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

Alexandra

Robbing the Cradle

“ W ell, isn’t this cozy?” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

“A little too cozy,” I mutter under my breath, resisting the urge to elbow Jazreal and Sandra to make some room.

We’re crammed together like sardines in this creaky, rust-bucket excuse for a spaceship—the same one Dracoth dragged us onto to ferry us to Klendathor.

Of course, it’s still filthy: plastic containers rolling around the floor, the air thick with the stench of moldy bread.

I choke back a laugh seeing Dracoth, his massive frame hunched awkwardly to fit inside.

He’s far too big for this disgusting vessel—far too big for most things—except me.

We fit perfectly, like pepperoni on pizza or my Chanel suit paired with my Birkin purse.

But I try not to remind myself of that—the memory’s still too raw, too painful.

The rhythmic stuttering rumble from the engines fills me with dread. I notice the walls shaking like this entire ship might be a shoddy cupboard backdrop for a play—a play with me cast as the tragic yet beautiful protagonist.

“We’re supposed to pull off a daring raid on this thing?” I say, managing to wedge my arm out from between the others. “I mean, this rust pile is probably more dangerous than the loser aliens.”

Images of the creaky door being pulled open and us all being vented into space spring to mind, making me shudder.

“Stop squirming, Lexie!” Sandra groans, even though she is the one wiggling like a worm. “Your creepy bug is almost touching my face.” She grimaces, side-eyeing the poor, defenseless, too-cute Todd.

“Hey!” I snap, defending Todd’s honor and wounded pride.

“Take it back—he’s gorgeous.” I stroke his rubbery, segmented body.

Todd clacks faintly in agreement, his one big eye lazily blinking.

“Actually, here—you can look after him while I’m gone stealing spines or whatever.

” I pluck Todd off my shoulder with a grin.

“Eww, no! Keep it away!” Sandra shrinks back as much as the cramped space allows, but it’s too late. Todd’s mandibles click happily as I deposit him onto her head like a living fascinator.

“Pffft!” she sputters, flinching as Todd scuttles across her mouth. He eventually settles atop her hair like a nesting bird. “So gross. I can feel its horrible wee legs in my hair.”

“Imagine how he feels,” I say, shaking my head in mock pity. “Stuck with Ginger-zilla. Poor little chug bug.”

Bizarrely, Sandra’s freckled face flushes redder than her hair. “Lexie, if we survive this, I swear—”

“Wait!” I interrupt her pointless outburst—a brilliant idea striking me like a lightning bolt. “Why don’t you come with us?”

Sandra’s eyes widen like I’ve just declared mocha is overrated. “Seeing as I don’t have magical boobs, I’ll stay here, where it’s sort of safe, thanks.”

“ Magical boobs, please.” I roll my eyes. “ Divine , actually.”

“Divine, my foot,” she mutters under her breath, but I catch the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

It’s fine. I’ll let her have that one. Sandra’s probably just jealous. Todd will help cheer her up.

“Princesa,” Dracoth rumbles, his baritone voice vibrating through my ribcage like a rockslide. “You remain here with Sandra.”

“Really, Dracoth?” I snap, glaring up at the giant bore. “You think I climbed aboard this rickety death trap just to remain here? ” My voice deepens in a dramatic mimicry of his wind-tunnel tone.

“Wait. Isn’t that why I am here?” Sandra pipes up, rudely interrupting my righteous tirade.

“Not now, Sandra. This is important!” I huff, barely able to lift a hand in the cramped space to silence her, my glare still locked on Dracoth.

“I won’t risk losing you,” he replies, his face stern and unreadable, as if that explains everything.

“Aww!” Sandra gasps, her sapphire-blue eyes sparkling as she glances at him. “That is so sweet.”

Arawnoth give me strength.

“I can summon impenetrable barriers, Dracoth. Or did you conveniently forget that small detail —like when I saved our ship twenty minutes ago?” My voice rises, fueled by righteous indignation.

Dracoth’s permanent Mr. Frowny Face becomes even more frowny, but Ignixis shatters our alluring simmering tension with his eerie cackle.

“You heard the blessed daughter, young Dracoth. She saved us all!” He erupts into laughter, his shadowy form shaking with mirth in the pilot’s chair.

My eyes narrow staring at his shrouded creepy form, unsure if he’s mocking me or just being weird again.

“Take her with you,” Ignixis says suddenly, surprising me. “Arawnoth will protect her.”

“Thanks, Iggy.” I beam, smugly glancing at Dracoth—the smile of victory.

Of course, he doesn’t react. Typical. He’s so used to losing by now.

“Voiding junkers,” Jazreal complains, sliding his scary mask over his face. “They went on ahead.”

“Fools,” Dracoth grumbles, his crimson eyes narrowing as he stoops to gaze out the compact viewport.

