Chapter 13 #2
We flew in silence, the moonlight catching on Rickon's scales and making them shimmer like molten copper.
"I leaned on him a lot after Dalton died," I continued, the words coming easier now. "And when I first became president. He was one of the few people I could always count on to tell me the truth—whether I liked it or not."
"What's a man like that doing hiding away in the middle of nowhere?"
The question hit harder than Rickon probably intended. I swallowed against the tightness in my throat, feeling the familiar grief rise. "He's on leave. After the death of his daughter."
Rickon's wings faltered slightly, just for a heartbeat, and I felt him tense beneath me. If anyone could relate to what Cullen was going through, it was Rickon. "I'm sorry."
"His wife died of cancer a couple of years ago.
Their daughter—Chloe—was all he had left.
" I could see her face in my mind, bright and determined, so much like her father, all fierce intelligence and unwavering conviction.
"She was an FBI agent. Disappeared during an undercover assignment almost two years ago. They never found her body."
"Fuck," Rickon muttered, and the raw empathy in his voice made me adore him even more.
"Yeah."
We continued southwest, both of us watching for any sign of a house, a light, anything that broke the endless white expanse below us.
"I wish I could text him," I said after a while, imagining Cullen's reaction to our sudden arrival.
"Let him know we're coming. Cullen's not exactly the surprise-visitor type.
I have no idea what happened to my phone.
Declan probably has it." The thought made me smile despite everything, a small vindictive pleasure warming my chest. "I hope he does.
I hope Declan reads all the texts I sent my Chief of Staff about what a piece of shit I think he is. "
Rickon's laugh was sharp and genuine, echoing across the empty sky and making me laugh too. "You didn't."
"Oh, I absolutely did." Of course, as smug as the thought made me, I worried about Edward. My Chief of Staff was loyal and, unless I missed my guess, would recognize that something was off about Declan's version of me. I hoped he managed to stay safe.
We passed a farmhouse first, lights glowing warm in the windows like a painting of rural contentment, a barn and silo nearby standing dark against the snow. Too close to the road. Too ordinary. Too much like every other homestead we'd seen.
"Not it," I called.
Five minutes later, another structure appeared—a sprawling cabin with outbuildings and what looked like stables. Smoke curled from the chimney, and I could make out vehicles parked in a cleared drive, maybe four or five of them lined up neatly.
"Still not it."
Rickon said nothing, just kept flying, trusting my judgment even though I could feel his fatigue in the slight irregularity of his wing beats.
Then I saw it. Set back in a small valley, surrounded by hills and trees that formed a natural barrier, almost invisible except for the moonlight reflecting off a metal roof.
A single cabin, modest in size, completely isolated.
And behind it, rising like skeletal fingers against the night sky—a massive antenna array.
Communications equipment. Satellite dishes.
The kind of setup you'd need if you wanted to stay connected to the world while hiding from it.
"There," I said, my voice tight with relief so intense it made me dizzy. "That's it."
Rickon circled once, surveying the area, then angled toward a dense patch of forest about a hundred yards from the cabin.
We descended through the trees, branches heavy with snow bending and snapping as we passed, showering us with powder.
He landed smoothly and set me on my feet, my legs unsteady after hours of flying.
The air shimmered around him as he activated his disguise.
Within seconds, the copper-skinned angel I'd been flying with was gone, replaced by the man—tall, dark-haired, his breath misting in the cold, looking every bit as exhausted as I felt.
He immediately crouched low, scanning the cabin through the trees with narrowed eyes.
"We should approach carefully," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Stay in the trees, come up from the side where we have cover...."
"Are you trying to get us shot?" I interrupted, digging through the duffle to pull him out a shirt. I had no desire to explain to Cullen why Rickon was out in freezing weather bare-chested.
He looked at me, confused, but took the shirt I offered and donned it quickly.
I shook my head, already moving forward. "Cullen Blackwood is a decorated military man with sniper training and enough experience to wire this whole property with sensors. If we try to sneak up on him in the middle of the night, we'll be lucky if he just wounds us."
"Then what do you suggest?"
