The Valkyrie's Guardian

by Moriah Densley

  For a few crazy minutes she seriously considered going back to the base in Coronado and lifting some Dilaudid from the clinic. Or if Kyros didn’t need Jack awake to test his mobility, she would knock him unconscious. With any luck he’d pass out from the pain anyway.

  Cassie wandered to the street corner then paced back toward the building, still feeling cooped up. Since Jack had a lame knee, she had no security guard to take her out jogging, and the buildup of excess energy began to affect her. There was only so much she could do inside the tiny condo. Jack was an extreme example, but most extra-sentients used physical exertion to calm the intensive energy levels in the brain.

  Something caught her eye. She paused in front of the walkway to the condo, then recognized the red laser dot. It bounced from the front window of Jack’s condo and looped around in goofy patterns like people did when teasing a cat. The dot climbed her leg, detoured in a crude gesture, then settled over her heart. The sniper from the base. Last time Jack had whisked them away out of danger, but now Cassie was ticked off and curious. A bad combination.

  She turned and bolted in the direction of the source. Unlikely that the shooter supposed she could calculate his location based on the trajectory of the light beam. As she neared a hedge of mangroves across the street, a surge of electric energy heated the air around her and raised the fine hairs on her arms. This time she purposefully gathered the tension shooting down from the sky and sparking up from the ground. Static, an ingredient of lightning. It was a force she could feel as tangibly as her own limbs and command as naturally.

  The anger coursing through her veins burned out of control. If she got her hands on the sniper, she would fry him. As badly as they needed whatever information they could interrogate from him, her valkyrie side would not allow the threat to her family go unpunished. She caught his scent, that same sickly maple-syrup-formaldehyde smell. It drew her right to his nest — nothing. Gone. She followed his trail to the next street, where it disappeared, meaning he had gotten away in a car. She walked home, fuming.

  “ — ever touch her. I was impaired,” Jack said through clenched teeth.

  “Obviously not enough,” Kyros contended, just as Cassie walked through the front door. Before they could freak out about her going out alone, she blurted, “The sniper’s back.” They both blew a gasket, and at least it distracted them from the fight brewing a moment ago. Finally they let her explain. Lyssa wandered into the room, groggy from her nap. “I felt it too. It woke me up. What? You two didn’t notice?”

  That shut them up. Cassie exchanged smirks with Lyssa.

  “Guess it was too much to hope that douchebag joined his buddies making compost under a landslide.” Jack wiped the sweat from his forehead, his complexion still peaked. “This is the first time he’s threatened us at home. I was too busy trying to draw him out last week to consider a situation like this.”

  “It’s not Boris,” Lyssa muttered.

  “No, it’s someone else. No idea who,” Jack agreed.

  Kyros herded everyone into the living room, complaining all the way as he examined the doors and windows. “This rat hole is a death trap, MacGunn. Would it kill you to think of security when you buy a place?”

  That rubbed Cassie the wrong way. “He hasn’t really had time to redecorate with steel doors and bullet-proof glass — ”

  “To emit a foul odor.”

  Lyssa pounced on the chance to defuse the situation. “Yes, Henry, it stinks. Do you know the man? Recognize his smell?”

  Everyone turned to Henry, who looked thoughtful. “Kept from the knowledge of any but the members of a particular group or class.”

  Kyros ruffled the boy’s hair. “That’s all right, Henry. If you think of something we should know, speak up okay?”

  Jack rested his bad leg on the coffee table, making everyone wince at the grinding sound his bones made. “Well, game’s over. I let it play out, but I’m not doing that now, not with Cassie … ”

  She protested, “But let me try it again tomorrow. I’ll go out jogging, so you and Kyros can stake out the sniper’s nest. Take him out.”

  “No!” Kyros and Jack roared in unison.

  “Why not? Only you can play the bait game, Jack?”

  “Yes.”

  “Unreasonable, hypocritical tyrant.”

  “That’s right honey. I’m also dead-set on taking care of my woman.”

  “I’ll be fine if — ”

  “No!” He leaned forward and cupped his ear. “Hear that? It’s the sound of your bad idea dying a quick death.”

