Page 310 of Scorching the Alien Empire
“Look at us, jibber-jabbing,” I scowl at the pair of wannabes, moving to scoop bloated Rocks into a gentle hug. “When this is your moment to, uh... shine.”
Or explode.
“How are you holding up?” I ask, flashing what Ihopeis my most sympathetic expression.
“Like someone force-fed me backflipping bricks,” she groans, though it ends in a giggle. “The healers say it’ll be today.” Her eyes soften as she meets Krogoth’s. He takes her hand, squeezing it gently.
“Shouldn’t there be midwives or something?” I glance around at the rustic woodwork, the fancy chairs, the conspicuouslackof a medical team. The reality hits me like a thousand overdue credit cards: I have no idea what to do.
They all stare at me like I just sprouted ten adorable Todd heads.
“What?”
“There are no Mortakin-Kis mothers,” Dracoth says, low and grave. The obvious truth makes my face burn hotter than his miniature suns.
“It’s up to us now,” Tyrxie adds, stepping forward with quiet strength. “Us—and the Revered Mothers, once they’re able—to guide the next generation.”
A melon-sized lump forms in my throat. Not sweet. Bitter. Salty. Existentially terrifying. I just want to crush stuff with chunky Todd while Dracoth roasts murder-bots with Arawnoth’s love, expanding our glorious Dracie-Lexie-verse.
“Yes! That’s... very important too,” I blurt, suddenly channeling the social grace of a drunken prom date. “Which is why—we brought gifts! To, um. Help.”
Dracoth stomps forward, his towering frame nearly brushing the ceiling. “In honor of your coming blessing, High Chieftain and Chieftainess, we present this.”
He extends a fur-wrapped cube toward Krogoth, who rises and carefully peels back the covering. A soft orange glow radiates from outside, eerie and mesmerizing.
“Ohh, what is it, Korgy?” Rocks breathes, awe twinkling in her hazel eyes.
“A crushed Scythian foundry core, encased in solid Elerium,” Xandor the rude prick interrupts smugly, flashing his perfectly punchable smile.
“Yes... how did you know?” I ask, instantly regretting it.
“I have my ways.” He taps a clawed finger against his temple, like he just read the script ahead of time.
Ugh. Please.
“Conquest and wealth for your legacy and progeny,” Dracoth intones, eyes flaring crimson.
“You honor us, War Chieftain,” Krogoth says, reverently rewrapping the awesome gift cube. “When our children ask of it, I will speak of your strength and courage.” He and Rocks exchange a warm, fuzzy look that could thaw glaciers.
Dracoth’s face remains impassive, but through our sneaky bond, pride explodes across my mind like a crimson supernova.
I give his sausage fingers a squeeze before bouncing forward and shovingmygift into Rock’s lap. “This one’s from Todd!” I beam, stroking the silver mirror rune pulsing on his back. “He’s very excited.”
Todd, the little traitor, lazily blinks his eye open, scans the room like a jelly-stick targeting system... then—finding nothing—promptly falls back asleep.
“Oh,” Rocks says, lifting the fur. “Todd’s very...” She holds up two pairs of booties. “Uh... thoughtful.” She glances at Krogoth, who studies the shoes like they might detonate.
Typical. The unfashionable wouldn’t recognize style if it slapped them with a velvet glove.
“See?” I point eagerly. “Black and red accents? Silvermirrorrune on the side? Exact replicas of the cutest thing in the universe—little Todd booties. You know, for your babies. It’s fashion, symbolism, and a blessing, wrapped in one adorable package. Very Avant Garde,” I explain, feeling a sinking, queasy pit open in my stomach.
Rocks only blinks.
This gift is going down like a lead balloon. Shaped like Todd.
“For the kids?” Xandor snatches a pair from Rocks, flipping it over like they’re contraband. “Hey, Rocks, are you planning to give birth to a couple of aurodons?”
Rocks’ face drains of color. Her hand flies to her mountainous belly. “Crap! I hope not.”
