Page 24 of Scorching the Alien Empire
I barely register his lecture through the haze of my exhaustion, my lungs burning as I gulp in the stagnant, recycled air. But his green eyes, alight with an ominous intensity, lock onto mine.
“Tell me, young Dracoth,” he demands, his voice sharp. “Who leads Clan Sanaxus?”
Clan Sanaxus. Allies of the weakling Draxxus, dwelling in the harsh sands of Nardune. Their Chieftain’s name—a mystery.
“I... don’t know,” I admit, my voice ragged, each breath an agony of disturbed bruises.
“Aelioth!” Ignixis snaps, his black robes swirling as he throws his hands up in exasperation. “Aelioth is his name!”
“Sand for brains, that one,” Jazreal snorts, leaning on his spear.
“Arawnoth give me strength,” Ignixis groans, his eyes rolling skyward as if searching the cold metal ceiling for divine guidance. “How are you to lead the Clans when you know so little? You are not ready, yet there is no time left for us.” His gaze falters briefly, his lips pursing as if concocting some unpleasant solution to this “problem.”
The tension shatters with the soft swoosh of the training room doors sliding open. My gaze shifts agonizingly slowly toward the intruder.
“Oh, here they are. They’re playing with their sticks again,” Princesa says, glancing over her shoulder. She looks radiant as always, her flowing golden hair cascading over her shoulders, her perfect curves accentuated by a sleek black leather outfit trimmed in gold, framed by her regal Chieftainess cloak.
She’s plump and delicious, like a ripe fruit begging for its skin to be peeled and the tasty insides devoured.
“Hey, babes,” she says casually, glancing at me with that wicked grin that only she dares wield. “Why do you look constipated? More so than usual, I mean.”
That name—babes. A recent addition to her arsenal of taunts. Implying I’m some kind of suckling infant. How it irks me. Yet I refuse to let it show, convinced without the light of attention it will wither and die.
Her grin widens, daring and mischievous. “Oh, you don’t like your new name?” She gasps in mock offense, raising a hand to her mouth. “Well, stop calling me Princesa, and maybe I’ll stop calling you babes. How about that, babes?”
This treacherous bond reveals too much!
“Never,” I rasp through strained lungs. “You are my Princesa. That is your name.”
Princesa scoffs, but before she can reply, Sandra steps into the room, carrying the useless, lazily blinking Todd on her shoulder.
“Hello,” Sandra says with a warm smile, her voice soft yet firm. “It’s nice to see everyone returned safely.”
“And you, lovely Sandra, and War Chieftainess,” Jazreal replies smoothly, giving a slight bow before running a hand through his long, glossy, kept hair.
Ignixis was right—he struts like a preening puffrio. If my face wasn’t so swollen, I might have smiled.
“Hail, blessed daughter and pleasant Sandra,” Ignixis mutters without looking up, his attention fixed on the blue, glowing display of his wrist console. “You must excuse me. The hour grows late, and the dim cannot tolerate the light.”
With that cryptic remark, Ignixis turns, hastening toward the exit, appearing to glide over the coarse sand and smaller training equipment, his black robes billowing behind him.
“Wait!” Princesa snaps, her voice sharp. She steps into his path with a commanding hand raised, despite Ignixis towering over her. “I want to speak to you about something.”
“Something. Such a vague, non-descriptive term,” Ignixis muses, tilting his head like a curious arrohawk studying its prey. “Something could be anything, and anything could be everything. I have neither the time nor the patience to explaineverythingto those lacking the faculties for understanding.”
Princesa freezes, stunned into silence. Her mouth opens, but no words come out. Through our bond, I feel her silver flame rage, flaring bright and wild, reaching for the crimson inferno of my fury. Yet I resist. I deny her our shared power, choosing restraint over destruction. Ignixis must live.
With a dramatic flourish, Ignixis swishes his robes and strides out of the training room, a dark storm cloud rolling inexorably across the horizon.
“What afuckingrude prick!” Princesa bursts out, her voice trembling with indignation. Her cheeks flush with an alluring shade of pink as she spins toward Sandra. “What is his problem? And what was that nonsense about tolerating the light? So random.”
Sandra shifts Todd’s weight on her shoulder and shrugs, her blue leather shirt wrinkling under the movement. “No idea,” she replies, her tone neutral.
But I know. Ignixis has no patience for the lesser species, not even a beautiful human blessed by Arawnoth himself. And something else drives him. His constant complaints about time, as though a monstrous venefex is stalking just beyond sight.
“He plots.”
Chapter 6