  If they were alone, that definitely would have been prelude to a brawl, injured knee or not. Instead Cassie raised a brow and forced herself to breathe evenly. Once she had the heat wave under control, she asked, “Then what? Let’s hear your brilliant idea, which is so much quicker and more efficient than mine.”

  She locked gazes with Jack. Tick tock, more silence. She cocked her head and furrowed her brows. “Hear that? Sounds like a complete lack of options to me.”

  “Scotland.” Kyros rose and paced, making everyone swivel their heads to watch him. “You need to be in a defensible position. You can’t stay here, it’s not safe. Take Cassie home, Jack. Spread the word on base you’re taking leave for a honeymoon.”

  Only Cassie noticed the color drain from Jack’s face.

  “The OpFor is waiting for us to rat out the location of the academy, but they shouldn’t suspect you taking your wife home to meet your family. We’ll let them see me and Lyssa take Henry away, then we’ll sneak him on board with you. I’ll charter a flight. As soon as you’re safe in Inverness we’ll decide what to do next.” Kyros sat, seemingly pleased with his solution.

  “That could work, unless someone knows that’s a bloody unlikely story since my family hates my guts.”

  Kyros glanced across the room at Jack, who looked like he might be sick. Kyros’ voice softened, “I’m sorry, Jack.”

  Sorry, but not backing down. In the end Jack agreed, with all the enthusiasm of a tortoise.

  Cassie caught Kyros alone before he left with Lyssa and Henry. She stared him down and said quietly, “I heard your argument with Jack earlier, when I came in. I want to set the record straight: I pretty much seduced Jack, not the other way around. He was a boy scout and I was Delilah. I didn’t realize how fogged he was. If not for the anesthesia, he never would have done it. So if you want to be angry at someone, take it out on me.”

  Kyros stared back for one long minute. He kept his struggle with emotion private. Finally he conceded, “Cassiopeia, I respect your honesty. Allow me to be candid. I love you, but you’re a damned fool. I’m cooperating because I have no choice. On every side lies tragedy — you are my only family, you are one of only two known extra-sentient females. You have no idea … ” He paused to rub a hand over his face. She knew the gesture kept him from weeping. “You don’t know how crazy it makes me to see you so cavalier about throwing your life away.”

  She blinked back tears, floored by the grief rolling from his mind. She had no idea he was so upset, but she should have known.

  His syllables sharpened but his voice was a faint whisper, “I will watch you like a hawk. Anything worse than a backache, and I will take matters into my own hands.” He stopped her with his pointed finger. “Let me finish. Jack agrees: If we can’t find a solution for keeping you safe, if the risk becomes too great, we will act.”

  “That’s a noble, sanitary way to speak of killing a baby.”

  “I have done it one other time in my life, and it was also to save the mother. I promise you I will do it again if I have to.”

  “And I promise you’ll only manage it after you pry my cold, bloody fingers from your throat.” That wasn’t the valkyrie talking, that was the angry mother bear.

  His expression softened, “Na min ypostirízoume
agapití mou.” Kyros slipped into Greek when he got emotional, an old habit. Let’s not argue, darling, he said.

  “Symfonó, allá den allázei típota.” I agree, but it changes nothing.

  The sincere, bone-crushing embrace he gave her before he left made her uncertain whether she adored or loathed him.

  “Jaaa-ack?” she called in a sugar-sweet voice. If he had half a brain, he would run and hide at the sound. She found him reclined on the sofa, experimenting with pushing his foot against the wall, trying to figure out how much weight his bad knee could handle before it gave out. Stupid man.

  “Hey, baby,” he smiled, shaking his head to toss sweaty locks hair out of his eyes. “Alone at last, huh?”

  “At last.” She knelt one knee between his and leaned over his chest to put her face inches from his. She fondled his pecs with one hand and cradled his face with the other. “I just had a rather enlightening conversation with Kyros.” Her hands wandered lower, and Jack made his growling tiger sound. Abruptly she clamped both hands, squeezing his throat with one and his testicles with the other.

