Page 2 of Scorching the Alien Empire
“Fuck, it’s freezing,” she says, stopping suddenly and clutching her Chieftainess cloak tightly around her gorgeous, trembling figure. “Can we at least get the heating switched on? Or can’t we afford that either?” she asks, flashing me an accusing glare, like I’ve just named her ancestors cowards.
Such a foolish question. It’s hard to tell if she’s being sincere.
“Life-support systems are active,” I state, struggling to mask my disdain for the obvious—we’re not dead from the cold.
“Well, I knowthat,you giant bore,” she huffs, teeth chattering, “I mean, can it bemoreactive? You know, like that nice, toasty volcano we lived in?”
I glare, saying nothing.
Her gaze drifts off as she hugs herself tighter. “Time to slip off into that good night, Todd. Daddy Dracoth’s trying to freeze us to death,” she laments dramatically, petting the curled-up, black-red cyloillar.
Frustration bubbles within me at her manipulations—confusingly amusing and tiring in equal measure.
With a sudden swipe of my mighty arm, I pull the tiny female into my embrace.
“Yay!” she squeals in delight, nestling into the crook of my arm as if to mold herself into every contour of my being. “See, Todd? He does care about us,” she mocks with a teasing smile.
Care? Is that what this fierce, protective instinct is?
My armored boots echo through the cold, metallic corridor, the dim purple light casting long shadows on the walls. Princesa raises a fair objection—this ship is sterile, lifeless, an affront to the living, a far cry from the primal beauty of Klendathor.
“Hmm, toasty,” she purrs, resting her head against my chest. Her fingers brush lightly along the edge of my jaw. “Oh, could you breathe some fire? That really would be the best.”
Her touch lingers, a teasing caress that stirs something molten deep within me.
“My red dragon,” she adds, her voice dropping to a low, sultry tone that carries a carnal promise, igniting a spark of heat in my chest.
But I suppress it—forcefully. Our powers—our gifts—are not mere playthings but the blessings from the Gods, and I will not trivialize them.
“No,” I grunt, my voice hard, resolute as arcweave.
Princesa tilts her head slightly, her eyes narrowing as she flutters her lashes at me, as if trying to break through the fortress of my resolve.
“Fine,” she sighs, a playful edge in her voice. “Guess I’ll have to work on my red radiator later.” She chuckles, her meaning a mystery.
“Oh, that reminds me.” With a dramatic flourish, she rummages through her gold-embroidered black leathers, producing a small pile of zarna nuts. “Eat these, you littlescamp,” she demands, a hint of desperation creeping into her voice.
Todd stirs from his curled position, his single black eye flicking open at the promise of food. The useless creature scuttles closer, seeming to wake only to feast or defecate. Does she hope it will one day prove useful? Is it mockery? With Princesa, the reason could be as varied and numerous as the stars.
“I got these from one of those food machines,” she coos, holding out a handful of zarna nuts. “Go on, eat up, chug bug.”
Todd’s mandibles tap the pile hesitantly, his solitary eye flicking between Princesa’s expectant gaze and the offering. Then, with a sharp clack, he abandons the nuts entirely, retreating in a blur of spindly legs to his perch on her shoulder.
“Little rascal!” she complains, glaring at the useless creature. “Don’t come crying to me when you’re all skinny, looking like moldy string cheese!”
She sighs, her frustration melting into a rueful smile. “Now I know how my mother felt when I wouldn’t eat my vegetables.”
Without taking a breath, she pops the zarna nuts into her mouth. Her chewing slows almost immediately, and her face contorts into a grimace.
“Ugh. On second thought, Todd had the right idea,” she mutters, swallowing reluctantly. “Are these grown in space hobo socks or something?”
My lip curls in a smile, despite my efforts to remain strong. This maddening, perplexing female—mymaddening, perplexing female. Her ability to turn even the most mundane moments into miniature battles, each laden with absurdity, is as infuriating as it is endearing.
“Hah!” Princesa exclaims, her voice triumphant. “Caught you smiling!”
She peers up at me, her silver eyes dancing with victory. “My poor, simple Dracoth. Seems you’re losing your edge.”
“I lose nothing,” I reply, letting my smile fade into a hard, unyielding expression. “Merely drawn closer to the abyss.”
