Page 288 of Scorching the Alien Empire
I raise my hand—moreshields crash into place around her Robo-Nibs. They rattle in place, trapped like bugs in crystal.
“What... this is absurd!” Consul Juliara stammers. Mouth gaping like a betta fish choking on its own arrogance. She casts an uncertain glance at her trapped Robo-Nibs.
Then—another voice joins us.
“DO IT!”Bitch Brick. Her voice vibratesinside my skull, like someone dropped a bell in my cerebellum. Her eyes are glowing again—lit with something vast and dangerous.
Juliarablanches.
“Yes,” she stammers. “Yes—at once, High Chieftainess.” She bows, trembling like a plate of wet spaghetti.
Thank the Gods.
Chapter 52
Alexandra
Bonds Reforged
Theass-conformingNibchairwraps around me like an overly affectionate groupie as I sip another deliciously rich, chocolatey mocha. Damn those blueberry heads and their culinary witchcraft. Makes it so hard to hate them. The scrumptious little pricks.
Naturally, I’m back aboard the infamousImperator’s Mittens—crown jewel of the Smurf Empire—lost... for now. A good sign they’re taking Dracoth’s recovery seriously. They better be. Or I’ll be making blueberry smoothies to go with my side of pancakes.
I mean, Dracothlooksstable... well, as stable as a walking murder mountain can look. A smile creases my lips. He lies prone, suspended in some giant, blinking toilet-roll tube. Theonly issue is the murder-orbs. Dozens of the little shits, zipping around him like a swarm of angry tennis balls. They swoosh through the cool, sterile air, projecting green beams onto his wounds.
They seem to be closing... maybe? Knowing the Nibs, they’re probably spritzing him with salt and lemon juice. Ah! Maybe they’re prepping him for a roast? Hewouldbe delicious—my big red meatball of man-meat—I’d take a bite, then go back for seconds, thirds... fourths.
Ugh. I wish he’d wake up already.
I think I might burst with warm, fuzzy confetti feelings. It’s kind of barf, but I can’t help it. I just want to hear his loud, gravelly voice again, see that big frowny face scowling at the universe, feel his fire melt me from the inside out.
Maybe—just maybe—hear him say he loves me again...
It’s exciting! And terrifying. How long have I waited? A day? Two? I’ve lost track in a smorgasbord of gourmet meals, botched fashion experiments, impatient visitors, and naps long enough to make Todd jealous.
“Love...” I mutter, giggling at the absurdity.
“Loooove.” I growl, going full Dracoth.
“Lovely, loving love!” I sing, twirling through a ballet of madness, my voice echoing off low ceilings and bite-sized furniture.
“What doyoulove, Todd?” I ask, poking His Royal Chunkiness with a mix of affection and disgust. He recently descended from the ceiling like a demented flying bat strapped to a brick. Then he devoured my pancakes before I even got halfway through with speed a garbage disposal might envy. Now he’s a stuffed black-and-red, rubbery turkey. Gobble gobble. Serves him right, the little food-addicted criminal.
His syrup-and-crumb-coated mandibles slow. Spindly legs twitch. Food coma: Activated. Diabetes: Imminent. Chunkiness: Reconfirmed.
“Jelly sticks, right?” I answer myself, glancing at my wrist console. The holographic display flickers blue, simmering under the Nibs’ moody orange-azure light they love so much.
CROAK.
Todd rolls onto his side. Limbs twitching. Pancake-drunk and adorable.
“Maybe it’s pancakes?” I suggest, staring mournfully at the lone, heroic survivor he left behind—a sad quarter-circle of golden fluff, surrounded by a syrup massacre. “You okay, mister?” I tickle his rubbery stomach as he wobbles like a pregnant turtle flipped on its back.
Croak.
“Aww, you lovemethe most?” I beam. “That’s so sweet, my little Chug Bug.” I almost scoop him up, but the memory of his lasthug-fartgives me pause. Not something I can dump on Sandra this time... at least, not yet.
My genius plan—at least in theory—hasn’t exactly... popped. My past failures are piled high in the corner—a Lexie monument to forgiveness and reconciliation and/or a shrine to the god of fashion crimes.
