I reached out slowly, hyper-aware of every movement, and ensured my claws retracted fully before taking her hand. The moment our skin made contact, sensation exploded through me. It felt like touching a live wire, singed with an electrical current that raced up my arm and straight to my core.
Those bright green eyes locked onto mine, and I felt more than heard the quick, sharp intake of her breath. The sound sent a thrill through me. Did my touch affect her as it affected me? Could she feel this same connection arcing between us?
"What is your name?" Her voice emerged soft but direct, carrying an authority that made it clear she expected an answer.
"I am Rickon, my Lady," I said, dropping my head into a respectful bow, though it pained me to break eye contact even for a moment.
Her smile deepened, transforming her face into something radiant that made my heart stutter in my chest. "Welcome to the team, Rickon. I'm Eleanor Barrington Bradford—Ellie."
"It is my most esteemed pleasure," I murmured, giving an even deeper bow this time, the formal gesture feeling inadequate.
Her gaze bounced from mine to the Prime and back again, a spark of determination lighting her features. "Now that we have a plan, I think taking care of Declan Hewes will be simple."
Our hands were still joined, and the spark from that connection continued to shoot up my arm and into my chest, making my heart beat faster. My wings fluttered involuntarily, betraying my emotions in a way I couldn't quite control.
Simple.
No, as I stood there with her small, warm hand clasped in mine, I didn't think this would be simple at all.
Chapter 5
Ellie
Damn, I looked good.
I hated it.
Granted, I was only forty-two—still in the prime of my life—but being President meant dressing to project intelligence and competence, not to turn heads. My stylist, Liam, had mastered that particular art form, always selecting conservative suits for me. Mostly pantsuits, because heaven knew I needed to be comfortable if I was going to survive a sixteen-hour day of diplomatic problems, whiny senators, and budget negotiations.
But tonight? Tonight, Liam had outdone himself, and I absolutely hated that all of it was going to be wasted on DeclanfuckingHewes.
The Michael Kors A-Line cocktail dress hugged my figure in all the right places. The silky cobalt blue fabric made my skin practically glow in the soft lighting of my private residence. The color brought out the red highlights in my chestnut hair, highlights I usually forgot I even had. A simple strand of pearls rested against my collarbone. Nothing ostentatious, just elegant, with matching studs in my ears. The scalloped black Louboutin pumps added three inches to my height, and I'd need every bit of that extra stature tonight.
My hairstylist talked me out of my usual updo, leaving my hair loose. It fell in soft, deliberate waves across my shoulders, the kind of effortless style that actually took over an hour to achieve. She'd applied just enough makeup to make me look polished and put-together without crossing into the territory oftrying too hard. A sweep of mascara made my green eyes pop. A touch of blush gave my cheeks a healthy glow. Nude lipstick completed the look.
I looked as if I was going on a date.
I looked desirable.
I looked good. And I fucking hated it.
A sharp knock at the door drew my attention from the mirror.
"Enter."
The door swung open and... speaking of looking good.
Rickon strode into the room. Despite the fact that I knew he was all copper-skinned and alien under the facade, I couldn't help the catch of my breath at the sight of him.
He stood nearly seven feet tall, his broad shoulders filling out his tailored black suit in a way that should be illegal. Dark hair, almost black, was styled perfectly—not a strand out of place—and those chocolate brown eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that made my pulse quicken. His jaw was sharp enough to cut glass, and the way he moved with that easy, confident grace made it clear he was all muscle beneath the expensive fabric.
I knew it was a lie. I knew that underneath the illusion was something entirely different. But damn if my heart didn't race every single time I saw him, anyway.
It had been surprisingly easy to integrate Rickon into my security detail. The Alliance had fabricated a background for him that would make Captain America jealous—military service, commendations, the works. Chase, the head of my Secret Servicedetail, had quietly arranged for one of the team to go undercover on a treasury mission, creating the perfect opening. No one suspected a thing.
In the past couple of weeks, Rickon had become indispensable to my Secret Service team. And to me. He moved through the halls with quiet competence, always seeming to know what we needed before being asked. His kindness felt genuine, not performative. The way he'd remember minor details about everyone's day, ask follow-up questions that showed he'd actually listened. There was a warmth in his manner that made even the longest, most grueling days feel a little lighter. I found myself watching for him, aching for that small zing in my heart when he'd appear in a doorway or round a corner. Seeing him had become something I looked forward to, a bright spot I hadn't realized I needed. Not to mention that out of 300-some-odd agents on my protective detail, Rickon made me feel the safest.
"You look beautiful, my Lady," Rickon said, his voice a low rumble that did absolutely nothing to help my composure. His dark chocolate eyes swept over my figure, making me shiver. Maybe looking good tonight didn't go to waste.
