Page 10 of Stolen By the Wraiths
"You're safe," I said quietly, my voice carrying the natural harmonic frequencies my species used to promote calm. "You're on the Raptor. Nothing can hurt you here."
I allowed my scent to shift toward calming patterns—a biological comfort offered without expectation or demand. The air began to fill with a protective musk, warm and reassuring.
"You're not alone," I continued, watching her thrashing begin to subside as my presence registered even through the nightmare's grip. "I'm here. I won't let anything hurt you. No one will abandon you."
Her breathing began to slow, her muscles relaxing as the nightmare loosened its hold. But just as she settled into what looked like peaceful sleep, her hand shot out with desperate strength.
Her fingers wrapped around my forearm with surprising force. "Don't leave," she whispered, her voice thick with sleep and lingering fear. "Please don't leave me alone."
Her plea landed with devastating force, shattering my composure. I made the conscious decision to allow her claim on me.
"I won't leave," I promised, settling more comfortably on the bunk's edge. "Sleep. I'll stay right here until you wake."
As she drifted deeper into peaceful rest, her grip relaxed but didn't release. Her fingers traced my forearm, following the traceries as if mapping constellations. Wherever she touched, warmth bloomed.
Something deep inside me—older than memory, older than fear—answered:Mine.
ALIX
The bunk was cold. The warmth I’d clung to was gone, the air suddenly thin.
Good, alone is safemy old instincts whispered. But beneath the relief, a new ache pressed in, sharp and unfamiliar.
My hand closed on empty space, my pulse stumbling as memory rushed in: terror, comfort, his presence.
I rolled over, pressing my face into the pillow where his scent still lingered, that warm spice blended with something wild. The aroma was weaker now, fading with each breath, but it was enough to bring back the nightmare. The terror of being fourteen again, discarded like trash. The desperate, childish plea for him not to leave me alone.
And he had stayed.
The simple truth of it left me speechless, and I hated the feeling. Vulnerability was a weakness. In the children's home on Meridian, the kids who showed need were the ones who disappeared into "special programs." I'd learned to sleep light, wake silent, and need nothing.
Yet I'd reached for him in my sleep. My hand, which had been curled on the blanket, clenched into a fist. I rememberedmy fingers tracing the patterns under his skin, learning the shape of him as if I were mapping constellations.
The door hissed open, and I tensed. But when Ressh entered carrying two ration packs, I found myself studying his face instead. There was no judgment in his amber eyes, just a quiet, watchful intensity that saw far too much.
He moved to the small table, placing the ration packs down.
"You left," I said, my voice rough.
His hands stilled. "You were sleeping peacefully. I thought you might prefer to wake alone."
"That's what I'm supposed to want."
"But not what you wanted?" he asked, his voice carefully neutral.
I turned my back, hiding a flush I refused to explain. "Maybe. I don’t know. You’re hard to predict."
"I'm not smug," he said, the wrapper of a ration pack crinkling. "Relieved, perhaps." He didn’t quite meet my eyes.
"Relieved?"
"That you don't regret what happened."
I turned to face him, searching his expression for any sign of manipulation. There was none. Just that maddening, steady honesty.
"The nightmare," I began, needing to understand. "It felt so real. Like I was fourteen again, watching the Hendersons pack my things. Then it changed. The panic just... evaporated." I stood and began to pace the small room. "That was you, wasn't it? Your scent, your presence—it altered the experience. Turned terror into comfort." I stopped and faced him directly. "What did you do to me?"
"You were distressed," he said, meeting my gaze. "I offered what comfort I could."
