Chapter 11 #2
Rickon made quick work of getting the fire going.
Within minutes, flames crackled behind the small glass window, and heat began to radiate through the tent.
The difference was immediate and glorious.
My fingers started to tingle as feeling returned to them—painful at first, then almost pleasant.
I could finally stop clenching my jaw against the shivers that had become so constant I'd almost forgotten they weren't normal.
Even though the cold faded from inside the tent, the wind was absolutely insane. Each gust sounded like something alive and angry, trying to tear us from our shelter and fling us back into the frozen wilderness. To the wolves.
I busied myself digging through the supplies, pulling out a couple of MREs.
Normally, I'd be more particular about what I ate—occupational hazard of having a White House chef—but right now I didn't care if it tasted like cardboard as long as it was warm.
I tore open the packages and got the heating elements going, then set about making tea with the small camping kettle.
The domestic normalcy of it all felt surreal. Making dinner in a tent with an alien warrior after being attacked by wolves while a blizzard raged outside. Just another Tuesday.
Rickon watched me work, and I became hyperaware of every movement. The tent had warmed up enough so that I could finally unzip my parka, and I caught his gaze tracking the motion, lingering on the exposed skin of my throat.
Yep. I was definitely in trouble.
A particularly violent gust slammed into the tent, and I jumped, nearly dropping the kettle.
"Easy," Rickon said, his deep voice somehow cutting through the shrieking tent. "The tent will hold."
"I know," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. Another blast hit, making the tent walls bow inward, and I flinched again despite myself.
Rickon tilted his head, studying me with those intense dark chocolate eyes. "You are afraid of the storm."
"I'm not…." I started, then stopped. What was the point in lying? "Okay, maybe a little. It's just so loud. So violent. And those wolves didn't help in the least."
"When I was a youngling," he said, settling back against the tent wall, possibly in an attempt to keep it from undulating like a stripper on a pole, "I got caught in a sandstorm on the Kethara Plains.
I had wandered too far from my clan's encampment, chasing a herd of wild kresh.
I thought I was a great hunter." His mouth quirked in what might have been amusement. "I was foolish."
I found myself moving closer, drawn in by his voice, by the rare glimpse into his past. "What happened?"
"The storm came from nowhere, as they do in the dry season. The sand felt like blades against my skin, and I could not see my own hands before my face. I found shelter in a rock formation, barely a cave, just an overhang. I stayed there for two days while the storm raged."
"Two days? You must have been terrified."
"I was." He met my eyes, and I saw the memory of that fear in them. "But the fear passed. I learned that storms, no matter how fierce, always end. And I learned that sometimes the only thing to do is wait them out in whatever shelter you can find."
The wind howled again, but this time I didn't jump. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"
"Is it working?"
I laughed despite myself. "Maybe a little."
We ate in companionable silence, the MREs tasting better than they had any right to.
The tea helped too, warming me from the inside out.
But as the minutes ticked by, I became increasingly aware of the tension building in the small space between us.
Every time Rickon moved, every time his gaze lingered on me, I felt it like a physical touch, like electricity crackling across my skin.
Maybe it was just the adrenaline coursing through my system.
The storm, the wolves, the worry of what Declan was doing while wearing my skin.
It had to be messing with my head, making everything feel more intense and immediate.
That's what happened after near-death experiences, right?
Your body flooded with chemicals, your senses heightened, everything became sharper and more vivid than it should be.
That had to be why I couldn't stop looking at him. Why every movement he made seemed loaded with meaning. Why the air between us felt thick enough to cut with a knife.
It was just biology. Just my brain trying to process trauma by latching onto the nearest source of safety and comfort. Nothing more.
Except... I'd been in dangerous situations before. I'd had close calls, especially after becoming president. And I'd never felt like this. Like my skin was too tight, like I might crawl out of it if he didn't touch me soon.
He was so damn beautiful, even with the cuddwisg making him look human. The strong line of his jaw, the way his hair fell across his forehead, those eyes that seemed to see right through me. And knowing what was underneath—the real him, all that strength and otherness—only made it worse.
