Page 33 of Stolen By the Wraiths
She took a shaky breath, steadying herself. "Hold still," she murmured, her voice husky with want she wasn't bothering to hide. "I'm going to get you out of here, and then..."
"Then what?" I demanded.
"Then I'm going to let you show me exactly how grateful you are," she said with that dangerous smile that made heat pool in my belly. "How thoroughly you intend to reclaim what's yours."
The promise sent fire through my veins. I looked at her, fierce and victorious despite her exhaustion, and knew the claiming that was to come would be devastating.
"There," she whispered, her fingers dancing across the device's final protocols. Her hands were steady now, absolute focus replacing doubt. "In three... two... one..."
The suppressor collar sparked and died under her manipulation, and suddenly the world exploded back into brilliant, overwhelming color.
Our bond roared to life, flooding my nervous system with her presence, her emotions, and her absolute certainty that we belonged to each other. Getting her back was more than relief—it was overwhelming.
But the restoration was more than relief—it was sensory overload that bordered on euphoria. Every suppressed sensation hit simultaneously: her scent filling my lungs like intoxication, her emotional state flowing into me like shared consciousness, and her body's desperate response to my proximity.
Her heart was racing. Her skin was flushing with heat. Dampness was gathering between her thighs as her body remembered what it felt like to be thoroughly claimed.
"Holy hell," she whispered, swaying as the full connection snapped back. "I'd forgotten how overwhelming this is. How complete."
I caught her against my chest before she could fall, and the contact was like touching live current. Her hands moved over me frantically—not with wonder, but with possessive need, confirming I was real and whole. Her fingers traced the silver lines along my chest, and the traceries glowed warm beneath her touch, proving our bond had survived.
Her scent surrounded me—familiar base notes now layered with determination, competence, and a need so intense it made rational thought difficult. She fit perfectly against me, soft curves yielding to hard muscle, her body recognizing mine despite hours of forced separation.
"You brilliant, deadly woman," I growled against her hair, breathing in the scent that meant home and safety and everything worth fighting for. "What you just accomplished—escaping, reaching me when this place was designed to break people like us?—"
"Later," she interrupted, but her satisfaction at my praise was warmth that spread through me. "Right now, we need tomove. I've got their security eating itself alive, but it won't last forever."
"How long do we have?"
"Fifteen minutes before they restore primary protocols," she replied, pulling out a comm device. "But we're not just escaping."
She activated the comm, and Serak's voice crackled through. "Status report."
"Ressh is secure, but we have a bigger problem," she said, her voice taking on the crisp efficiency I found intoxicating. "This place is holding 43 prisoners. All bonded pairs or individuals, being systematically tortured. I've seen the detention levels—we can't leave them."
A pause. "Forty-three additional extractions?"
"I know it changes everything, but I won't abandon them to this." Her determination flowed into me through the bond, absolute and unshakeable. "Can the shuttle handle that many?"
"Negative. We'll need the Raptor itself." Serak's voice carried the weight of rapid calculation. "Malrik, plot a course for direct facility approach. Jessa, coordinate medical support for trauma victims. Thoryn, prepare for potential combat extraction."
"Understood," Alix said. "I'm uploading facility schematics and prisoner locations now. Detention levels two and three, maximum security."
"How long until you can reach the prisoners?" Serak asked.
"Ten minutes to detention level two. But their security is about to realize what's happening."
"We'll be in position," Serak confirmed. "Make it fast."
Alix closed the comm and looked at me, her eyes blazing with purpose. "Ready to free some prisoners?"
"Lead the way," I said, meaning every word. "I'll follow you anywhere."
We moved through the facility corridors, the restored bond providing perfect coordination. Her emotional state was an open book now—I could read her intentions in the way she moved, the subtle shifts in her scent that told me her plans before she acted. When she needed cover to access a security terminal, I was already in position. When I required a distraction to eliminate guards, she created it without being asked.
But more than coordination was the constant awareness of each other's physical and emotional state. Her excitement ran along my nerves like electricity. Our perfect harmony was its own kind of foreplay.
"Left corridor," she whispered, consulting her makeshift schematic. "Two guards, standard patrol. I'll disable their weapons while you handle close combat."