  Jack howled and tried to roll away, but she held him hostage. Nice strong grip, lass.

  You have no idea. She clamped tighter to let him know she meant business. “He may be a ball of cells now, but soon he’ll be an adorable little monster. Your son. My baby.”

  “It would be humane and fast, Cassie,” he rasped through his strained throat.

  She squeezed harder and pulled a bit. He sang a high note. “If you even consider giving him a haircut without my permission, I will finish what I’ve started and not stop there. You will beg for the relief of death if I ever … again … hear a whisper of thought from you about abortion.”

  Jack shook his head, the movement stilted. “I’d do anything for you, Cass. Anything.”

  Cassie relaxed her hands and rubbed his throat and groin in gentle circles. “I know. And as much as I adore you, I’m not afraid to punish my enemies wherever they manifest themselves.” She dipped to capture his lips in a rough kiss. “Beware, darling.”

  The fuse lit, a day’s worth of pent-up energy and frustration exploded. Jack’s emotions echoed hers: gratitude for their sweet wedding ceremony, despair over his injury. He dreaded the impending trip to Scotland, where they would find no welcome.

  First it was merely a wrestle for control of the kiss, a useless argument since they both wanted it hot and angry. Then it was a fight for the dominant position on top. He cheated by trying to pin her down, and she fought dirty by grabbing his groin again, an effective method of subduing him.

  With a growl and ninja-fast maneuver, he gathered her wrists and swung her knees over his forearm. He charged down the hallway in a storm cloud, á la Rhett Butler. He kicked the door open, threw her onto the bed and followed her down. Already this form of exercise worked its thrilling catharsis, and Cassie knew how to replace their morning jog. Being confined indoors wasn’t so bad, then.

  Somewhere amid the tussle, between pulling each other’s clothes off and crashing to the floor, it turned into sport. He coaxed her in Gaelic again, and his voice melted her anger. Jack let her lock his arms above his head. She clamped her thighs over his flanks and tortured the ticklish skin behind his ear, sucking and nipping so it would leave a mark. One half-hearted protest, then he let her take the lead. When he decided she’d pushed him too far, Jack snatched her by the waist, flipped her over onto her belly, and spanked her hard once before he locked himself against her and taught her a lesson. All while balancing on his good knee, which made the position interesting.

  She stretched and laughed, a dark, sultry sound, then reached to dig her nails into the backs of his thighs. He sucked in a breath through his teeth, and seconds later it was over, with them both gasping through the unbearable wave of electric, luscious heat.

  She collapsed on the fluffy sheepskin rug at the foot of the bed, pleasantly achy and thoroughly worked over. Jack dropped exhausted beside her. He fell asleep first, and in the minutes before she succumbed to fatigue, she studied the artistic silhouette his nude body made in the shadows of twilight. Scars and all, a masterpiece.

  Chapter 19

  “Got any Scottish in you? Want some?”

  —Jack MacGunn, King of the Bad Pick-Up Line

  Cassie had never been to Scotland, but the puddle-jumper that more or less landed at Inverness airport should have been a clue of what to expect. Watching Jack cram their luggage and then six-and-a-half feet of himself inside a European-sized coupe was a lesson in inventive profanity. If Henry repeated any of it, she swore to Jack she would wash both their mouths out with soap. Her threats were null after only two pit stops, when she discovered the Official Scottish Malediction was the f-word, in all its good-natured varieties.

  “So, your home is not exactly in Inverness? Because I saw a lovely sandstone castle on that hill, but you kept driving.”

  “Kinmylies takes more after the ness than the In.” Jack laughed, “Some say the castle is rustic, dank, and a haunted pile of stones. And they are biased by fondness.”

  “Is it much farther? Because I really need the loo.”

  “Again?”

  “Oh, don’t start that with me, MacGunn. You have forty-seven more weeks of Yes, dear, right away. Anything for you, pumpkin. It’s only going to get worse, you know.”

  “I know. I apologize.”

  “Ha. That’s right. Get used to saying those two little words.”

