Page 8 of Stolen By the Wraiths (Rift Wraiths #1)

K airos Station unfolded before us like a jeweled crown suspended in space, its flowing curves and polished surfaces speaking of serious wealth and influence.

The docking bay alone cost more than most ships. The kind of place where the galactic elite conducted business they preferred to keep off official records.

Crystal formations embedded in the walls caught and refracted light in patterns that shifted as we moved, creating an almost hypnotic atmosphere of opulence.

Service droids glided between arriving ships, their movements coordinated to ensure no delays and no reasons for important people to become annoyed.

"Documentation," the security officer requested as we disembarked, his tone polite but professional. He was human, middle-aged, a career diplomat who'd learned to navigate treacherous waters without making waves. His uniform bore the insignia of Treaty Station authority. Neutral, respected.

Expensive. Hopefully too expensive to bribe.

I handed over our fabricated credentials while positioning Alix slightly behind me, one hand resting on her lower back in a claiming touch.

The contact sent warmth through my palm.

The line between performance and reality was thin now.

My body warmed, broadcasting territorial markers anyone with enhanced senses would pick up.

The officer's scanner beeped softly. He blinked as our false identities registered, becoming more respectful and definitely more cautious.

"Tsekai bonding documentation," he noted, and his posture changed. More deferential, more careful. "Welcome to Kairos Station. Your suite in the residence quarter will be prepared according to cultural requirements."

"Privacy protocols?" I asked, allowing a slight edge into my voice while letting my scent carry undertones of barely controlled aggression.

"Completely honored, of course. Bonding customs are protected under Treaty law." He stepped back, his body responding to chemical signals his conscious mind couldn't interpret. "Station services are at your disposal, but non-essential contact will be minimized as requested."

Exactly as Serak had predicted. The cover was working flawlessly, creating the perfect combination of fear and respect wrapped in inter-species diplomatic courtesy.

As we walked through the station's main concourse, I kept my hand firmly on Alix's back, guiding her through crowds of wealthy travelers while my heightened senses tracked every face, every conversation, every potential threat. The protective positioning was becoming instinctual.

It should have concerned me.

Instead I reveled in it.

Mine. She was mine.

Other species gave us space without being obvious about it.

Humans found reasons to examine merchandise in different directions, Zephyrians suddenly became fascinated by architectural details, and even Vorth merchants relocated their negotiations to different corridors.

All unconscious responses to the territorial markers I was broadcasting.

"Impressive setup," Alix murmured as we passed an elaborate fountain surrounded by rare jeweled formations. "No wonder Vain's people conduct business here."

"Neutral territory, diplomatic protection, and enough luxury to make anyone feel important," I agreed quietly. "Perfect for illegal operations masquerading as legitimate business."

But my attention wasn't entirely on mission analysis. The way she leaned slightly into my touch, how naturally she moved alongside my guidance—it was becoming harder to distinguish between performance and genuine response. Both from her and from myself.

The guest quarters assigned to us occupied the station's most secure level, accessible only through biometric checkpoints and enhanced privacy screens.

Our suite was luxurious but clearly designed for species that valued both comfort and security.

Sound dampening, electronic countermeasures, and environmental controls that could accommodate various atmospheric requirements.

"How long before we move on the primary objective?" Alix asked as the door sealed behind us.

"Three hours. Enough time to acclimate and let the evening crowd develop.

" I moved to the security console, running standard counter-surveillance protocols while processing mission parameters.

"The Kairos Lounge serves dinner from 1900 to 2300 hours.

Peak business discussions occur between 2000 and 2200. "

But underneath the professional assessment, something else was building.

The public claiming behaviors at security, the constant physical contact during our walk, the way she'd naturally positioned herself to accept my protective stance—all of it was feeding instincts I'd spent years learning to suppress.

She wasn't just playing a role anymore. The realization sent heat through my traceries.

"We should review the behavioral protocols," she said, settling into one of the suite's chairs. "Make sure we're selling this properly."

