Page 62

Alexandra

Training

I t is ridiculous. Totally absurd. I can’t help but giggle when I see the alien’s old and scarred face. It’s hard to reconcile it with his glistening, muscular body that even a Chippendale would envy.

“Get a load of the six-pack on this granddad,” I mutter under my breath.

Sandra erupts into giggles, suppressing them with her hand. “Wow... but Dracoth’s far more impressive,” she teases, and I roll my eyes.

Still, maybe gramps here isn’t a murdering collar-happy maniac?

I’m staring at his rippling red chest muscles that suddenly stop before us.

“Hail, pretty females!” the muscles speak, startling me.

Wait what? My gaze snaps up, meeting the towering Clown-dathian’s smiling face.

I blink, startled by the unexpected greeting, and remove my hand from casually stroking my chest.

Did Granddad Abs just call us pretty females ?

“Hello,” I say, my eyes boldly traveling over his towering frame, liking what I’m seeing.

“You Clown-dathians are certainly... built differently.” My voice drops into a low, throaty tone.

Exciting! Maybe a mature man is exactly what I need—someone who knows what he wants, someone who knows how to treat a lady.

Suddenly, Sandra nudges me, snapping me out of the moment. My smile twists into a sharp, murderous glare.

Rude!

“It’s Klendathian,” she whispers. My face ignites with embarrassment.

Klendathian? Seriously? But why do they dress like clowns? Just kill me now.

“You females have strange ways of speaking,” Granddad Abs comments, giving Sandra an appraising look from head to toe.

A wave of jealousy tightens my jaw. “Perhaps I could teach you our customs and... traditions.” He tosses his head, sending his long gray hair swaying dramatically.

Oh, brilliant. Just what I needed—rejection from this granddad. I must have a sign on my head that reads ‘ reject ,’ written in every alien language.

“Aww, that’s such a nice offer,” Sandra chirps, way too enthusiastically.

I’m already over it. I mean, look at him! Wrinkly face and all. Ugh, as if!

“Yes, how... interesting.” I feign a yawn. “Say, do you know the way to Dracoth’s training room?” Might as well salvage something from this awkward mess.

“Dracoth?” Granddad Abs’ blue eyes widen as his back stiffens. “You’re his females?” He glances between Sandra and me, like he’s expecting us to sprout extra heads.

I grimace. “Well, no. He doesn’t own —”

“Yes, we are!” Sandra cuts in, sounding far too happy for her own good.

What is she like?

“Follow the red lights. Third chamber on the left,” he growls, his smile now a thing of the past—like his good looks. “Farewell, females,” he says, storming between us to continue down the tunnel.

“Thanks, Gramps,” I call out sarcastically, waving him off as I start down the path he indicated.

Sandra follows, emitting a loud sigh. “Do you have to be so rude? He seemed nice.” She glances back over her shoulder.

A little too nice , especially for our little-miss good-girl . Truth is, I probably just saved the two of them from becoming new additions to Dracoth’s horrid belt of bones and stringy bits.

Yeah, they should be thanking me!

But a worrying thought creeps in. “Did you see how he reacted when I mentioned Dracoth?”

Sandra glances away briefly. “Yeah, he did get kind of weird.”

I sigh, exasperated. “Great. We might as well be walking around with giant wedding rings stamped with Dracoth’s frowny face.”

Our suitor doesn’t even like us but keeps us to himself, like a child guarding his old toybox.

The other aliens fear him, which means getting their help is a nonstarter.

What is the smart move here? Ride the Dracoth bus until the wheels fall off?

Hopefully, Sandra can convince him to keep me around in a comfortable lifestyle.

Maybe do more of those rituals. It was fun. .. though I’d never say that out loud.

Sandra doesn’t laugh, just stares at the back of her hand where a ring might be. I frown, almost able to see the wedding bells and happily-ever-after she’s constructing in her head.

As we approach the third chamber on the left, the sounds hit us—stone pounding, geysers venting, the heat radiating out in waves. We both pause for a moment, and I take a deep breath to steady myself.

The chamber is enormous, filled with jagged rock formations.

My attention snaps to two fighters at the center, locked in a deadly dance.

They’re swinging brutal black stone weapons at each other like they’re aiming to kill.

The ground dips down where they fight, bordered by a ring of cooling magma.

Fissures line the walls, and dark bloodstains mar the serrated rocks.

It’s like stepping into a mosh pit from hell.

“Uh... maybe we should... come back later,” Sandra stammers, wiping more sweat from her brow. Whether it’s the blistering heat or fear, I’m not sure.

I’m tempted to agree. My breath catches in my throat, feeling like a lost, helpless chicken who has wandered into the wolf’s den.

