Page 152 of Scorching the Alien Empire
“That’s uncharitable,” Razgor mutters, finally lifting his gaze, his frown shadowing his already severe features.
Well, well. Seems the nerd has grown a backbone after his arm got noodlified by the murder-bots yesterday.
“This is more than mere lust. What these females represent. What their presence means...” His words are filled with passion as he looks to Ruzeta with shimmering eyes. “This is our chance to atone, to make things right...”
I stop listening, tuning him out as I roll my eyes. This is the problem with nerds—they never know when to quit. All pedantic, missing the vibe and tone. Total killjoys.
A flicker of movement draws my attention—a black-red bundle of rubbery joy unfurling on Sandra’s shoulder.
“Todd!” I squeal, already rushing forward, my arms outstretched toward the plumper.
I scoop him up, barely suppressing a delighted “uff” as I miscalculate his ever-increasing weight. His tiny legs skitter frantically, a blur of excitement, while his mandibles clack in rapid succession. It can mean only one thing—a demand for a hug. His big, singular eye blinks up at me. So cute, it reflects everything from its gleaming surface.
“I missed you so much!” I spin in a circle, squeezing him against my chest, his squishy body wiggling in my grasp. A soft hiss escapes him, muffled against my robes, and I just know it means,I love you, Momma.
But before I can soak in the moment, Todd squirms free and scuttles into the folds of my cloak, vanishing with the efficiency of a seasoned escape artist.
“Hey! Come back here, you little rascal!” I demand, but it’s too late. He’s already claimed his prize—a jelly stick I had planned to give him later, discovered and stolen in record time.
I sigh in defeat as he emerges again like a greedy spider from its web. His little mouthparts work furiously around his ill-gotten snack. With effortless confidence, he clambers up my chest, winding around my shoulders before settling atop mySock-Chair Chieftainesscloak to finish devouring his meal in peace.
I wonder if there’s cyloillar disciplinary school back on Klendathor? If not, someone needs to create one—and soon.
I narrow my eyes at Sandra. “You’ve been spoiling the Divine Cherub.” I roll my shoulder, trying to shift Todd’s increasingly cumbersome bulk. “He weighs a ton now.”
Sandra gasps, clutching her chest in exaggerated shock. “Me?Me?You’re the one who keeps feeding him those things!” She gestures toward the happily munching Todd before shaking her head in mock exasperation. “Divine Cherub. Right. I see he’s moving up in the universe again.”
“Oh yes, Sandra,” I purr, the words wrapping around my pride like the finest silk scarf. “We both are.”
My fingers trace the elegant silver engravings along Todd’s rubbery back, each divine marking a reminder of Divine Mothers’ connection. My eyes flick up to hers, letting the weight of my words settle. Even Sandra, for all her endearing naivety, cannot deny the truth any longer—I am no longer just Lexie.
I am something more.
Somethingdivine.
She huffs, shaking her head with a smirk. “Well, your divine cherub has been pooping in my shoes again.”
My moment of celestial glory screeches to a halt.
Sandra lifts her boot for inspection, revealing a fresh, fur-lined replacement. “This is the fourth pair I’ve had to fabricate,” she grumbles.
My cheeks heat. My recognition now stinks like Todd poop. I can’t even argue. Todd does have a habit of leaving...presents.It’s not his fault, though. He must think shoes are leaves or something equally adorable.
“Ah, how wonderful you’ve been receiving more blessings,” I mock, savoring the wide-eyed, pinched expression Sandra gives me.
“Blessings?” she mutters, shaking her head as she glances down at her wrist console. “Next time, I’m cooking the wee living haggis.”
My stomach clenches. She wouldn’t dare.
Would she?
No, she wouldn’t. But I bet he’d be delicious. Wee scrumptious cutie pie.
The mention of blessings sparks a thought. I absently thumb my now-deflated pouch, irritation curling at the edges of my mood.
“Razgor, I need more ashes,” I demand.
He exhales sharply, eyes flicking toward me with barely restrained patience. “Ashes?” he echoes like a confused parrot. “Have you tried engineering? Those discharged Elerium thermal coolers always get charred up.” He waves vaguely toward the door as if I’m some hobo begging for a quarter.
