Page 19 of Stolen By the Wraiths (Rift Wraiths #1)

T he electronic lock disengaged with a whisper that cut through my suffering like salvation itself.

After twelve hours of separation trauma and suppressor collar torture, that soft click was the most beautiful sound in the galaxy.

The door opened—Alix, alive and fierce, moving like a predator after a successful kill.

She'd done it. My brilliant woman had escaped her own captivity and fought through this facility to reach me when trained soldiers would have died trying.

But more than her success, I could see the cost written in her face.

The same withdrawal that had been destroying me, fought through with sheer stubborn will.

Dark circles under her eyes, tension in her shoulders, the careful way she held herself like someone in constant pain.

For just a moment, her composure wavered—a flash of exhaustion so profound I thought she might collapse.

"Miss me?" she asked, her voice carrying that edge I'd been craving, but underneath I caught the tremor of someone barely holding together.

"Like breathing," I said, my voice rough with need that went beyond simple longing. "Like oxygen. Like everything that keeps me alive."

The raw honesty made her eyes widen, and even through the collar's interference, I caught the spike of her arousal. She'd risked everything to reach me, and hearing how desperately I'd needed her was affecting her in ways that had nothing to do with rescue operations.

She moved to my restraints, but I could smell the changes in her scent as she worked—satisfaction at finding me alive, pride at her successful infiltration, and underneath it all, a craving that made rational thought difficult.

When her fingers brushed my wrist while working on the shackles, current shot through both our systems despite the technological barriers.

"I can barely feel you through this collar," I said, watching her hands work with the same skill she'd used to break into the facility. "It's like trying to touch you through static."

"I know." Her voice was strained. "I can sense you, but it's fragments. Nothing like what we should have."

The admission sent heat through my tortured system. She was feeling the separation as acutely as I was, craving the full connection with the same desperate intensity.

"The suppressor collar," she said, examining the device around my throat. "This is what's been screwing with our bond. Creating painful feedback whenever you try to reach for me."

"Constant torture," I confirmed, watching her trace its edges. She was close enough that I could feel her warmth despite the interference, close enough that her scent was filling my lungs. "Every attempt to sense you results in neural fire."

Her hands stilled, fury spiking. "They've been torturing you through our bond."

"And you through yours," I realized, seeing the tension in her shoulders. "You've been feeling the feedback too, haven't you?"

"Every time I tried to reach for you." Her voice carried a dangerous edge that made possession surge through my system. "Every time I needed to know you were alive, it felt like spikes through my skull."

The knowledge that she'd endured that agony while planning my rescue sent something primal roaring through my chest. My mate had proven herself worthy of every possessive instinct I possessed.

"This is going to hurt," she warned, her fingers finding the collar's interface. "The feedback surge when it disengages—it'll be intense. Like every suppressed sensation hitting at once."

Her hands trembled as she accessed the controls, and for a heartbeat, doubt flickered across her face. What if she couldn't crack the interface? What if the removal damaged our bond permanently? The fear was there and gone in an instant, but I caught it through our damaged connection.

"Do it," I said without hesitation. "I need to feel you properly. Need to know this is real."

She took a shaky breath, steadying herself. "Hold still," she murmured, her voice husky with want she wasn't bothering to hide. "I'm going to get you out of here, and then..."

"Then what?" I demanded.

"Then I'm going to let you show me exactly how grateful you are," she said with that dangerous smile that made heat pool in my belly. "How thoroughly you intend to reclaim what's yours."

The promise sent fire through my veins. I looked at her, fierce and victorious despite her exhaustion, and knew the claiming that was to come would be devastating.

"There," she whispered, her fingers dancing across the device's final protocols. Her hands were steady now, absolute focus replacing doubt. "In three... two... one..."

The suppressor collar sparked and died under her manipulation, and suddenly the world exploded back into brilliant, overwhelming color.

Our bond roared to life, flooding my nervous system with her presence, her emotions, and her absolute certainty that we belonged to each other. Getting her back was more than relief—it was overwhelming.

