The Valkyrie's Guardian

by Moriah Densley

  He waited, breathing in gusts, and again her breathing matched his, followed by her heartbeat. The synchronization wasn’t sensual this time.

  Finally her eyes batted and her guarded expression fell. Tears brimmed in her eyes before she blinked them away. “I didn’t know … ” she trailed, clearly astounded. “I’m sorry, Jack.”

  That was it. Holy saints, Cassiopeia actually apologized. He’d never heard anything like it before. Wordlessly Jack revved the truck and pulled back onto the freeway. He felt lighter, maybe a little smug. They remained quiet through a pit stop for ten pounds of bananas and a jar of peanut butter — what he scrounged at the gas station.

  With their argument resolved, the sexy heat wave returned with a vengeance. It made his entire body vibrate, filled his brain with images he had to block from Cassie. He had felt this way for her since last year when she returned home from her failed medical residency, but suddenly today it was times ten. A hundred. He couldn’t stand it. He gripped the wheel and tried not to grind his teeth.

  He slipped on his shades to keep the oncoming headlights from blinding him — he had better night vision than a cat. Only five miles later, the adrenaline crash caught up with him. Not enough calories to replace the spent energy. His eyelids moved like sandpaper and his breath echoed like a breeze in his head. Each sluggish throb of his heart froze his muscles into leaden weights. He hated this, how he had no control over an energy crash. Fifty-two yellow dashes later, and Jack didn’t even care that the lines dividing the highway hypnotized him.

  He barely registered Cassie grasping the steering wheel and shifting into his lap. He tried to mumble that he only needed a half hour to recharge, but she pushed his shoulder to the right and he dropped onto the seat like a sack of rocks, already out cold.

  Chapter 4

  “Can I take your picture?

  I need to show Santa what I want for Christmas.”

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

  All the lights were out at Kyros’ isolated Sonoma Beach home, but the telltale electric hum radiating from the house warned that something tumultuous went on inside. Cassie resisted groaning out loud but then Jack did it rather eloquently and hit the steering wheel with his fist to punctuate what they were both thinking: Not now. Kyros and Lyssa were at it again, either fighting or making out. Either way, Jack’s news of impending global doom, or whatever he considered a vacation-destroying emergency, would have to wait.

  No jam session tonight, Cassie complained. Half our band is out.

  Four disgruntled sighs later, Jack parked the truck in the garage behind the house. He pulled the trailer and boat onto the back lawn with his bare hands. Kyros’ ugly mangled cat named Cat trotted alongside Jack and tangled herself in his legs, flirting for a backrub. Cassie cleaned the trash out of the cab while Jack unloaded the boat, and still that throbbing electric hum coming from the house buzzed at the top of her head and vibrated in her chest.

  Jack grumbled, sending a mental signal. I would sell my soul for an avocado.

  I bet Anne has dinner leftover in the kitchen.

  Roast beef au jus, I can smell it. They both moaned in longing, the sound easily mistakable as erotic.

  Cassie joined him in the yard with a bucket and rags for washing the boat. She cocked her head toward the master bedroom windows. “How much longer, do you think?”

  Jack scoffed, “If it’s a fight, not much longer. If it’s not? All. Night. Long.”

  Luckily, the darkness hid her blushing. “Well, we can’t stay here all night.”

  “I’m about to eat the grass.” He cut off her half-formed sarcastic remark. “Let’s finish the boat then decide whether to barge in or check into a hotel. Or we could go to my place, but I’m not in the mood to drive to San Diego.”

  In mutual agitated silence they washed the boat, by light of only the moon. The electromagnetic energy which first had a crackling violent edge now rolled in gentler, blatantly erotic waves. Kiss and make up for the happy couple, apparently.

  Jack snorted at her thought, and Cassie tried not to be so blisteringly aware of him, moving with rough grace to polish the fiberglass hull with a leather rag. She did the same down low, moving the opposite direction, and in only thirty-four seconds they would collide, with Jack caging her between his arms while she bumped into his lap with her rear. She knew that would happen, because Jack had imagined it first, then shoved the thought from his mind with a grunt.