The walls are jagged and uneven, formed by cooling lava flows, with veins of molten rock casting a reddish-orange glow throughout the cavern.

The floor is worse—volcanic rock, cracked and shifting like molten traps waiting to spring.

“Yeah....” I start to say until my eyes find him. Dracoth. The giant bore sits near the end of the massive chamber in a bubbling pool of water, flanked by massive statues of fierce warriors which overlook with stern faces.

“Oh, found him!” I exclaim, rushing over while trying to navigate the treacherous uneven floor.

The heat intensifies, drying out the back of my throat the closer I get to Dracoth.

Other fighters grunt and strain around us, heaving rough boulders scattered across the room, while others attack rock-bound dummies wrapped in heavy chains with brutal, precise strikes.

Dracoth, in contrast, looks... peaceful, totally belying my frantic heartbeat. His eyes are closed as he bathes in the steaming pool, the picture of calm despite the surrounding chaos. He almost seems monk-like—a giant red murder monk.

“Um... hello?” I whisper, waving my hand awkwardly in front of his face. The bubbling water and hissing fissures almost drown out my voice. I glance at Sandra, whose face is now as flushed as Dracoth’s crimson skin.

“Maybe he’s sleeping?” I mutter, shrugging.

“Females,” Dracoth’s eyes shoot open, making me jump. “I could hear your frightened hearts.” His gaze flicks between us, with that so, so annoying unreadable expression.

“Nice to see you too, you big—”

“Hello, Dracoth! We thought we’d come visit,” Sandra cuts in front of me like a rude bitch. Fine. Whatever. This is the Sandra-and-Giant-Bore show, anyway. I’m just along for the ride—as the adorable third wheel.

I fold my arms, watching Dracoth’s molten eyes sweep over Sandra.

“The heat overwhelms you?” he asks, fixating on her sweat-soaked, heavy-breathing form. “I will take you to the entrance,” he offers, already rising.

“No!” Sandra snaps, raising a halting hand. “I’ll be fine... I just need to get used to it,” she suggests, her face approaching cooked-lobster stages of redness. “What... are you doing? We thought you were training,” she blurts out.

Typical. Dracoth, lounging around, so confident in his victory. I swear his ego is as big as his... Well, let’s just say that might be justified.

“I endure Arawnoth’s touch,” he growls, closing his eyes as he submerges to his neck in the steaming, bubbling water that looks like it might be infested with piranhas.

Great , I think, rolling my eyes. Let’s all stand around and watch Dracoth enjoy a nice hot bath. Why not?

“Is it really that hot?” Sandra asks, reaching a hand through the thick, hazy vapors toward the water.

In an instant, Dracoth jolts upright, snatching Sandra’s hand mid-air. “Foolish female!” he roars, sending water splashing—some landing on my hand. I flinch in horror, bracing for pain that never comes. Instead, the water feels... pleasant. Like warm milk.

He’s such a liar; the water’s fine!

“Do you seek to strip the flesh from your bones?” he thunders, still gripping Sandra’s hand. Her mouth moves but no sound comes out, either from fear or because Dracoth, now standing, looks like a glistening mountain of rippling red muscle, somehow making this room hotter.

Oh my. Such a waste.

“You should leave,” Dracoth says, his voice softer now as he releases Sandra, who seems completely lost in her own world. “This is a place for the hard...” He waves a dismissive hand at us like the arrogant prick he is. “Not the soft.”

“Um... sorry—”

“ Hard ?” I scoff, cutting Sandra off before she fades like my ex-boyfriend’s sex appeal. “You’re playing around in a bath instead of actually training!” I snap, splashing water onto him for good measure.

“Madness!” Dracoth snarls, grabbing my wrist in a grip so tight it makes me gasp. “Did you not listen—”

His words trail off as he turns my hand over for inspection. His once unreadable eyes widen as they flick between my unscathed, wiggling fingers and my defiant grin.

“See? Fine.” I let out a dramatic sigh. “Ah, Dracoth... poor, simple Dracoth. All bluster and no substance, as usual,” I mock, enjoying one of the few expressions I’ve managed to coax out of him.

It’s exciting. Finally, a small victory!

His eyes snap to mine, stern and unyielding. The intensity of his glowing crimson gaze burns away my grin, making me feel like he’s peering straight into my soul. A flutter rises in my chest—half fear, half excitement. What does he want, the big, pervy, prude bore?

“Maybe you could lift those?” Sandra suggests, pointing to the massive jagged boulders scattered around. The words cut through the strange trance between Dracoth and me.

