Page 34 of Stolen By the Wraiths
I watched her assess the situation—not through shared thoughts, but through the way she positioned herself, the focused intensity in her scent. But underneath the professional analysis was something personal: satisfaction at working as a true team, anticipation of the claiming that would follow our escape.
"Now," she said, and we moved.
The coordination was flawless. She triggered an electromagnetic pulse that disabled their weapons while I closed distance with enhanced speed. What made it brutal wasn't just our individual skills—it was the way we moved as a single organism with shared consciousness.
Her position was always clear to me, even with my back turned. I knew when she needed me to duck, when she required technical support, all through the emotional feedback of our restored bond. When the guards fell without raising an alarm, overwhelmed by opponents who fought as one entity, her arousal spiked as she watched me move.
"Beautiful," she murmured, and I felt exactly what she meant. Not the violence, but our perfect resonance.
"You're beautiful," I replied, catching her against me for a quick kiss that tasted like victory and promises. "Deadly, brilliant, mine."
"Always yours," she confirmed against my lips. "But right now, I'm your partner. Your equal."
The distinction mattered. Not just my mate to protect, but my equal to fight beside—someone who enhanced my abilities rather than creating weakness. The knowledge sent heat racing through me.
We reached the detention level ten minutes later, encountering two more security teams that learned about underestimating bonded pairs. Each engagement was swift, silent, devastating—our coordination improving as the bond provided real-time feedback.
But when the elevator doors opened, revealing the horror of the detention level, even our shared fury wasn't enough preparation.
Tsekai males with traceries faded to gray lifelessness. Akaruun pairs forcibly separated until their energy patterns barely registered as living. Species I didn't recognize, all bearing marks of psychological warfare designed to destroy every meaningful connection they possessed.
"Monsters," Alix whispered, her fury flowing into me like fire. "Absolute fucking monsters."
Her determination crystallized into something implacable. She wasn't just rescuing prisoners—she was declaring war on everyone responsible for this place.
"Can you override the security protocols?" I asked.
"Already working on it." Her fingers flew over the master control interface while I provided cover. "Sixty seconds and we'll have them all free."
I felt her satisfaction as the systems bent to her will, security protocols crumbling under her assault. She was furious and competent, and watching her work sent heat through me despite our horrific surroundings.
The prisoners' liberation was swift but careful—many were barely conscious, broken by months of systematic torture. But as cell doors opened throughout the detention level, broken beings found strength in freedom.
One Tsekai male, his traceries barely visible gray lines, looked up at Alix with recognition that slammed into me. Not just gratitude—desperate hope, as if she were salvation itself made manifest. She knelt beside him for a moment, her hand gentle on his shoulder, and I felt her rage crystallize into something unbreakable.
"This way," she called, standing with renewed purpose, guiding confused prisoners toward emergency exits while I eliminated remaining security. "Transport is waiting."
But as we moved the last group toward the exit, proximity alarms began blaring throughout the facility. The orderly evacuation was about to become something else entirely.
"Company," I said grimly, checking the corridor while hyperaware of her warmth against my side.
The hangar bay doors were already open when we arrived, emergency lighting strobing across a scene of controlled chaos. The Raptor hung in space beyond the atmospheric barrier, its loading ramp extended. But between us and escape stood Dr. Hessler with a squad of heavily armed security personnel.
"My test subjects," she said, her calm more chilling than any rage. "You're destroying years of research."
"Research?" Alix stepped forward, her fury making the air feel charged. "You call torture research?"
"I call it evolution," Hessler replied. "Natural bonding is primitive, inefficient. What I'm developing will perfect theprocess—controlled connections without the mess of genuine emotion."
"You're describing slavery," I said, the pieces clicking into place. "Turning love into a weapon."
"I'm describing improvement." Her smile was cold. "Your chaotic emotional attachment makes you weak, vulnerable. My subjects will demonstrate controlled bonding—all the benefits without the exploitable attachment."
"Your subjects?" Alix's voice carried dangerous edge. "These are people. Living beings with the right to choose their own connections."
"They're research materials," Hessler corrected. "And I'm not letting you contaminate my data by removing them prematurely."
Her security team raised their weapons. "Open fire! Don't let them?—"
