Page 214 of Scorching the Alien Empire
He flutters his eye at me and croaks, which can only mean:I love you, Mommy.
Suddenly the door distorts—well, some kind of hologram thingy pretending to be a door. And in steps a titan. My titan—babes.
The vibe shifts—instantly—from sparkly-pink gossip hour to full-on meatball head serious.
“Babes!” I shout, bounding forward with all the energy of a golden retriever in platform boots. If I had a tail, it’d be wagging.
Dracoth’s jaw tightens—just a fraction—like he’s biting back a sigh. But the corner of his mouth twitches. A microscopic victory. Maybe he’s imagining tossing me out an airlock. Maybe he’s fighting a smile. Either way it’s a coin toss I’m ready to flip.
“Ahh!” Sandra shrieks, hurling herself into the pile of discarded clothes, literally caught with her pants down. Arms cover her mostly-exposed shoulders as she vanishes into fabric.
How scandalous!
“You shameless hussy,” I laugh, twisting the knife. Just a little bit.
Sandra’s face turns as red as her hair as she wrestles a potato sack of a robe over her. It practically swallows her whole.
“Princesa. It is time,” Dracoth rumbles, ducking under the low frame looking like an elephant shoved into a matchbox. His deep voice rolls through me like thunder down my spine. Every part of mevibrates, sending delicious tingles rippling through me.
And then, of course... the moment dies.
“Would youlookiehere,” Drexios grates, each syllable scraping my nerves like manicured nails across a chalkboard. “You females nesting? Plopping out a few eggs?” He flicks his head toward Sandra, still knee-deep in wardrobe carnage.
“Not like we’re pigeons, you...” I start, but stop myself.
He’s smirking.
Helivesfor this. Like a sentient fungus. A hobo-pirate with his eyepatch, armor as dented as his brain, and torn scaled cloak fluttering like a demented jolly roger.
Still, I have to be careful. I can’t just squish some sense into him like before... Buthedoesn’t know that yet. Or maybe Dracoth told him? How close are they really?
“Who let you in anyway? I thought these rooms were childproof.”
“Iwalked,” Drexios snaps, abruptly rigid. “One. Two. Three. Turn.” He paces dramatically, brushing his head on the ceiling with every step like some overly committed drama teacher.
I roll my eyes so hard I might detach a retina.
“Say.Pinkie,Fire-on-Head.” He leans down conspiratorially. “You better tread carefully,” his gaze flicks to the door, that’s not a door. “Shorties everywhere. Sneaky little bastards. Look like harmless blue puffrios—but stop to piss, and they’ll laser your dick clean off.”
“My... dick... off?” Sandra echoes, horrified, gaze, for some reason dropping to her crotch. “Um... Dracoth, are we in danger?” she squeaks, eyes shimmering like sapphires sparkling for hope.
“No,” Dracoth says flatly. Instantly. Like he’s carved from obsidian. Though he’s hard to take seriously when he’s bent nearly ninety degrees like a two-hundred-year-old back problem to fit in the room.
Sandra exhales loudly, while I round on Drexios, glaring silver daggers at him. “Are you trying to kill us before we even leave? Stroke? Heart attack? Panic-poop? Hmm?”
“A heart that beats, doesn’t know defeat,” Drex-iot the idiot drawls smugly like he’s reciting Shakespeare. “Don’t say uncle Drexios didn’t warn you.”
“Please,” I scoff, turning away with dramatic flair. “You’re the creepy uncle who drinks too much and wants kids to sit on his lap.”
Dracoth’s gaze sweeps the room, slow and unreadable—like a Mr. Potato Head sculpted from volcanic rock.
Then a flicker. A twitch of his mouth. Did I imagine it? A trick of the strange blue-orange lighting? Wishful thinking?
But then he stomps forward, ducking under the low ceiling. His obsidian pauldrons scrape long purple trails through the paint like a war god tearing through a nursery.
“Mother,” he says, his voice softer now—less avalanche, more distant thunder. He stops before her, crimson eyes shimmering with the same blend of joy and sorrow I feel pulsing through our bond.
“Your doing?” he asks, craning his massive head toward me.
