Page 4 of Stolen By the Wraiths (Rift Wraiths #1)

T he sound of the patrol faded, but the tension in the small locker remained.

I watched her, curled on the bench, trying to make herself small.

She was exhausted, her face pale in the dim, flickering light of a single emergency strip.

The air was cold enough to see our breath, two pale clouds mingling in the cramped space.

She was magnificent.

The thought blindsided me. It was unprofessional, a liability. But watching her work on that security panel, her focus absolute while I stood guard, had stirred something in me. She hadn't panicked. She hadn't deferred. She had taken command.

My failure in the nightclub felt like a distant memory, a different lifetime.

Then, my instincts had been a source of shame, a loss of control.

The biological imperative to protect, to claim, had felt like a weakness.

Now, trapped with her in this metal box, those same instincts felt.

.. right. The urge to protect her, to shield her, was no longer a flaw to be suppressed. It was a purpose.

I saw it then, a dark scorch mark on the sleeve of her jacket, near her shoulder. A plasma burn.

"You're hurt," I said, moving toward her.

She flinched. "I'm fine. It's just a graze."

"Let me see." I didn't give her a choice, kneeling in front of her and gently pushing the scorched fabric aside. The burn was angry and red against her skin. Not deep, but it would be painful.

I pulled a small med-kit from my belt. "This will sting."

I applied the disinfectant spray, and she hissed, her whole body tensing, but she didn't pull away.

My touch was steady as I applied a thin layer of regenerative gel.

Her skin was soft, warm. The scent of her, clean and sharp even under the grime of the tunnels, was a constant, maddening pull.

It was becoming harder to separate the professional need to protect an asset from the primal urge to possess this woman.

I was acutely aware of the difference between the delicate texture of her skin and the deadly competence she'd just displayed.

She was a paradox, a puzzle I found myself desperate to solve.

My fingers lingered for a moment too long. I could feel the frantic beat of her pulse beneath my thumb. Looking up, I found her watching me, her expression unreadable.

The adrenaline finally left her, and the exhaustion hit her like a physical blow. Her eyes fluttered closed, and her head drooped, her body slumping against the wall. She was asleep in an instant, a deep, necessary surrender to a body pushed too far.

I watched her, my own fatigue a distant echo. My Tsekai physiology could sustain me for days without rest, but she was human. Vulnerable.

As I watched, she began to stir. A soft whimper escaped her lips, and her brow furrowed in distress. She shifted on the hard bench, her hands clenching into fists. "No," she muttered, her voice heavy with sleep. "Don't... please..."

A nightmare. The realization was a cold weight in my gut.

I saw the trauma she hid so carefully beneath layers of snark and competence, now laid bare in the helplessness of sleep.

My instincts screamed at me to wake her, to soothe her, to offer the chemical comfort my body was already producing.

But I held back. It wasn't my place. Crossing that line would be a violation, a use of my biology she hadn't consented to.

So I watched, and I waited, and every pained sound she made was a fresh torment.

She finally settled, her breathing evening out, but the image of her distress was burned into my mind. This fierce survivor, this brilliant operative, was haunted.

She woke with a start, her eyes wide and disoriented before they found me. A flicker of fear, then recognition, then a carefully constructed wall of indifference.

"How long was I out?" she asked, her voice rough.

"A couple of hours."

She nodded, rubbing her face. She looked at me, then away, her face flushing. "Did I...?"

"You were dreaming," I said, keeping my voice neutral.

Her jaw tightened. "Right. Well. We need to move." She was pushing me away, rebuilding her walls. After seeing that crack in her armor, I felt an overwhelming need to offer a piece of my own.

"Alix," I said, my voice low. "Vain... he didn't just betray my unit.

He experimented on us. On my people. The Tsekai bond is.

.. sacred. It's a connection of mind and body, a biological imperative to protect one's mate above all else.

He learned how to break it. How to turn it into a weapon.

" I met her gaze, letting her see the truth of it.

"What's on that core isn't just data. It's a record of his atrocities.

It's the only way to make him pay for what he did to my brothers. "

Understanding dawned in her eyes, empathy that went beyond our current situation. She knew what it was to be used, to be betrayed by those who were supposed to protect you.

"The people who raised me," she said, her voice barely audible, "they taught me the same lesson. That loyalty is a one-way street when you're just a tool."

In that moment, in that cramped, forgotten closet, we were no longer a soldier and a thief. We were two survivors, recognizing the same scars on each other's souls. The air between us shifted, the professional distance dissolving into something more fragile, more dangerous.

A new sound reached us—the whine of a cargo drone. Time to move.

"The cargo platform is two levels up," I said, packing away the med-kit. "We'll have to cross the main maintenance spine. It will be exposed."

"Then we'd better be fast," she said, her voice regaining its sharp edge.

The final run was a blur of motion and controlled violence.

We took down two security patrols, moving as a single, coordinated unit.

She created the openings with her tech, and I exploited them with my strength.

It was a brutal, effective dance, and with every enemy that fell, the respect between us grew.

We burst onto Cargo Platform 9 just as a sleek, black shuttle decloaked from the station's sensor shadow, its engines flaring. The ramp lowered, and Malrik, that cocky Jazurai bastard, grinned at us.

"Cutting it a little close, aren't you?" he called over the engine noise.

We scrambled aboard, the ramp sealing behind us as the shuttle shot away from the station, leaving the chaos and the hunt behind.