Chapter 9
Ellie
Rickon flew through the night until the first hints of dawn appeared on the horizon, turning the sky from inky dark to gray. Oddly, I dozed, wrapped in his arms. He did run hot, it felt like being cuddled up against my own personal heater.
"Do you think this area will suffice?" Rickon jerked his chin toward a patch of forest up ahead. "There are no humans around for miles that I can sense."
Since I knew his senses were well beyond us mere humans, I gave a nod in accord.
I gazed down at the area below, taking in the sprawling canopy of trees that stretched out in every direction.
Through breaks in the foliage, I could make out a small lake glinting in the pre-dawn light, its surface smooth as glass.
A few clearings dotted the landscape here and there, natural breaks in the dense woodland, but there wasn't a single sign of civilization—no roads, no power lines, no rooftops.
Just miles and miles of untouched forest. It was perfect.
Based on the amount of time we'd been flying, I suspected we were in Ohio, perhaps Eastern Indiana.
I issued a snort of disdain at my pondering. I was the freaking president, for crying out loud. Shouldn't I know more about US geography?
Rickon angled toward a clearing set within a circle of pines, his wings adjusting with subtle shifts that I felt through his body.
The descent was smooth, controlled. Nothing like the stomach-dropping plummet I half-expected.
He banked slightly, circling once to survey the landing spot, then began his final approach.
The ground rushed up to meet us, but there was no jarring impact, no stumbling.
His feet touched down on the grass with barely a whisper of sound, his powerful legs absorbing the landing.
His wings gave one final flex before folding against his back, and then we were simply standing in the clearing, dawn breaking around us.
Not once during the entire night had I felt unsafe. Not even for a second.
"I think that was the best flight I've ever had," I half-teased as Rickon helped me out of the harness. "Even better than Air Force One."
Rickon grinned at that, a genuine smile that transformed his entire face. The expression softened the hard edges of his faux human features, made his eyes crinkle at the corners, and revealed a dimple I hadn't noticed before. God, he was handsome when he smiled like that.
The thought hit me with unexpected force, followed immediately by a flutter low in my belly that I absolutely did not want to acknowledge. Heat crept up my neck as I realized I was staring at him like some star-struck teenager.
I looked away quickly, busying myself with brushing imaginary wrinkles from my clothes.
This was ridiculous. I'd put that part of myself on a shelf when I became president—there simply wasn't room for it anymore.
Oh sure, there had been some tingles here and there.
Seriously, was there a single heterosexual woman alive who wouldn't get all tingly when meeting Brad Pitt?
But this felt different. More immediate. More dangerous.
I pushed the feeling aside firmly. He was just protecting me on this mission. That was all this was. Professional. Necessary. Nothing more.
We busied ourselves emptying the duffle and setting up camp, working in tandem like we'd done it all our lives.
The clearing Rickon had chosen was perfect.
A small, flat area nestled between towering pines, with a natural windbreak of boulders on one side.
A thick layer of pine needles carpeted the ground, cushioning the earth and insulating from the cold.
Through the gaps in the canopy above, I could see the sky beginning to lighten even more, though sunrise was still at least an hour away.
We were deep in the wilderness, miles from any hiking trail or road. I heard the distant rush of water, probably a creek or small river, but otherwise the forest was eerily quiet. No traffic sounds. No voices.
I hoped we were far enough from any ranger stations or early-morning hikers.
The camp stove would produce some smoke, and while it wouldn't be much, even a thin wisp rising above the treeline could draw unwanted attention.
The last thing I needed was some well-meaning forest ranger or curious backpacker stumbling onto the President of the United States camping in the middle of nowhere with a seven-foot-tall alien disguised as a human.
I glanced over to said alien studying the directions for setting up the tent.
I blinked, making sure my eyes were focused enough to see correctly. Rickon was reading the directions. Actually reading the English instructions printed on the side of the tent bag.
"Wait," I said, moving closer. "Can you read English?"
He looked up, those dark eyes meeting mine with what might have been amusement. "Yes."
