ship veers left under Dracoth’s inputted controls, the fractured world slipping from view. In its place, shards of broken, molten metal glint in the void—a beautiful constellation of destruction. A graveyard of war machines, their shattered remains drifting like eerie, glimmering sapphires.

Our ship’s shields shimmer, dispersing debris as we press forward, slicing through the void. I marvel at the sheer destruction and chaos—the twisted husks of ships, the pulsing web of green energy flickering and dying in the distance, the planets smoldering in boiling magma.

“We tarry here,” Dracoth rumbles, frustration lacing his tone despite the glorious murder spree unfolding before us. “Jazreal, have the fleet follow us to these coordinates,” he commands, his fingers busily working on the holographic controls. “Destroy any Scythian targets en route.”

“At once, War Chieftain,” Jazreal replies, voice crisp and professional.

How exciting!

“Oh, Babes you missed a few,” I chime in excitably, pointing to the upper right corner where a cluster of murder-bot drones rotate in the void, having the audacity to still be alive.

But the ship doesn’t turn. Instead, it surges forward, picking up speed through the destruction toward the darkness.

“We lack time for small hunts,” Dracoth murmurs. “We must strike its vitals before it can recover.”

A flicker of fear sparks from his side of our bond.

I freeze.

Dracoth is never afraid. He is the fear maker —my big red murder dragon. Whatever he saw in the Crucible, whatever he experienced... it must have been the stuff of nightmares.

“Makes sense,” I mutter, clinging to his warmth tighter, wishing we were alone, the heat between my legs needing to be filled by something hotter.

Our ship whizzes forward in a blur, but not with the dazzling kaleidoscopic speed I’ve seen before.

Occasionally, those cross-shaped machines appear in the distance—no longer pulsing their sickly green light.

Still, our fleet obliterates them, blasting them into pieces as we continue streaking through the void.

Then, Dracoth speaks again, his eyes snapping to mine, catching me off guard. “Earlier, you spoke well.” His tone is serious. “You honored Ignixis’s memory.” Then he leans down—his silly nose-rubbing thing.

With incredible grace and elegance, I tilt my head just so , and our lips collide instead.

Soft, teasing smooches dissolve into something more —open mouths, darting tongues desperately reaching for each other. Heat consumes me as his fire sears through my veins. His grip tightens, his presence overwhelming, invading my space, claiming me.

I moan against his mouth, letting him know exactly how much I like it. How much I need him.

“War Chieftain, we’ve arrived.” Jazreal’s voice is an ice bath on our burning moment.

Our heads snap toward the massive panoramic viewport.

Then—I see it.

A hulking black monolith, its obsidian surface etched with intricate glyphs and statues of strange, alien bug creatures. It looms in the void like a forgotten god , its jagged spires cutting through space, angular and menacing.

Framed against the infinite blackness, the station is nearly invisible.

Alone and blending seamlessly with the void as if it were never meant to be found.

It has a creepy, oppressive vibe that sends a chill slithering down my spine.

It feels alive—a predator lurking, waiting to ensnare us in its fangs.

Dracoth moves, nearly launching me from his lap as he rises to his feet. I cling to him, steadying myself.

“We board. Now,” he declares.

His eyes gleam with something fierce.

“It’s time to learn the truth.”