Page 31 of Stolen By the Wraiths
The separation had been agony. I would make sure our reunion was an apocalypse for anyone standing in our way.
ALIX
The detention cell was built to hold beings who could tear through steel with their bare hands. Seamless walls, electromagnetic locks, and environmental controls that could contain species I'd never heard of.
What my captors didn't understand was that I'd spent fifteen years learning how everything worked.
My first lesson in survival, courtesy of the Meridian system: understand the machine better than its operators. Foster families reinforced that through years of broken promises and unstable housing. By the time I aged out, I could bypass any security system, pick any lock, and disappear from any situation that threatened my safety.
My captors, in their smug certainty, thought they'd captured a helpless human female dependent on her alien mate. They'd processed me like a secondary asset, searched me with standard protocols, and locked me in a cell designed for enhanced strength or exotic abilities.
They had no idea what they were dealing with.
The separation from Ressh was agony that went beyond physical pain. Twelve hours. Twelve hours since they'd torn us apart, and every minute felt like drowning in broken glass. Mybody ached for him—his scent, his hands, his voice growling my name while he claimed me completely. The phantom weight of his touch was constant torment, the memory of him driving into me while I screamed his name now a cruel echo.
But underneath the biochemical withdrawal was something they couldn't suppress: the bond itself. Damaged, suppressed by whatever tech they'd used, but not broken. It provided just enough connection to know he was alive. More than alive—fighting. And waiting for me to prove I was worthy of the claiming he'd given me.
I pressed my hand against the cold wall, feeling for the warmth that meant he was in this direction. The bond couldn't carry thoughts or clear communication, but it worked like a compass their technology couldn't jam. His emotions bled through in fragments. Pain. Rage. Determination.
And underneath it all, pride. He’d believed I'd come for him.
That faith sent heat pooling in my core despite our circumstances. Even separated and tortured, he saw me as his equal, his partner worth fighting for. The knowledge drove me forward—I had to reach him.
"Time to go get my mate," I whispered to the empty cell.
The possessive certainty in those words sent fresh heat through my veins.
The fake skin patch on my spine itched where I'd peeled it away. Medical camouflage designed to mimic old scar tissue—a Meridian black market special. Three components smaller than my thumbnail: wire filament, a basic circuit interface, and a power cell. Not much, but it was a start. They'd searched me thoroughly—standard protocols for a known data thief—but medical camouflage designed to look like old scar tissue had fooled their scanners.
The magnetic lock was sophisticated but standardized. Corporate executives loved impressive tech that followedpredictable patterns. I worked the wire into the access panel, feeling for the manual override that regulations required but installers always buried.
Each minute felt like a year. Ten minutes gone. Fifteen.
The panel stuck halfway open, metal grinding like it was protesting my escape. I clenched my teeth, braced my foot against the frame, and shoved. For one terrible second, I thought I'd have to retreat—then the old Meridian trick worked, the panel sliding just enough.
Finally—the lock disengaged with a satisfying click. The door slid open just enough for me to slip through.
My captors had made their first fatal mistake—underestimating the woman they'd separated from her mate.
The facility's layout was burned into memory from our brief infiltration, but more importantly, the bond provided direction no schematic could match. Ressh's presence was like heat in a cold room, distant but definite, calling me through layers of metal and security.
The air reeked of chemicals and sterile cleansers, cold sweat on my back as I navigated corridors that hummed with sterile efficiency.
For a heartbeat, doubt cracked my resolve. What if I was too late? What if the suppressor had done permanent damage?
No. He was alive. The bond pulsed with pain and fury, but it was there. He was waiting for me.
I reached the first maintenance junction ten minutes after leaving my cell. The access panel took longer to crack—better security, more complex wiring—but the components I'd started with were enough to bridge the connections I needed.
Inside was a treasure trove: diagnostic cables, backup power cells, and interface chips for system communication. I stripped components quickly, building a proper intrusion kit from scavenged materials. Twenty years of corporate security, andthey'd never considered that prisoners might know how to turn their own maintenance systems into weapons.
My fingers flew over the makeshift interface, uploading programs I'd memorized years ago. Nothing obviously destructive—just subtle degradations that would cascade into larger failures. Environmental controls fluctuating. Communication delays. Security camera loops that would give me windows of invisibility.
"Starting early retirement procedures," I murmured, watching the code propagate through their network like digital cancer.
The facility was turning against itself. Bureaucratic efficiency crumbling because they'd never imagined their victims might fight back.
I moved deeper into the complex, following the pull of the bond through corridors that grew progressively more secure. Echoes of his pain bled through our damaged connection, but underneath the agony was deep, possessive resonance that vibrated through our strained connection. Pride. The contentment of a predator whose chosen partner was proving just as deadly as he was. That feeling, whether his or my own hope, gave me strength.