“Now those fools are reporting stiff resistance,” Jazreal says, pulling his mask off with a theatrical shake of his head. “Entrenched positions. Heavy repeater pulsars. Battle drones.”

Those sound awfully dangerous.

A ripple of fear churns my stomach, sweeping over me like icy waves from Antarctica. The realization hits: I’m about to walk straight into a warzone. But through our bond, Dracoth’s murderous excitement flares, keeping me toasty warm and keen.

“They cannot stop us,” Dracoth growls, his crimson eyes meeting mine, perhaps sensing my momentary hesitation.

Traitor bond!

Before I can respond, a deafening screech assaults my ears.

The entire rust-bucket trembles violently, rattling like it’s being shaken by a nine-point-nine earthquake.

We’re all jostled together like old socks in a dryer—except some of those socks are giant, metal-clad aliens, no doubt bruising my delicate skin.

“Behold, another smooth landing!” Ignixis proclaims, rising from the pilot’s chair with a creak, as if he himself were part of the ship.

“No small task, landing with docking hatches reduced to molten slag. Wouldn’t you agree, young Dracoth?

” His eyes glint with peculiar satisfaction.

“Praise Arawnoth for his timely revelation of the stabilizer button.” He chuckles wryly, while Jazreal arches a skeptical brow at Dracoth.

“ Did we just nearly die?” I ask incredulously, glaring at the approaching creepy shadow that is Ignixis.

“The strong do not fear death, blessed daughter,” Ignixis replies, tucking his runic hand into the folds of his void-black robes.

“So that’s a yes, then?” I shake my head in disbelief. “Jazzy, maybe you pilot the spaceship on the way back—”

Before I can finish, Ignixis presses his withered thumb into my forehead.

“Hey!” I snap, recoiling instinctively.

“The sacred ashes of Scarn,” he chants, his green eyes flashing with fervor.

Without missing a beat, he turns to Jazreal, stepping before him.

“Go forth with Arawnoth’s blessing, proud sons of Scarn,” he intones, smearing a lump of ash onto Jazreal’s bowed head.

“Scourge the weak, embrace strength. Let the vanquished be reborn in his divine image.”

The ritual takes on an enticing edge as Ignixis shuffles toward Dracoth, stretching his arm in a futile attempt to reach his towering forehead. “Some assistance would be most welcome, young Dracoth,” he rasps.

Dracoth remains unmoved, his crimson eyes flickering with disdain.

It annoys me that Dracoth disrespects Arawnoth’s blessing, so I give him a swift kick to the ankle, urging him to show respect. Pain shoots through my foot as I realize—too late—that my leather boot is no match for his towering tank of a leg. I wince, biting back a groan.

With a reluctant grunt, Dracoth lowers his head. Ignixis seizes the opportunity, jamming his thumb into Dracoth’s forehead and smearing it with ash.

“Let his molten wrath fill your hearts,” Ignixis chants, his blackened face twisting into something nightmarish. “Let him infuse your souls with unbreakable strength. Slay his enemies. Break their spirits. Crush their pathetic wills.”

He steps closer, his voice growing sharper, more fanatical.

“Let their screams praise his name. Let their blood stoke his flames. You are his chosen instruments—wielders of his fury. Leave no bone unbroken, no soul unscorched.”

“Breathe deep of Arawnoth’s blood.” He claps his hands together with a bone-rattling force, releasing a green mist that snakes through the stale air. I recognize it immediately—psychotic murder drugs.

Yes!

I inhale deeply—the vapor fills my lungs, and heat courses through my veins, igniting Arawnoth’s fury within me. My fingers trace the hot ash smeared across my forehead, my breath turning erratic, my heart-pounding with a singular, beautiful desire: carnage.

“May we die a glorious death.” Jazreal laughs, his voice distorted, jagged in my altered senses.

His massive hand slams against my back and Dracoth’s, the incredible force nearly toppling me if not for us being sandwiched together.

Yet I feel no pain, no weakness—only the heart thumping desire to kill.

“Come, Princesa,” Dracoth rumbles, his crimson eyes now misted with an edge of venomous green. His arm extends toward me, like a taxi with the door open.

“Let’s go introduce ourselves!” I exclaim, my voice a low growl of excitement as I leap into Dracoth’s arms without a second thought.

My murderous taxi turns sharply toward the ship’s hatch, his free hand manipulating the controls. The rusty door groans, opening at an excruciatingly slow pace. Steam hisses and swirls through the widening gap, and my nose wrinkles in disgust as a stench like rotten cabbage assaults my senses.

To make matters worse, the door halts halfway down, stuck with a bone-deep screech of protesting metal. Before I can groan in complaint, Dracoth delivers a satisfying, massive clown-foot kick, sending it crashing down with a resounding thud.