Page 30 of Scorching the Alien Empire
I stroke Todd absently, smiling faintly in anticipation of a greeting. But the rude prick doesn’t even glance my way—just stomps past like I’m some smelly beggar waving a filthy rag and a bowl of pennies.
“Uh, excuse me!” I snap, unable to keep the irritation from creeping into my voice.
The mini-Dracoth stops abruptly, like a wind-up murder toy that’s just run out of power. His piercing blue eyes lock on me with the emotional range of a dead hamster. These guys make even Dracoth’s deadpan expression look like amateur dramatics.
“War Chieftainess.” He slams a fist to his chest and bows his head in one sharp, mechanical motion.
I flinch at the sudden movement, my nerves already frayed by his robotic demeanor. Exhaling slowly, I smooth my clothes, stalling to gather my thoughts.
“Um, can you take me to Ignixis?” I ask, flashing him my best super-cute, alluring smile. “That would be such a big help.”
Nothing. No smile. No reaction. Not even a twitch.
Suppressing a shiver—probably just the cold air—I wait as he studies me with all the warmth of an overdrawn bank account. After what feels like an eternity, he finally moves. With a swift, practiced motion, he retrieves the terrifying angular mask from his belt and seals it onto his face.
“Um, hello?” I wave a hand in front of his towering head, rising onto my tiptoes for good measure.
The rude prick just ignores me. He sweeps his masked gaze over the corridor as if he can see through the marble walls.
“Elder Ignixis is in the laboratory,” the mini-Dracoth declares, staring directly into a wall like a naughty school kid told to stand in the corner.
“You sure?” I ask with a heavy dose of skepticism. Frowning, I follow his gaze to the wall he’s apparently addressing, wondering if he’s not also blind as well as a terrible bore.
“Positive,” he replies with all the fun of a toothache.
“Well, let’s get going then,” I say, gesturing toward the wall. If he walks straight into it, I swear I’m tossing myself and Todd out the nearest airlock.
“At once, War Chieftainess,” he salutes again—because why not?—then, in one smooth motion, removes the mask he just put on and hooks it back to his belt.
Thankfully, he stomps back the way he came, and I follow close behind, slightly to his side. I exhale a long-held breath of relief—finally, guidance on this labyrinthine ship. I mean, Todd was starting to look disturbingly more delicious with every step.
We settle into a steady rhythm: his thudding boots pounding a militaristic beat, while I, the epitome of delicate grace, tread lightly beside him. Although my lower back still aches, I resist the urge to ask him to carry me. It feels... wrong. Only therealDracoth has that privilege—not these creepy pretenders.
“So,” I begin, clicking my tongue against my teeth to stave off boredom, “what’s your name?”
“Vexius,” he answers immediately with that infuriating robotic tone.
More like Vexing.
“I’m Princ—” I catch myself just in time, cursing inwardly. Dracoth has me so utterlydickmatizedI almost used that ridiculous name he keeps calling me. “Um, I’m Alexandra.” I recover, glancing at him for a reaction.
Any embarrassment at my mistake quickly melts away under Vexius’s non-reaction. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment. He just keeps marching ahead, his strides so long I have to work to keep up. I’m practically panting now, struggling to match his pace.
“Sure is cold in here,” I venture, side-eyeing him for a response.
Silence.
“Your hair is short and stupid, and you walk like you’ve got a stick up your ass.” I blurt out in a rush, testing him by throwing insults like darts at his emotional void.
Still nothing.
It’s like he’s barely alive. Maybe he’s some high-tech alien robot programmed only to respond to direct commands.
“Can you walk slower?” I ask, testing my theory.
Without a word, Vexius slows his pace. A triumphant smirk curls my lips. If only Dracoth were this obedient.
“How about...” I ponder, tapping my finger against my pouting lips. “Oh! Can you see through walls?”