I stepped out from behind the tree and cupped my hands around my mouth. "CULLEN!" My voice rang out across the snow, loud and clear in the still night air. "IT'S ELLIE brADFORD! DON'T SHOOT!"
Rickon stared at me like I'd lost my mind, his expression somewhere between horrified and impressed.
"CULLEN BLACKWOOD! I'M COMING TO YOUR DOOR!" I started walking toward the cabin, making as much noise as possible, boots crunching deliberately in the snow with each exaggerated step. "I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME! I'M WITH A FRIEND! WE NEED HELP!"
Behind me, Rickon muttered something that sounded like a prayer and followed, looking distinctly uncomfortable with this plan, his hand hovering near where a weapon would be if he had one.
Every light in the cabin blazed on at once, flooding the snow with harsh yellow light. A spotlight pinned us in place, so intense I had to shield my eyes. Rickon stepped close, his arms going around me protectively, his body tense.
The cabin door swung open, and a figure stepped onto the porch, rifle raised and ready.
Backlit by the interior lights, I recognized him immediately, the broad shoulders, the careful, measured way he moved.
Cullen Blackwood had aged since I'd last seen him, silver threading more prominently through his dark hair, lines deeper around his eyes, but he was still the formidable presence I remembered.
Still fit, still solid, the kind of man who looked like he could handle whatever the world threw at him and ask for seconds.
His gaze swept over us, taking in every detail with the practiced assessment of someone who'd spent decades evaluating threats.
Our posture, our clothing, the way we stood close together, the duffle bag, everything processed and categorized in seconds.
Then his gaze locked onto my face, and I watched recognition dawn like sunrise, disbelief giving way to certainty.
The rifle lowered. A grin spread across his features, transforming his face from guarded to genuinely delighted, the years falling away.
"I knew it," he said, his voice carrying across the snow, rough with emotion. He propped the rifle against the porch railing. "I knew damn well that wasn't you on TV."
Relief flooded through me so intensely my knees nearly buckled, and I felt tears spring to my eyes. "Cullen!"
I was moving before I finished saying his name, half-running through the snow, my boots sinking with each step.
He met me at the bottom of the porch steps, pulling me into a bear hug that lifted my feet off the ground and squeezed the air from my lungs.
He smelled like woodsmoke and coffee, familiar and safe, and I felt tears prickle my eyes as I buried my face against his shoulder.
"Jesus, Ellie," he murmured into my hair, his voice thick. "What the hell happened?"
"Long story," I managed, my voice muffled against his shoulder, trying not to completely break down.
He set me down but kept his hands on my shoulders, studying my face, his eyes cataloging every detail. Then his gaze shifted past me to where Rickon stood, still partially in shadow, watchful and tense.
The warmth in Cullen's expression cooled instantly, replaced by calculating assessment. His hands dropped from my shoulders, and his posture shifted, not aggressive, but alert. Ready. His eyes narrowed as he took in Rickon's size, stance, and positioning.
"And who's this?"
"A friend," I said quickly, stepping slightly to the side so I wasn't blocking Cullen's view. "His name is Rickon. He saved my life, Cullen. More than once. He's the reason I'm standing here."
Rickon moved forward into the light, hands visible at his sides, purposefully non-threatening, his movements slow and deliberate. He met Cullen's gaze steadily but didn't speak, waiting for the older man's judgment.
The silence stretched, taut as a wire. Cullen's jaw worked, and I could practically see him running calculations, weighing risks, deciding whether to trust me, whether to trust this stranger who'd brought me to his doorstep in the middle of the night.
Finally, he exhaled and some of the tension left his shoulders. "If Ellie vouches for you, that's good enough for me." He extended his hand. "Cullen Blackwood."
Rickon shook it, his grip firm. "Thank you for your hospitality."
Cullen grunted, still measuring him with sharp eyes, then turned back to the cabin.
"Well, don't just stand there freezing. Get inside before you both catch pneumonia.
" He grabbed his rifle and gestured toward the open door.
"I'll put on some coffee. Something tells me this is going to be a hell of a story. "