  A game of chicken, both of them pretending to be engrossed with rubbing Jack’s boat spotless. Cassie wouldn’t give way. Jack could adjust if he had a problem with her proximity.

  The moment she felt the hard heat of his chest against her back, Cassie knew she was stupid, stupid, stupid. They had been burning a short fuse all day, the tension building with each stray touch. Again her pulse slowed in time with his strong, healthy rhythm and her skin heated to match his feverish temperature. Her nerves joined the chorus, tingling and sparking live wires, alerting her that animal magnetism crackled in the air.

  She and Jack lowered their mindshields after a reluctant wavering, like a truce. They both stood frozen, unwilling to sever the connection or ignite the combustible heat rolling in waves.

  His voice came as a soft growl in her mind, We’re in trouble, Cass.

  Most of the time I can’t stand you, Jack. What’s going on?

  His mind churned, interfering with the voice of his thoughts. She heard as well as felt the rumbling, low-grade earthquake sensation signaling an impending rage for Jack. She now knew battle frenzy for him could mean not only combat, but arousal.

  His eyes reflected in the dark polish of the boat. Know what this means.

  What? What does it mean, Jack?

  Don’t want to tell you.

  Why?

  Not good. He conveyed denial even as he closed his eyes and hummed.

  She felt it too, a tension-laced promise of pleasure, whispering temptation to succumb.

  To what, she couldn’t say. This was all new to her, which added a spark of anticipation.

  Yes, good. Cassie tucked her head against his neck. Jack resisted motionlessly, his control in the balance. She relaxed and molded herself against him. It felt like being folded in lava. Both lovely and shocking, the wash of warmth mixed with a hundred crazy urges.

  Abruptly Jack surrendered, pulling her against his chest with his fingers splayed. He raked his mouth over the curve of her neck, his lips gently teasing while the edge of his teeth grazed her skin. Cassie stretched her back, raised her arms over her head and locked them around his neck. She tried to inhale, but a gasp caught in her throat as a tide swept over her — intense charged heat. Whatever Jack had been holding back in his thoughts he unleashed inside her mind.

  Her knees buckled. Rough pulses of physiological nerve candy stroked her from the inside out. A scream rose in her throat — she tried to warn him it was too much. His hands smoothed along her sides, spreading the sensation evenly so she could handle it. Then he kneaded her skin with a gentle brutality that made her crazy, hungry, wild. The shocking sensation settled into thrumming, glowing warmth.

  He probably didn’t know the words he muttered against her neck were in Gaelic. She breathed a slow, deep draught of the delectable scent radiating from his skin. It concentrated over his pulse, and she couldn’t quit burying her nose in it. Better than baking bread, better than fresh cut pine, rubbed leather, crushed mint, roasted almonds, motorboat exhaust — she couldn’t stand it, she had to taste him.

  Tangy, spicy, strong, wild … More. Again. Driving her insane. The provocative steel-silk texture of his skin on her tongue, the whiskers on his jaw rasping her lips — instant addiction. So the masses of ogling females were right: Jack MacGunn was good enough to eat.

  Then it happened again — time ground to a halt. So she hadn’t
imagined it before, that strange moment in the desert. Their synchronized heartbeats slowed to echoing bass-toned drum beats, and each passing second splintered into long moments of soothing yet electrifying contentment.

  Finally! With his hands on her ribs, Jack twirled her around then pulled her into an embrace. In slow motion her hair settled into place. Her skin pressed against his, and she felt each millimeter of contact. His lashes lowered in a slow blink as their lips met.

  Cassie had been hungry for this all day, since that one heated kiss across the aisle of his boat. Without his conscience in the way, Jack devoting all his attention to a kiss was positively devastating. Frame by frame, his lips captured hers in a rough caress then ghosted away with the slightest brush. Nerve-stroking seduction. A hint of wickedness, of uncivilized impulses — he fought to bury it but was already in too deep. She wanted his primitive side, wanted what would happen if he let it go free. She grasped the back of his neck and kissed him back, hard.

