Page 148 of Scorching the Alien Empire
When warriors pass, I force my breathing to steady, my back to remain straight. Their fists strike their chest plates in salute, but I notice something beneath the dim purple corridor lights—their foreheads, smeared with streaks of ash.
Princesa. This has her touch.
I push the thought aside. Now is not the time.
The chamber doors slide open with a hiss, revealing a room filled with battered berserkers. The moment I step inside, their voices fall silent. All eyes snap to me, followed by the resounding clang of fists slamming against armor in unison.
“War Chieftain!” they call out.
I incline my head, noticing their singed and blistered faces. Some cradle burned arms or bruised torsos. Despite their wounds, they speak with high spirits. Excited, almost reverent chatter about the return of our long-lost females.
“War Chieftain, please proceed.” A short-haired berserker gestures toward the last unoccupied pod, its translucent gray frame releasing soft wafts of green mist into the air.
The moment the fumes reach my lungs, they tingle, a smooth caress along my raw, burned airways. A strange lightness creeps into my chest, and despite myself, I almost laugh.
Ignixis. I remember shoving the old gas-cloud into a healing pod when the human Carmen shot him. His look of sheer outrage and terror had been glorious—a memory I will cherish forever. A stark contrast to the eager faces surrounding me now.
Some of the warriors hover too close to the escaping mist, inhaling deeply, their expressions betraying just how much they crave its effects. Addicts.
I step inside, the cool mist rising to greet me like a long-lost lover, wrapping around my skin, sinking into every aching muscle, dulling the throbbing pain in my head. The pod seals, the translucent shell fogging as more vapor hisses into the chamber. Through the haze, I catch one last glimpse of the warriors gathered outside, the streaks of ash on their foreheads seeming to glow like heated coal in the dim purple light.
The harder I try to focus, the heavier my eyelids grow. A deep, gnawing exhaustion takes hold—not just the weight of battle, but something far greater. A burden I never knew I carried, now demanding vengeance.
The mist rises, soft as a whisper, and finally, my war ends—if only for a moment.
But when I wake, the battle will return. Our fates will be forged in the fires of war.
Chapter 28
Alexandra
Ashes
Iwipethesleepfrommy crust-laden eyes, groggy consciousness returning to me with all the charm and clarity of a weekend spent partying. The dim purple light intensifies as I scoot along the edges of the tennis-court-sized bed, straining to pluck up my clothes littering the marble floor. They’re scattered like a breadcrumb trail leading straight back to the madness of yesterday.
Madness. Craziness. Insanity. Take your pick—there isn’t a word strong enough to describe what happened.
The memories surge back, vivid and disjointed, like scenes from a low-budget action movie rather than anything that could have possibly happened to me. It’s as if I wasn’t even in control,merely watching from behind the eyes of some overenthusiastic, war-hardened Sexy-Lexie-bot.
It’s a miracle I’m still breathing, that my ship’s alive, and that I’m not just another piece of debris drifting lifelessly through space, abandoned like the shattered husks of the murder-orbs that swarmed us.
A shudder ripples through me, head to toe, despite the warmth of the thick black robes now covering my skin. That shuttle ride back was the worst experience of my life—worse even than the time Dracoth decided to jump off a cliff with me clinging to his back like some kind of adorable, terrified koala.
The entire shuttle rumbled and lurched like a rollercoaster trapped in the grips of a hurricane. And let’s not forget the oh-so lovely, relaxing sounds of the bone-through-the-noses barking orders over the deafening shrieks of sizzling cracks and hisses echoing like demented rattlesnakes. Every breath had been a mix of blistering heat from energy blasts, acrid smoke, and the disgusting stench of burning rubber and rotten eggs crammed straight up my nostrils.
Yuck.
Even with my divine barriers shielding the shuttles from the endless murder-bot horde, I thought that was the end. No more Lexie. No more divine adventures. Just a fiery explosion and an unceremonious scattering of divine Lexie-dust sparkling across the galaxy like glitter.
Ugh.
I thought being a living goddess would be easy, like an exam where you already know the answers or a game of Pokémon set to the lowest difficulty. I mean, it’s pretty damn hard to stay composed and graceful—like Divine Mother—when your heart is hammering like a drummer on a caffeine binge.
My ears twitch, little fleshy radars scanning for a familiar and reassuring sound. A racket like a jet engine firing up, ormaybe a tornado funneled through a wind tunnel—Dracoth’s snoring. But as my head swivels around, it only confirms what I already know. He’s not here. Just a big pile of furs where mybabesshould be. My lips purse in annoyance. He’s probably off somewhere, bashing heads together and stealing spines or whatever.
A sigh escapes me as I slump back, rubbing at my temples. I haven’t dreamed of Arawnoth’s flames in so long now, and the disappointment gnaws at me. It’s tragic. Heartbreaking, even. And I know exactly who’s to blame.
Mr. Frowny Face.
