Celutok’s brown eyes widen in shock. “You honor me again, great War Chieftain,” he blurts, excitement lighting up his face. “But...” His expression crumples, and his gaze drops to the black stone ground. “I’m no warrior. It shames me to say in such company, but I’ve not completed the Proving Pilgrimage.”
Proving Pilgrimage? Wait, there’s more than one?Knowing these guys, it probably involves being buried alive with poisonous snakes crossed with giant mutant crocodiles—snako-diles.
“Shame,” Dracoth grunts dismissively.
“Better to be safe here, looking after the herd, right, Celutok?” Sandra chimes in, breathing a sigh of relief.
“Yes,” Celutok mutters, though his hesitation betrays him. He glances at Sandra, offering a faint smile. “Yes, that is my place. Here, tending to my herd,” he adds, trying—and failing—to sound convincing.
Sandra smiles, placing a hand on his wrist with genuine warmth. But she misses the obvious—because she’s all naïve sweet gingerbread and plushy optimism—Celutok doesn’t want to be a farmer. He wants to be a warrior, like he’s brethren. He just... isn’t cut out for it.
Sad, really. But that’s life.
“I’ll feel better knowing you’re not off fighting who-knows-what,” Sandra says with a nod, completely oblivious to the subtle slump of his shoulders at her words.
“Oh,” I interject, a wicked idea bubbling to the surface. “I thought you two were going to move in together and start breeding... snail monsters.”
“Very funny, Lexie,” Sandra retorts, her blue-eyed glare could freeze the sun.
“I’ll have a junker ship take you back to Earth,” Dracoth cuts in, his hand darting over his shimmering blue wrist console.
A ship filled with those rapey alien creeps? I’d rather face the snako-dile.
“Wait!” Sandra exclaims, raising a hand to stop him. Her face lights with sudden resolve, and she looks between Dracoth and me, nervous but determined.
“I was thinking...” she trails off, sucking in a breath before finishing in a rush. “I could come with you?”
“No way, really?” I blurt, utter delight brightening my face. Without thinking, I rush forward and pull her into a fierce hug, squeezing harder than intended—Dracoth-style. Sandra lets outa soft grunt of protest, but I don’t care. “By Arawnoth, this is going to besomuch more fun now!”
I release her, my grin still wide enough to hurt. Sandra’s joyous expression mirrors my own, and the realization sends a warm flutter through my chest. I always thought she’d be on the first ticket back to Earth, but now? With her around, I’ll feel a little less like a lost Earthling with someone familiar in this ocean of alien strangeness.
“This is your wish?” Dracoth asks, his eyes narrowing as he fixes Sandra with an intense stare, as though she’s playing some kind of prank.
“Of course it is!” I dismissively wave away Dracoth’s annoying question. “Ah, you won’t regret this! We’ll totally be bossing it up as War Chieftainess and her Ginger-in-Waiting.” I clap my hands with delight, barely containing my glee.
“Ginger-in-Waiting?” Sandra echoes, her grin widening. “Lexie, you’re such a rude cow,” she teases, and we both burst into laughter. The confused look Celutok flashes toward Dracoth only makes it funnier.
As our giggles subside, Sandra speaks up again. “Maybe I’ll go back to Earth someday, but I’m not passing up this once-in-a-lifetime chance to explore alien planets just yet.” She pauses, her expression turning curious. “Wait, where are we going?”
“To our destiny, my people’s glorious revival,” Dracoth grumbles, gazing into the distant cavernous tunnel, trying to be all super-dramatic War Chieftain alien boss man.
I roll my eyes, careful to do it out of his sight, eliciting another soft giggle from Sandra.
“We’re going to give this Drexios guy a reality check,” I add, my tone sharpening unexpectedly. The bubbling anger in my chest surprises even me.
“Oh, the other fella claiming to be War...” Sandra’s words falter, her expression tightening, perhaps sensing the simmering rage radiating from Dracoth.
Fuck’s sake, Sandra.
“There is only me!” Dracoth roars, his crimson eyes igniting like smoldering coals. “As soon as the vipertail, Ignixis, reveals the pretender’s location, I will descend upon him like a meteorite!”
Celutok stumbles back, eyes wide, while Sandra holds her hands up defensively. But Dracoth’s rage floods through our bond, filling me with the same teeth-clenching desire to crush whoever this pretender prick is to gooey red paste.
“He won’t stand a chance against us,” I sneer, my heart pounding as I look at my towering red dragon.
“He will not, my Mortakin-Kis,” Dracoth promises, his words laced with steely intensity. The sound of his voice is like music to my ears, and my legs quiver. His massive, searing hand pulls me closer, but all I see is his brutal, intoxicating face as it draws nearer.
His lips crash into mine, a roaring inferno that melts me completely. I surrender to him, his heat a reflection of the molten fire building in my core. Our tongues collide, chaotic and hungry—a passion only two who are completely unshackled and authentic can conjure.