"How?" The question came out sharp, but I was genuinely shocked. We'd been communicating just fine, but I'd assumed that was due to some kind of translation technology. Reading was different. Reading required understanding not just spoken language but also written symbols, grammar, and syntax.
"I learned it," he said simply, turning his attention back to the instructions. He pulled out one of the tent poles and began fitting it together.
"But—how?" I watched him work, my mind racing, curiosity nearly making me giddy.
"Did you learn it on your ship? Do you have some kind of.
.. I don't know, download capability or something?
" Scenes from the Matrix, where one of the main characters learned to fly a helicopter with the press of a button, flashed in my head.
"The human females aboard the Historia," he said, not looking up from his task. "They taught many of us. English is the most common language among them, so we learned both the spoken and written forms."
I stood there like an idiot, just staring at him. Of course. He'd mentioned the human females mated to his crewmen.
"That's…." I struggled for words. "That's really impressive. I thought you were speaking through a translation device."
This time he glanced up, and I could swear there was a hint of pride in his expression. It made something warm unfurl in my chest, seeing him pleased by my reaction.
"No, I studied hard to learn your language," he added. "Though my accent is still... imperfect."
"Your accent is fine," I said automatically, then felt my cheeks heat.
Actually, he didn't have much of an accent at all, just a hint that might make someone think he was originally from somewhere in eastern Europe.
Was I seriously complimenting an alien on his English pronunciation?
"I mean, it's good. Really good. I just didn't realize. ..."
I trailed off, feeling oddly flustered. It shouldn't matter that he could read and write English. Granted, it changed nothing about our situation. But somehow it felt significant. Like another layer of the differences between us had peeled away.
Finished with the tent setup, Rickon straightened, brushing his hands off. "I will gather wood for the stove. You should rest."
"I can help set up inside," I offered, not quite ready to be useless.
He nodded, already moving toward the tree line with that otherworldly grace of his, wings tucked close against his back. I watched him go for a moment longer than necessary before ducking into the tent.
The interior was surprisingly spacious, or it would have been if we weren't sharing it.
I eyed the dimensions critically, doing the math in my head.
With the wood stove and our sleeping bags laid out, we'd be close.
Really close. The kind of close where I'd probably be able to feel the heat radiating off his body all night.
A fact that did not upset me nearly as much as it should have.
I swallowed hard and focused on unpacking our gear, arranging things as efficiently as possible.
Sleeping bags on opposite sides. Packs near the entrance.
The small wood stove in the middle. I emptied the duffel, pulling out MRE's for us to eat and finding the small hatchet I'd packed.
A hatchet Rickon would need for gathering firewood.
I stepped out of the tent, the early morning air biting at my exposed skin.
Frost clung to every surface, the grass, the bare branches overhead.
It glittered in the weak sunlight filtering through the trees, beautiful and unforgiving.
There was no snowfall like back in Washington, but it was cold enough that my breath misted in front of my face.
I found Rickon near a cluster of dead trees. He'd selected a small one, maybe ten feet tall, and as I watched, gripped it near the base and simply... snapped it. The crack echoed through the quiet morning like a gunshot.
My jaw dropped. He broke the tree into sections with the same casual ease I'd use to snap a matchstick, reducing it to firewood in seconds.
"Jesus," I muttered.
He glanced over, arms full of wood. "Is this sufficient?"
"Yeah. That's... yeah, that's plenty." I shook my head, still processing what I'd just witnessed. "Remind me never to arm wrestle you."
The corner of his mouth twitched—almost a smile. "Noted."
We got the stove running without much difficulty, and soon blessed heat began to fill the small tent. I dug out the camp kettle and filled it with water from one of our bottles, setting it on the stove to heat.
The MRE breakfast skillet wasn't exactly gourmet.
Scrambled eggs with bacon and peppers that had the texture of something that had been freeze-dried and reconstituted, because that's exactly what it was.
But I was hungry enough to ignore the taste, and the hot food helped chase away the lingering chill.
Rickon ate his portion methodically, then looked at my half-finished meal with obvious interest.
"You want the rest?" I asked, amused.
"If you are finished."