  He half-smiled and swerved to dodge a sheep standing in the middle of the road, a straggler from the herd that clogged the highway a half mile back.

  And there it was, just around the next hill, in all its gothic medieval glory. Worn stones aged black with lichen, a compound of towers and outbuildings half in rubble. Kinmylies: the red-headed stepchild of Inverness. It had a moat and a drawbridge. And lots of chickens.

  Guessing by the inscrutable mashed potatoes accent of the guard at the gatehouse, Cassie guessed the MacGunns were of the shabby genteel variety. Jack parked the rental car in the old carriage house. She took one look at the motley assortment of vehicles and revised her assessment to plainly, shabby.

  “Home sweet hell.” Jack dragged the luggage in one arm and looped the other around her waist. “Just stay cool, okay? Things might get a bit tense.”

  They’d already promised Henry a toolbox and a truck engine if he would remain silent during their arrival. He hadn’t said a word since.

  “Didn’t you call ahead to say we’re coming?” If she wasn’t nervous before, she was now.

  “No.”

  “Great. We’re a hospitality surprise.”

  “But Kyros did. It helps our situation, marginally. They like him.”

  No one appeared outside to greet them. They crossed the courtyard with Henry in tow, wide-eyed. The gargoyles probably didn’t do much to soothe his anxiety. Jack ushered her under an enormous archway just as it started to rain. Her eyes adjusted to the dark, and she smelled mint and basil-flavored tobacco smoke.

  “James Vidar MacGunn. Well blow me over. Fàilte ’s furan ort.” A quintessential Scottish elder wearing a houndstooth squire cap stepped from the shadows and lowered a pipe from his mouth.

  Jack dropped the luggage and limped to meet the man halfway. She tried not to agonize over his injured leg, which was worse for wear after the hours spent cramped on a plane then crammed in a pee-wee-sized car.

  “A sheanair,” Jack answered, sounding choked. “Am I glad to see you here.”

  The man grasped Jack’s shoulders and crashed their chests together in a very masculine three-pat hug. “Won’t help much, lad. The MacGunn is no’ exactly joco with ye comin’. And who is your guests?”

  “Grandda, meet Cassiopeia.” Jack swallowed before he could admit, “My wife.”

  The man’s lips parted in an ‘oh’
shape and his wooly eyebrows hiked under the brim of his cap. “Ah, so this is the reason ye wanted your plaid posted ’xpress.”

  Cassie thought he meant to shake hands, but as she raised her hand he turned it palm-up and examined her wrist. He ran his thumb over the pink scar and hummed. “’Tis done. Shoulda waited for the church, lad. And such a wee lass.” He said this gravely.

  At five-foot-ten, she had never been called a wee lass.

  He patted her hand and tucked it over his arm, leading her through giant wooden double doors. He appeared to be over eighty years old but still bore his beefy shoulders as proudly as Jack and walked with the gait of an NFL linebacker. “You call me grandda, a ghràidheag. And don’t listen to a word the others say. Oh, dear. I haven’t let you say a word. I do that.” He paused, looking expectantly at her.

  “Pleasure to meet you, ah, Grandda.” She produced a smile for his benefit. Jack winked.

  “A Sassenach. Posh. And far too bonnie for your own good, Jack.”

  “I know it, Grandda.”

  Jack’s grandda looked sideways at her. “And can ye feel the new life, lass?”

  A polite way of asking if she was knocked up. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good, good.” He smiled, and she was sick to death of that tragic, pitying expression everyone wore for her.

  “I hope the academy is secure?” Jack asked in a low voice.

  “Aye. Set up in the east tower. They’re in studies now, I’ll take you over later on.”

  They passed through a long gallery Cassie wished to examine later in decent lighting. The place was a museum, with ancient tapestries, shields, and banners beckoning to her in ghostly voices.

  Jack’s grandda mused, “Well, now, I suppose Bernard’s Ainsley will cry her eyes out over ye, Jack. She still pines for ye. And Leana, and Leslie, the twins. They both set their cap for ye, but that’s naught but trouble in the first place, aye?” He required no answer, and Jack shrugged in false innocence.