Page 7 of Stolen By the Wraiths (Rift Wraiths #1)

T he bunk was cold. The warmth I’d clung to was gone, the air suddenly thin.

Good, alone is safe my old instincts whispered. But beneath the relief, a new ache pressed in, sharp and unfamiliar.

My hand closed on empty space, my pulse stumbling as memory rushed in: terror, comfort, his presence.

I rolled over, pressing my face into the pillow where his scent still lingered, that warm spice blended with something wild.

The aroma was weaker now, fading with each breath, but it was enough to bring back the nightmare.

The terror of being fourteen again, discarded like trash.

The desperate, childish plea for him not to leave me alone.

And he had stayed.

The simple truth of it left me speechless, and I hated the feeling. Vulnerability was a weakness. In the children's home on Meridian, the kids who showed need were the ones who disappeared into "special programs." I'd learned to sleep light, wake silent, and need nothing.

Yet I'd reached for him in my sleep. My hand, which had been curled on the blanket, clenched into a fist. I remembered my fingers tracing the patterns under his skin, learning the shape of him as if I were mapping constellations.

The door hissed open, and I tensed. But when Ressh entered carrying two ration packs, I found myself studying his face instead. There was no judgment in his amber eyes, just a quiet, watchful intensity that saw far too much.

He moved to the small table, placing the ration packs down.

"You left," I said, my voice rough.

His hands stilled. "You were sleeping peacefully. I thought you might prefer to wake alone."

"That's what I'm supposed to want."

"But not what you wanted?" he asked, his voice carefully neutral.

I turned my back, hiding a flush I refused to explain. "Maybe. I don’t know. You’re hard to predict."

"I'm not smug," he said, the wrapper of a ration pack crinkling. "Relieved, perhaps." He didn’t quite meet my eyes.

"Relieved?"

"That you don't regret what happened."

I turned to face him, searching his expression for any sign of manipulation. There was none. Just that maddening, steady honesty.

"The nightmare," I began, needing to understand.

"It felt so real. Like I was fourteen again, watching the Hendersons pack my things.

Then it changed. The panic just... evaporated.

" I stood and began to pace the small room.

"That was you, wasn't it? Your scent, your presence—it altered the experience.

Turned terror into comfort." I stopped and faced him directly. "What did you do to me?"

"You were distressed," he said, meeting my gaze. "I offered what comfort I could."

"Comfort," I repeated. "You know most people would call that a violation. Did you get inside my head?"

"No. That’s why I hesitated. I can’t change your thoughts, Alix. All I did was counter the panic—let your body know you were safe."

"'Chemical reassurance.' Sounds like a fancy way to say mind control."

"But did it feel like mind control?"

I shook my head. "No. It just felt… safe.

" The admission was grudging. "I understand you could have left me to deal with it alone.

Most people would have." I sat back down on the bunk's edge.

"The Hendersons used to tell me my nightmares were attention-seeking.

That if I really wanted them to stop, I'd find a way to control them. "

His hands stilled completely. "You were a child processing abandonment trauma."

"I was a problem they didn't want to deal with." The old bitterness rose in my throat. "They made it clear my fear was my responsibility. My burden to carry alone."

"It shouldn't have been."

The quiet conviction in his voice made my breath catch. "Maybe not. But that was the lesson I learned. Trust no one. Need nothing. Keep moving."

"And now?"

I looked at him, really looked at him. At the way he held himself still and patient while I worked through fifteen years of defensive programming.

"Now I'm having a conversation about feelings with an alien soldier who could snap me in half." I almost smiled. "And somehow, that feels like the safest I've been since I was twelve."

"I would never hurt you."

"I know." The admission surprised me with its certainty. "I don't know how, but I do."

"Alix." He said it like a prayer.

"I remember touching you," I said, my face flushing. "Even in my sleep, I remember learning the patterns of your skin. The way it warmed under my fingers."

His traceries pulsed, a faint blush of light under his bronze skin. He was remembering, too.

"I felt safe," I continued, my voice softer now. "Not just protected, but like I belonged somewhere. Like I'd found something I didn't know I was looking for." I leaned forward slightly. "Is that what bonding feels like? Like coming home to a place you've never been?"

"Yes," he said simply. "That's exactly what it feels like."

The weight of his admission settled between us like a bridge I wasn't sure I was ready to cross. Before I could process what that meant, the ship's alert system activated with urgent, repeating chimes.

Crisis was calling. We shared a look—a silent, frustrated acknowledgment that our personal reckoning had been interrupted. Whatever we were becoming would have to wait.

The briefing room was thick with a tension that made the recycled air taste metallic. The crew stood around the central holographic display, the low hum of the life support the only sound.

"I've broken the first layer of encryption on the core," Deyric said, his voice tight. "It's worse than we thought."

The display flickered to life: sterile corridors and glass cells. My stomach dropped. Not just a lab—a prison. Tsekai slumped inside, their traceries dim. Some rocked in corners; others stared blankly at the walls.

"It's not only research data," Deyric continued. "It's documentation of an active weapons development program. Vain isn't just trying to replicate the Tsekai bond—he's trying to weaponize it."

I looked at Ressh. His professional mask had shattered. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, and the traceries along his throat flared with erratic, sickly light. This wasn't data; it was a desecration. He took a half-step back from the display as if the sight had struck him.

