Page 13 of Stolen By the Wraiths
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.
RESSH
Kairos 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. Theline 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 theirnegotiations 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.