But the restoration was more than relief—it was sensory overload that bordered on euphoria. Every suppressed sensation hit simultaneously: her scent filling my lungs like intoxication, her emotional state flowing into me like shared consciousness, and her body's desperate response to my proximity.

Her heart was racing. Her skin was flushing with heat. Dampness was gathering between her thighs as her body remembered what it felt like to be thoroughly claimed.

"Holy hell," she whispered, swaying as the full connection snapped back. "I'd forgotten how overwhelming this is. How complete."

I caught her against my chest before she could fall, and the contact was like touching live current.

Her hands moved over me frantically—not with wonder, but with possessive need, confirming I was real and whole.

Her fingers traced the silver lines along my chest, and the traceries glowed warm beneath her touch, proving our bond had survived.

Her scent surrounded me—familiar base notes now layered with determination, competence, and a need so intense it made rational thought difficult. She fit perfectly against me, soft curves yielding to hard muscle, her body recognizing mine despite hours of forced separation.

"You brilliant, deadly woman," I growled against her hair, breathing in the scent that meant home and safety and everything worth fighting for. "What you just accomplished—escaping, reaching me when this place was designed to break people like us?—"

"Later," she interrupted, but her satisfaction at my praise was warmth that spread through me. "Right now, we need to move. I've got their security eating itself alive, but it won't last forever."

"How long do we have?"

"Fifteen minutes before they restore primary protocols," she replied, pulling out a comm device. "But we're not just escaping."

She activated the comm, and Serak's voice crackled through. "Status report."

"Ressh is secure, but we have a bigger problem," she said, her voice taking on the crisp efficiency I found intoxicating. "This place is holding 43 prisoners. All bonded pairs or individuals, being systematically tortured. I've seen the detention levels—we can't leave them."

A pause. "Forty-three additional extractions?"

"I know it changes everything, but I won't abandon them to this." Her determination flowed into me through the bond, absolute and unshakeable. "Can the shuttle handle that many?"

"Negative. We'll need the Raptor itself." Serak's voice carried the weight of rapid calculation. "Malrik, plot a course for direct facility approach. Jessa, coordinate medical support for trauma victims. Thoryn, prepare for potential combat extraction."

"Understood," Alix said. "I'm uploading facility schematics and prisoner locations now. Detention levels two and three, maximum security."

"How long until you can reach the prisoners?" Serak asked.

"Ten minutes to detention level two. But their security is about to realize what's happening."

"We'll be in position," Serak confirmed. "Make it fast."

Alix closed the comm and looked at me, her eyes blazing with purpose. "Ready to free some prisoners?"

"Lead the way," I said, meaning every word. "I'll follow you anywhere."

We moved through the facility corridors, the restored bond providing perfect coordination.

Her emotional state was an open book now—I could read her intentions in the way she moved, the subtle shifts in her scent that told me her plans before she acted.

When she needed cover to access a security terminal, I was already in position.

When I required a distraction to eliminate guards, she created it without being asked.

But more than coordination was the constant awareness of each other's physical and emotional state. Her excitement ran along my nerves like electricity. Our perfect harmony was its own kind of foreplay.

"Left corridor," she whispered, consulting her makeshift schematic. "Two guards, standard patrol. I'll disable their weapons while you handle close combat."

I watched her assess the situation—not through shared thoughts, but through the way she positioned herself, the focused intensity in her scent.

But underneath the professional analysis was something personal: satisfaction at working as a true team, anticipation of the claiming that would follow our escape.

"Now," she said, and we moved.

The coordination was flawless. She triggered an electromagnetic pulse that disabled their weapons while I closed distance with enhanced speed. What made it brutal wasn't just our individual skills—it was the way we moved as a single organism with shared consciousness.

Her position was always clear to me, even with my back turned.

I knew when she needed me to duck, when she required technical support, all through the emotional feedback of our restored bond.

When the guards fell without raising an alarm, overwhelmed by opponents who fought as one entity, her arousal spiked as she watched me move.