Or better. I wasn't sure anymore.
I tried to focus on cleaning up our meal, but my hands were shaking, and it had nothing to do with the cold. When I reached for his empty MRE package at the same moment he did, our fingers brushed, and I felt the contact all the way down to my toes.
"Ellie," he said, his voice rough.
I glanced up at him, and the intensity in his gaze stole my breath. We were so close in the small tent, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body, could smell the faint scent of him, something wild and clean, like pine and snow and something else, something uniquely him.
I couldn't take it anymore. The question that had been burning in my mind burst into flames and rushed from my lips like a backdraft.
"Why did you kiss me?"
Rickon went very still. For a long moment, he didn't answer, and I wondered if I'd made a mistake. Then he spoke, his voice low and careful.
"Gudari do not kiss," he said. "It is not something we do. But I have seen it many times with my comrades and their human mates." He paused, and something flickered in his eyes. Something vulnerable and raw. "I wanted to try it. Especially with you."
My heart was pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it over the wind. "Especially with me?"
"Yes." The word was almost a growl. "From the moment I first saw you, I have wanted…." He cut himself off, jaw clenching. "It was inappropriate. I apologize."
"Don't," I said quickly. "Don't apologize. I just…." I took a breath, trying to steady myself. "How did you like it? The kiss, I mean."
His eyes darkened, pupils dilating until only a thin ring of brown remained. "It was the most pleasurable thing I have ever experienced."
Oh God. The way he said it, with such raw honesty, sent heat flooding through me. The tent suddenly felt way too small and way too warm. I leaned toward him, unable to help myself.
"Ellie." My name on his lips was a warning and a plea all at once.
I didn't care anymore. About protocol, about propriety, about all the very good reasons, this was a terrible idea. I was so tired of being careful, of being the President, and feeling like my every move was fodder for dissection. For once, I just wanted to simply be Ellie.
And Ellie wanted Rickon.
I closed the distance between us and kissed him.
His response was immediate and overwhelming.
His hands came up to cup my face, gentle despite their strength, and he kissed me back with an intensity that made my head spin.
It was different from our first kiss—deeper, hungrier, like he'd been holding himself back before, and now the dam had broken.
I couldn't get close enough. My hands landed on his shoulders, pulling him toward me as I pressed myself against the solid warmth of his chest. He made a low sound deep in his throat that sent shivers down my spine, and then his hands were in my hair, his mouth hot and demanding against mine.
We stumbled backward together until we collapsed onto the sleeping bags, a tangle of limbs, and desperate kisses.
Every touch sent electricity racing through me.
I felt the hard planes of his body against mine, the barely restrained strength in his hands as they roamed over my back, my sides, leaving trails of fire in their wake.
This was happening. This was really happening, and I wanted it more than I'd wanted anything in a long time.
But there was something I needed first.
I pulled back just enough to speak, breathless. "Rickon. Turn off the cuddwisg."
He went very still beneath me. "Ellie?"
"Please." I touched his face, tracing the line of his jaw with trembling fingers. "I want to see you. The real you."
"You don't know what you're asking." His voice was strained. "My true form... it may frighten you."
"It won't." I smiled, remembering the glimpses of copper skin and leathery wings when we first met at Area 51. "I've already seen you, remember, and I thought you were gorgeous even then."
"That was different," he pressed. "You were across the room. We are much closer now, and…."
"And I still want to see you." I kissed him softly, then met his eyes. "I always liked the Tim Curry character in Legend better than Tom Cruise anyway."
He blinked, confusion flickering across his face. "I don't understand the reference."
I couldn't help giggling. "It's an old movie.
Tom Cruise is the hero—pretty, perfect, and boring.
But Tim Curry plays this demon lord character.
He's got horns and red skin, and he's supposed to be the villain, but.
..." I smiled. "He was always more interesting to me.
More beautiful, in a way. The darkness didn't make him less attractive. It made him more."
Rickon stared at me for a long moment, something vulnerable and hopeful flickering in those dark brown eyes, something that made my chest ache.