“They are beneath me,” Dracoth scoffs, his voice like a rumbling mountain.

“That’s exactly why you should lift them,” I tease, shaking my head with mock disapproval. “I bet that other guy... what was his name again?” I frown, struggling to recall, probably thanks to that murder gas messing with my brain.

“Jazreal,” Sandra rasps, her voice strained.

“Yeah, that guy!” I flash her a grateful smile. I should’ve remembered his name— he is super hot, well, if not for that scarred face of his. “I bet he’s lifting all the rocks. Big Mr. Frowny Face ones.”

Dracoth stomps over to the largest boulder, a wardrobe-sized hunk of gleaming black stone. His massive hands wrap around it, and even his grip sends cracks splintering through its surface. With a low grunt, he hoists it overhead, muscles standing taut like cords of coiled metal under his skin.

My breath catches in my throat—oh my. But he’s not done. His red eyes flash as his fingers tighten, grinding the stone together until it shatters, exploding into a cloud of dust and debris that thuds to the steaming ground.

Fucking hell. That guy might be in trouble.

“That was class, Dracoth!” Sandra claps, her eyes wide with admiration. Dracoth, now dusted with powdered stone, looks like someone hit him with a sack of flour.

“What about those guys?” I point to the two aliens who stand exhausted, gulping for air in the arena, their bodies covered in dark bruises and welts. “Why don’t you practice with them?”

“I’ve fought them several times,” Dracoth says dismissively, casting a glance at the exhausted pair. Of course he has. That’s probably why they look like overripe bananas.

“Aren’t you afraid of losing?” Sandra asks, her face flushed and sweaty, a touch of concern creeping into her voice.

“No,” Dracoth growls.

Just as I’m about to roll my eyes at his predictable dullness, he continues. “It is my destiny to be War Chieftain.” He stares off into the distance as if seeing some path laid out before him.

What happened to being the War Chieftain already? I almost blurt out.

“But... what happens to us?” Sandra’s voice falters, her eyes flicking nervously to mine. “If you don’t?”

Dracoth’s red eyes glow ominously, snapping back to Sandra’s. “There is only victory,” he says simply, as reassuring as an eviction notice.

“I mean, confidence is great and all, but let’s be real here. Death Head of the Berserk Crazies might actually win,” I blurt out, kind of regretting it as Dracoth turns his harsh gaze on me.

“What? No need to shoot the messenger.” I throw my hands up in mock surrender. “I’m just saying the guy’s faster and more experienced.”

“You doubt me, female?” Dracoth steps closer, and suddenly the expansive chamber feels a lot smaller.

Always.

“Never,” I reply, trying to keep a straight face.

But the sight of his overly serious expression, combined with this hazy heat and surreal situation, sends a strange giddiness through me. I can’t help myself.

“Actually, yeah, I do.” A grin spreads across my face as I raise my fists, rotating them in mocking maelstroms of destruction. “Bring it on!”

I inch closer, throwing out playful punches, making silly swooshing sounds. Dracoth frowns as I draw closer to his towering physique, feeling like a child.

“Take this!” I shout, surprised he hasn’t moved yet, my punch slapping against his rock-hard abs. “No match for me!” I add, and for a split second, I swear I catch the faintest flicker of a smile curling his lips. The shock of it stops my next punch mid-swing.

“Has fear gripped your fragile spine, female?” Dracoth rumbles, crouching suddenly with his enormous arms spread wide like he’s about to deliver the world’s biggest hug.

My heart skips a beat in excited panic as his hands dart out, jostling me like a beautiful ragdoll in a spin cycle.

“Ahh!” I shriek between laughter, forced to retreat from his immense ruffling. “Sandra, help!” I call out.

Sandra emits a high-pitched war cry as she joins the fray with a charge. She doesn’t make it far before Dracoth snatches her up, his massive hands effortlessly rendering her defenses useless as she squirms and giggles in protest.

Now’s my chance!

With Dracoth distracted, I charge at him again, my arms flailing, letting out a mock battle cry. But, in one smooth motion, he spins around, and once again I’m caught in his merciless poking and prodding.

“Ahh!” I giggle uncontrollably, trying to escape the assault, my limbs flailing as I stumble away to regroup. “Sandra, get him!” I shout, breathless.

Sandra, panting and flushed, smiles weakly but stops suddenly, her hand pressed to her sweaty forehead.

“Sandra!” I shout, my heart racing as her face pales and her eyes roll back. Before she collapses to the ground, Dracoth catches her with ease in his strong arms.

“Is she okay?” I rush over, panic rising in my chest.

Dracoth places a hand over her forehead.

“She wilts under Scarn’s embrace.”