Page 157 of Scorching the Alien Empire
Laughter ripples through the chamber, and my skin prickles as if he’s dragged his claws across it.
I grit my teeth, forcing myself to ignore the jeering. “Get the hell off my throne, you smelly doggie!”
I reach the base of the towering seat, glaring up at the rude prick lounging sideways, legs draped carelessly over the armrest. His smirk is nothing short of infuriating.
Mythrone.Myrightful place.
Drexios stretches like a smug, overgrown cat, lacing his clawed fingers behind his head. “Yourthrone?” He chuckles. “It’s too big for you.” His red eye gleams with mischief. “This is the War Chief’s seat, and he left me in charge.”
A yawn spills from his lips, exaggerated and slow. “But since you’re here, why don’t you entertain us with those shiny little barriers of yours?”
My lips curl into a smirk as heat rushes through my veins, filling me with raw, boiling fury. “You know, Drex-iot...” I raise my hands, reveling in the anticipation of crushing him into the disgusting pus-filled sandwich he longs to be. “That’s thesecond-bestidea you’ve ever had.”
I reach for my barriers, prepared to summon the silver force that bends to my will—
But nothing happens.
My heart stutters.
I jerk my hands, fingers twitching in frustration. No, no, no. Thisshouldwork. Ifeelthe bond, the fire burning strong within me. My mercury inferno still roars. Sowhy—
Then, the realization slams into me like an eviction notice.
Dracoth.
His side of the bond is weak—a crimson flame—just a sad, pitiful campfire. Good only for roasting marshmallows of disappointment.
He’s asleep. Or worse, still in the healing pod.
Thisishis fault!
“Aww, what’s the matter?” Drexios coos, voice thick with mockery.
My fists clench, nails biting into my palms. That prickknewthis would happen.He knew.
“Has the little vipertail lost her barb?” He tuts, shaking his head in mock sympathy. “How very sad. And yet, I’mglad.” Then his smirk returns, wide and sharp.
He taps a gleaming claw against his eyepatch. “Uncle Drexios sees more than you think.”
My pulse pounds in my ears.
“You’d benothingwithout the War Chief,” he continues, his voice turning low and smooth, like spoiled butter on brioche. “You’d do well to remember that,Pinkie.”
Sniggering hums around the chamber, but I barely hear it.
“Now,” he sighs, stretching again, “why don’t you toddle off and get some rest? Go lay your silly little head down, or do you need me to tuck you in nice and tight?”
I can’t breathe. Ican’t think.
For the first time since my powers awoke, I feelhelpless. My barriers—my divine gift—are useless without Dracoth’s flame to fuel them. I’ve become so accustomed to his intoxicating fury shimmering in the back of my mind, I assumed it would always be there. But now it’s dimmed, a mere crackle.
A sharpthwackagainst my forehead jolts me from my spiraling thoughts.
Something bounces off me, tumbling to the floor.
I blink.
Did... did thisprickjustthrow something at me? Me, the Divine Daughter, turned garbage bin? Everything goes silent and surreal as I bend down to collect the object he threw. I can’t believe it. Maybe I imagined it? Nope, it’s in my hands. What is it? The thing that dares mar my hallowed head?
