Page 32 of Stolen By the Wraiths
When we were reunited, he was going to claim me again. The thought of his hands on my body, his mouth branding my throat, his voice growlingminewhile he reminded me exactly who I belonged to—anticipation flooded me despite our circumstances.
The knowledge that he wanted me more for this—this competence, this danger—was almost as addictive as the bond itself. This was true partnership: two strong individuals choosing to fight for each other, rewarded for that strength with claiming so thorough it redefined existence.
I closed the security interface and moved toward detention, guided by bond-sense growing stronger with each step. The facility's chaos was my camouflage, their overconfidence my weapon, and their torture of innocents my motivation.
The corridors grew more secure as I approached high-value detention where they held Ressh. Not just locked doors but military barriers designed to contain beings who could tear through standard materials. The security was impressive, professional, and about to be useless against someone they'd never bothered to understand.
I reached a ventilation grate providing access to the final corridor and paused to feel for his presence. Closer now. So close I could almost taste his scent, almost feel the electric touch that would restore our connection. My body answered his proximity with shameless need—heat between my thighs, skin hypersensitive, every nerve ending screaming for contact.
The thought of touching him again, feeling those traceries warming under my hands while he growled possessive promises, made focus nearly impossible. My need went beyond rescue into territory that was purely about a female wanting her male.
Between us lay the most heavily guarded section, and removing whatever suppressor they'd used would require getting close enough to touch. The next phase wouldn't be stealth and sabotage. It would be direct action proving exactly how dangerous a woman could be when separated from her mate.
I pulled my improvised tools from their hiding places and checked security feeds one last time, noting guard rotations, camera blind spots, and electromagnetic barriers that would unlock the moment I convinced their systems I had proper authorization.
Time to remind Dr. Hessler's team that love wasn't just a chemical reaction they could study and control. It was aforce that transcended their technology, adapted to overcome barriers, and grew stronger under pressure.
I reached the final access point and prepared to drop into the corridor leading to Ressh's cell. In minutes, I would touch him again, restore our connection, and show these researchers a practical demonstration. They'd studied the weakness of our bond; now they'd experience its strength.
But first, I was going to show them what happened when you tortured a woman's mate and expected her to accept it quietly.
RESSH
The 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."
