Page 65 of Scorching the Alien Empire
Oh crap, oh crap!
Panic overrides thought. I flap my wings with desperate abandon, fighting to escape the inevitable. Aenarael’s laughter—sharp, cruel, delighted—is nearly drowned by the thunderous beat of the dragon’s wings, each downstroke a gale, each breatha furnace blast. Flames trail behind it like a hellish halo, illuminating the void with terrifying beauty.
It’s useless. My struggle is as insignificant as I am—a fragile moth against a force of nature. One colossal wingbeat sends me spiraling, buffeted worse than by Aenarael’s wind. All I can do is cling to a straight path, my gaze locked on the monstrous fangs gleaming like swords, drawing closer with every heartbeat.
I squeeze my furry eyelids shut, surrendering to the inevitable.
Jaws, sharp as blades, clamp around me, silencing Aenarael’s laughter like a candle snuffed out.
Then... nothing.
Only silence.
And darkness.
Chapter 14
Alexandra
Marring Perfection
Windhowlspastmyears, whipping my hair into a chaotic tangle as I soar through the sky at an impossible speed. My heart slams against my ribs, frantic against the endless expanse of blue stretching above me. Towering white clouds drift like silent sentinels, and the golden-orange sun casts a surreal warmth over the world below.
Am I back on Earth?
No. Something’s wrong. The last thing I remember was the darkness—the void, the moth, the dragon’s jaws. Now I am here, and I ammeagain. No frail, winged insect. No suffocating black nothingness. Just me, whole, solid, and riding on something vast and powerful.
The realization sends a bolt of panic through me.
Oh crap, I’m on the dragon.
Beneath me, the red behemoth’s scales gleam like liquid fire, each ridge catching the light in a dazzling array of molten hues. Its colossal wings slice through the sky with thunderous beats, creating gusts that buffet me with each powerful stroke. My hands clutch at the spines of its back instinctively, but—wait.Why am I not terrified?
My breathing is shallow, my mind reeling. A strange sense of déjà vu washes over me. A familiarity. Anaffinity. The thought should be absurd, yet Ifeelit—a strange warmth that connects me to the beast beneath me.
The dragon rumbles, a sound that vibrates through my bones. It isn’t flying aimlessly—it has a purpose. I follow its gaze downward, and my breath catches.
Below us sprawls a massive medieval city, its towering stone walls enclosing a labyrinth of winding streets, high-arched bridges, and rooftops of slate and clay. Banners flutter from castle spires. Far below, tiny figures move through the streets, going about their daily lives. But not for long.
A ripple of terror spreads across the city.
People stop, frozen mid-step, their heads snapping upward. Even from this height, I can sense their fear. Some drop to their knees in prayer; others scramble for shelter. Soldiers atop the walls abandon their weapons, staring skyward with expressions caught between awe and impending doom.
I glance down at myself—and nearly choke.
Gone are my black robes, replaced by a noblewoman’s gown of rich crimson velvet trimmed in gold embroidery, the fabric heavy yet familiar, as though it was tailoredfor me.
What the hell is happening?
“Ah, this is our very favorite cycle.”
Aenarael’s voice slithers through the air, reverberating in a chorus of layered tones—both ethereal and bestial—sending a chill down my spine.
“Am I not the most beautiful creature? Am I not kind? Am I not beloved? To gift you your heart’s desire—your very own red dragon.”
I whip my head around, searching for the source, my grip tightening against my dragon’s spines. Then my breath stutters.
A monstrous silver dragon hovers nearby, its wings rippling like liquid steel, each beat effortlessly keeping it aloft. Those eyes—mercurial, depthless—burn into my soul. I know them. I knowher.
