Page 9 of Stolen By the Wraiths (Rift Wraiths #1)

"Can you hear that?" I asked Alix quietly.

She shook her head. "The music's masking it."

I focused, letting my Tsekai hearing filter out the ambient noise and zero in on the stressed tones coming from Navarro's table.

His associates, Helena Crask and David Mueller, were leaning in, but Navarro's voice, though low, was sharp with anxiety, cutting through the lounge's carefully constructed privacy.

"The timeline's been accelerated," Navarro was saying, the words now clear to me. "Primary asset needs extraction within thirty-six hours."

I felt a spike of Alix's sharp focus through our bond as I processed the words.

"Security protocols for the facility?" Crask asked, consulting a data pad.

"Enhanced countermeasures," Navarro replied. "The subject has proven more resourceful than anticipated."

The live music shifted to a slower, more sensual melody—a perfect opportunity to discuss this and gather more. I stood and offered my hand.

"Dance with me."

Her smile was radiant, mixing genuine pleasure with professional understanding. "I'd love to."

The dance floor provided the perfect cover. I pulled her close, one hand settling on her lower back while the other captured her fingers. As we moved together, I leaned in, my lips brushing her ear as if whispering romantic promises.

"Navarro's stressed," I murmured, my breath ghosting across her skin. "He said the timeline is accelerated and the 'asset' is resourceful."

As we swayed, my hearing swept the room, picking up threads of other conversations.

"To our left," I continued, "a security contractor is complaining about new facility access codes.

Behind you, a Consortium logistics coordinator is arguing about shipping manifests that can't withstand official scrutiny. "

"So they're moving something valuable, and they're having trouble with security," she whispered back, her body fitting perfectly against mine. "But we still don't know where ."

"Agreed. Crask has the details on that data pad, but we can't get to it from here.

" The scent of her arousal, faint but unmistakable, mixed with the territorial markers I was unconsciously broadcasting.

While we swayed to the music, I allowed my possessive instincts to surface, nuzzling the sensitive skin of her neck to reinforce my scent on her.

It was an act of territorial marking disguised as affection, and she shivered against me, a response that was both for the performance and entirely genuine.

"You're very convincing when you're being protective," she whispered.

"And you're perfect when you accept being claimed," I replied, the response escaping before I could censor it.

By the time the music ended, we had a clear objective and a wealth of supporting intelligence. We returned to our table, the space around us charged with a tension that had little to do with the mission.

"I'm going to freshen up," Alix murmured, her tone holding just the right note of a woman who'd been thoroughly claimed and wanted to compose herself. "And maybe get us some drinks."

I nodded, settling back into my seat to maintain surveillance. It was the perfect cover to get her close to Crask and the data pad.

She moved toward the bar, her gait slightly unsteady in a way that suggested she was affected by our intimate dancing. Perfect cover.

At the bar, Helena Crask stood waiting for her order, slightly swaying from whatever she'd been drinking. The logistics specialist had separated from Navarro's table, her purse resting carelessly on the polished surface beside her elbow while she gestured animatedly to the bartender.

I watched Alix approach, admiring the calculated casualness of her movements. She ordered two drinks, positioning herself just close enough to Crask to seem coincidental. When the bartender turned to prepare the orders, Alix made her move.

It should have been perfect. A simple bump, an apology, and fingers quick as lightning lifting the data chip I could see protruding from Crask's purse. But as Alix stepped back, polite "Sorry" on her lips, the logistics specialist's hand shot out.

"What did you just take?" Crask's voice cut through the ambient noise, drawing attention from nearby patrons.

Alix's expression remained perfectly innocent. "I'm sorry? I just bumped into you."

"I felt you reach into my purse." Crask's voice was getting louder, more aggressive. "Security!"

Every instinct I possessed screamed danger. Our cover was about to be blown in the most public way possible. I stood, my chair scraping against the floor as territorial fury flooded my system.

The crowd between us seemed to part as I moved, my pheromonal field broadcasting lethal intent. Crask took one look at my approaching form and stepped back, her face paling as she registered the level of threat bearing down on her.

"Is there a problem?" My voice was soft, but the threat in it cleared the space between us.

"She—" Crask began, but I cut her off with a look that promised violence.

"My mate bumped into you accidentally," I said, each word precisely enunciated and vibrating with barely controlled rage. "She apologized. What more do you want?"