"Agreed." I remained standing, needing the movement to manage the tension building in my system. "Newly bonded pairs exhibit specific patterns. Frequent unconscious physical contact. Heightened protective responses from the male. Increased scent-marking behavior."

"Scent-marking?" Her eyebrow arched in that way that always made my pulse quicken.

"Territorial claiming through pheromonal output." I kept my voice clinical, professional. "The male marks his mate's scent, creating chemical signatures that warn other males away."

"How thorough is this marking?"

The question caught me off guard. There was something in her tone—curiosity mixed with challenge—that made my control waver.

"Very," I said carefully. "It involves close physical contact. Nuzzling, breathing against the skin, allowing scent to transfer through proximity."

"Show me."

Two words that nearly shattered what remained of my restraint. She stood, moving closer, and I caught her scent, that clean, sharp fragrance that had been driving me to distraction for days.

"Alix." Her name came out rougher than intended.

"If we're going to sell this, I need to know what it feels like." She stepped closer, within arm's reach. "Otherwise I'll react like it's foreign when someone's watching."

Logical. Practical. Absolutely necessary for mission success.

A trial for every shred of self-control I had left.

"The male typically approaches from behind or beside," I said, moving to demonstrate while every instinct screamed at me to close the distance completely. "Like this."

I positioned myself behind her, not quite touching but close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from my body. Her scent intensified, carrying notes of arousal that made my traceries pulse.

"The scent transfer requires skin contact," I continued, my voice low. "Usually here." I indicated her throat without touching. "Or here." The curve where her neck met her shoulder.

"Do it," she said simply.

I snapped.

I leaned in, letting my breath ghost across the sensitive skin of her neck.

Her scent flooded my senses, electric and alive, a pulse beneath my skin.

My body responded before I could stop it.

When I nuzzled against her throat, allowing my pheromones to mark her skin, a soft sound escaped her that went straight to my core.

"Like this?" she asked, breathless.

"Yes." The word was barely human. My hands came up to rest on her shoulders, steadying both of us as I continued the territorial marking. "The scent will linger for hours. Anyone with enhanced senses will know you're claimed."

She leaned back against my chest, her body fitting perfectly against mine. "And what about me? How do I respond to this?"

"However feels natural," I said, my lips still against her skin. "Newly bonded females often seek their mate's scent during stress. They position themselves for protection, accept territorial behavior, encourage physical contact."

"Like this?" She turned in my arms, her face tilted up toward mine, close enough that I could see gold flecks in her eyes.

The space between us was electric. This wasn't practice anymore, it was something else entirely, something dangerous and necessary and completely outside mission parameters.

"Exactly like that," I said, my voice raw with need I could no longer disguise.

The moment stretched between us, loaded with possibility and danger in equal measure. Then the quarters unit chimed, announcing the arrival of our luggage, breaking the spell.

She stepped back, cheeks flushed and breathing unsteady. "That was... thorough."

"The territorial response is quite comprehensive," I managed, though my own breathing wasn't entirely steady either.

"Right. For the mission." But there was something in her eyes that suggested she wasn't entirely convinced either.

An hour later, we made our way to the Kairos Lounge. The establishment exceeded our intelligence reports in both elegance and acoustic design.

Dim lighting created intimate pockets of privacy while live music provided natural sound masking. Discrete alcoves lined the walls, each equipped with privacy screens for sensitive conversations.

I guided Alix to a central table, clear sight lines to our targets' preferred sections, my hand maintaining constant contact. The gesture felt completely natural now, an extension of the territorial claiming we'd practiced in our suite.

"Remember," I murmured as we settled into our seats, "bonded pairs maintain regular physical contact. It reinforces the chemical bond."

"Of course," she replied, leaning into my touch. "I couldn't imagine being anywhere else."

The words hit harder than they should have, carrying conviction that went beyond performance.

Our first actionable intelligence came within thirty minutes. Roth Navarro—one of Vain's primary financial coordinators—occupied a corner table, his privacy screen activated. But the man was agitated, his voice carrying just enough to be a faint murmur beneath the music.