"They're torturing them," Jessa's voice was a low, furious snarl. "We burn that facility to the ground. Now."

Thoryn's massive frame vibrated with a low growl. Malrik's feather crest was flat against his skull.

"How many?" Serak asked, his pale eyes mirroring the display's glow.

"At least thirty documented subjects," Deyric replied. "And this is just one facility. Epsilon Facility. It's where they conduct the most... intensive research."

The display shifted to architectural schematics. A fortress.

"We need more intelligence before we move," Jessa said, her fury giving way to practicality. "Location, security protocols, personnel count. We can't go in blind."

"Which brings us to our next problem," Serak said. The display changed to show an elegant, jeweled structure orbiting a gas giant. "Kairos Station. An upscale resort where Vain's corporate backers conduct business."

"It's a challenge," Malrik said. "Their screening protocols are legendary. Bio-signature scanners, pheromonal sniffers, and DNA verification—they scan for everything."

"No fake ID is getting through that net," I added, already running the angles. "A direct assault is suicide. A stealth infiltration... what's our cover?"

"That's the issue," Serak said, his pale eyes finding mine. "Any standard cover will be flagged. We need one that actively discourages investigation." He paused. "We need you and Ressh to pose as a newly bonded Tsekai pair."

The silence in the room was absolute.

"No," I said, the word flat and final. "Absolutely not. It's a trap. You're asking me to walk into a cage and hand them the key."

Ressh flinched, a barely perceptible tightening of his jaw. "Serak," he said, his voice dangerously quiet. "You are asking me to perform a mockery of the most sacred rite my people have. To use it as a tool. It is an obscenity."

"You knew this was a possibility when we first discussed recruiting Alix, when we saw her potential to match with you.

It is our only option," Serak countered, his calm completely different from the raw emotion in the room.

"Violating a Tsekai bonding seal is diplomatic suicide.

Station officials will give you a wide berth. Vain's people won't dare interfere."

"And when their scanners detect that we're not really bonded?" I shot back.

"That's the loophole," Deyric interjected. "Newly bonded pairs are in biological flux. The chemical signatures are still settling. The neural pathways are still forming. Their scanners would expect inconsistencies."

"It's a theory," Malrik muttered. "A theory that gets them dissected if it's wrong."

"It's more complicated than that," Ressh said, his gaze distant. "There are cultural expectations. Behavioral markers. Protective protocols, territorial displays. Anyone familiar with Tsekai customs would spot a fake."

"Meaning we'd have to be convincing," I said, a slow, gnawing dread settling in my stomach.

"Utterly," Serak confirmed.

"Is it really acting?" Jessa asked gently. "You two have already formed a connection. Anyone can see it. The way you move around each other, the way he positions himself to protect you." She looked at me. "You're halfway there already."

Her words hit, and my heart kicked painfully. My jaw tightened. She was right—I’d been running all my life, but somehow I’d already made it halfway to the thing I feared most.

"That's different," I protested, but my voice lacked conviction.

"Is it?" Ressh asked quietly.

I met his gaze and the memory of him chasing away my nightmares, of his promise to never let me be alone, pulsed between us.

Thoryn spoke, his deep voice holding the weight of hard experience. "The risks are considerable. If the deception fails, you will face more than simple imprisonment. The Tsekai consider bond violations a form of identity theft."

"And if we don't try?" I asked, my gaze sweeping over the crew, then landing back on the images of the broken Tsekai on the screen. I saw Ressh's face reflected in the glass, his pain a raw, open wound.

My survival had always depended on running. But running from this meant leaving those people to their fate. It meant leaving him without justice. It meant choosing the old Alix.

"I need to—” I stopped, then tried again. "What would this actually require?"

"Close physical proximity," Serak said. "Shared quarters. Protective behavior that appears instinctive. The bond would be recent enough that some awkwardness would be expected."

"How recent?" Ressh asked.

"A week at most," Deyric supplied. "New bonds are volatile. You'd be expected to be emotionally intense, physically possessive, occasionally overwhelmed by the connection."

"So we act like hormonal teenagers with attachment issues," I said dryly. "What if I freeze up? What if I can't sell it when it matters?"

"The appearance of intimacy can be achieved without crossing lines you don't want to cross," Ressh said, his voice low and directed at me. "We would set the boundaries. Together."

My mind tried, one last time, to look for an exit. But the memory of those cells, and the open honesty on Ressh’s face, left me no place to run.

"Fine," I said, my voice clear. "I'll do it." I looked at Serak. "But we do this my way. And when it's over, you double my fee."

A flicker of a smile touched Serak's lips. Malrik raised a brow, but Thoryn just gave a quiet snort. "Done."

"How long to prepare?" Ressh asked, his tactical mind taking over.

"Forty-eight hours," Serak replied. "We need to be in position before Vain's people arrive on Kairos."

Forty-eight hours. To learn how to fake a soul bond.

I looked at Ressh, at the conflict and pain still warring in his eyes, and a terrifying thought took root.

"Danger I can handle," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "It's the intimacy that terrifies me."

The words hung between us, too honest to take back. But when I met Ressh’s gaze, I wasn’t sure I wanted to.