The territorial display was immediate and overwhelming.

My scent flooded the area around us, carrying chemical signals that every species could interpret: threat, protection, and violence barely held in check.

Crask's fight-or-flight response kicked in hard, her pupils dilating as her body recognized a predator.

"I... I thought..." she stammered, backing away from both of us.

"You thought wrong," I said simply, moving to shield her from the other woman. "Perhaps you should return to your table."

Crask fled, practically running back to Navarro's corner booth while other patrons gave us a wide berth. The bartender finished preparing our drinks, clearly eager to end the interaction.

"Thank you," Alix said softly as we returned to our table, her voice carrying genuine gratitude beneath the performance.

"Always," I replied, though my traceries were still pulsing.

Under the table, she pressed something small and hard into my palm. The data chip. She'd managed to complete the theft even while being confronted.

"Facility coordinates," she whispered, her lips barely moving. "Epsilon Station, Kepler Sector. Security protocols and prisoner manifests."

The missing piece. Everything we needed to mount a rescue operation.

But the mission was becoming secondary to the woman in my arms. The public claiming, her willing acceptance of my territorial behavior, the way she encouraged my protective instincts—all of it was feeding drives that bore no relation to maintaining cover.

The return to our suite felt inevitable. The tension from hours of performance hung between us as the door sealed, creating absolute privacy.

"We should—" Alix started, then her voice caught as I stepped closer. "We should debrief."

"Yes," I agreed, though I made no move to increase distance between us. "We gathered significant intelligence."

"The timeline acceleration is concerning," she continued, but her eyes were focused on my mouth rather than tactical considerations.

"Thirty-six hours gives us a narrow window," I replied, stepping closer until she was backed against the wall.

The pretense of professional necessity evaporated. We both knew what was happening, both understood that we'd crossed a line somewhere between performance and reality.

"This isn't?—"

"No," I said, backing her against the wall. "It's not."

The kiss was inevitable, desperate, a continuation of everything we'd been building toward. My mouth covered hers with hunger I could no longer deny while her hands grabbed my shirt, pulling me closer.

But when she responded, when she arched against me with obvious need, I forced myself to pull back slightly. She deserved better than being taken against a wall in the aftermath of adrenaline.

"Wait," I said, breathing hard. "Are you sure about this?"

She looked at me—really looked at me—and I saw something shift in her expression. Not hesitation, but something deeper. Recognition, maybe. Or acceptance.

"I've been thinking about this all evening," she said, her hands already working at the fastenings of my shirt. "Feeling you mark me, claim me in front of everyone."

Her fingers found the traceries on my chest, tracing the silver patterns. Wherever she touched, heat bloomed, the markings pulsing brighter under her exploration.

"Do you know what that did to me?" she continued, her voice low and dangerous. "Standing there, letting you scent-mark me like I belonged to you?"

"Alix—"

"It made me wet," she said bluntly, her hand sliding down to cup me through my pants. I groaned at the contact, my hips jerking involuntarily. "Feeling everyone's eyes on us, knowing they could smell your claim on me."

She squeezed gently, and rational thought scattered. "I want you to touch me," she said, guiding my hand to the waistband of her pants. "I want to feel those hands on my skin, not through fabric."

When my fingers slipped beneath the material and found her slick heat, she moaned—a sound of pure satisfaction that went straight to my groin.

"God, yes," she gasped, her hips moving against my touch. "I've been aching for this."

Her boldness was intoxicating. This wasn't surrender—she claimed me as fiercely as I claimed her. Her hands tore at my belt, her breath stuttering as my fingers drew helpless sounds from her throat.

"Tell me what you want," I demanded, my thumb circling the sensitive bundle of nerves that made her cry out.

"I want to come on your fingers," she said without hesitation, her eyes blazing with need. "And then I want you inside me."

The raw honesty of her desire nearly undid me. She was close, trembling on the edge, her body tightening around my fingers when the urgent comm from the Raptor shattered the moment, cutting through the suite's tranquility like a blade.

I stilled, jaw clenched so tight it ached. Every instinct screamed to ignore the comm, but I forced my hand to activate it.

"Ressh, respond immediately," Serak's voice carried the urgency of imminent danger. “You’ve got to get out. Now.”