  He tugged on her bottom lip, she nipped back. Cassie thought she would drop dead when he grazed the tip of his tongue along the side of hers. It wasn’t so much the action itself but the sudden flash of erotic intent that escaped his mind and braised hers. Awareness blossomed then caught fire as she understood what he meant by it. Not his typical overblown humorous innuendo — he meant business.

  So did she.

  Mindless that it was a dangerous game, she fought back, provoking him with wild, indecent kisses. A slow, weighted drag of her lips across his conjured the image of flesh sliding over flesh. In answer he covered her mouth, drew her bottom lip between his teeth and pulled in a seductive rhythm. She felt herself flush at his implication. He hadn’t formed the concrete thought, but she could feel the timeless, compelling call.

  Whatever she’d expected of Jack, it wasn’t the fiercely possessive, tender reverence that floated from his mind like loose feathers. Her eyes stung, her throat ached, and only the consuming power of his mouth battling hers kept her from bawling like a baby.

  She hardly recognized the woman who writhed in Jack’s arms, kissing him like she was going to jail tomorrow, stoking an inferno without a thought to the danger. She had no idea she was the sort to rip off a man’s shirt, but Jack’s lay shredded on the ground. He coaxed her with sexy gruff sighs at every pass of her nails across his chest, louder if she dug her fingers in deep. She hooked one knee around his waist —

  Jack froze mid-motion.

  Her brain slowly returned to normal function, but she couldn’t see around the thick wisps of steam.

  Steam?

  Kyros’ furious voice penetrated her skull. Cassie! Jack! What is going on? He had frozen all the neurological impulses in Jack’s body.

  “Release him, Kyros. Now!” she shouted through the dissipating curtain of steam. She felt his shock at her impertinence, and she shoved back, explaining in a wordless burst of anger what she thought of her guardian’s intrusion.

  Thankfully, Lyssa intervened. “Kyros, let Jack go.” Her silky alto voice was compelling, seductive, and it worked instantly on her husband. Jack exhaled in a grunt as Kyros released him.

  Jack folded Cassie in a snug embrace as his heart fluttered to find its normal rhythm with hers. How absurd that he thought he needed to protect her from Kyros, but she took one look at his searing eyes glowing fluorescent green and decided not to argue.

  Lyssa approached Kyros and stood behind his shoulder. She clutched his arm above his tensed biceps, restraining him. Kyros wore the expression of a man who had been dragged out of bed with his wife at a bad moment. Bare-chested, he hadn’t even finished buttoning his pants. His stance blatantly martial, his teeth ground together — Cassie hadn’t seen Kyros this unhinged since before he met Lyssa.

  The silent conversation with his wife on a private channel was brief, it seemed Kyros reluctantly conceded to Lyssa. His voice came gently but hoarse with emotion, “Cass, love, you have no idea what you’re provoking.”

  “I think I do. And I don’t see how it’s any of your business.”

  He bristled, and Lyssa squeezed his arm.

  “It is when you scorch my lawn.”

  Cassie blinked then looked down at the grass and observed a ten-foot radius of flattened, bleached turf. In the center stood herself and Jack. Cat sat on her haunches, staring intently at Jack with her crooked tail lashing back and forth. Even the feline appeared shocked by their behavior. Cassie didn’t dare protest as Jack dropped his arms and stepped away, but she resented being treated like a delinquent juvenile.

  Jack’s eyes flashed through narrowed slits as he communicated privately with Kyros, leaving Cassie on the outside again. “I would never,” he vowed aloud, his sharp words aimed directly at Kyros.

  “Looked to me like you would.”

  Cassie and Lyssa both observed another tense exchange between the two men. Finally Kyros said out loud, “If she hasn’t been informed, then you are indeed to blame.”

  “I have no intention of tellin’ her, because I have no intention of — ”

  “Jack! Kyros!” Cassie nearly shrieked, resisting the urge to pull her hair. “Quit talking over my head. What should I be informed of?” She turned to face Jack, and her heart sank to see him completely shut down, his mind sealed shut, any hint of the sweet connection that flowed between them already cold.

  “What?” she demanded of Kyros, but his expression was neutral. It took every ounce of restraint not to scream. She was simply too old for tantrums, no matter how aggravating these men. “Kyros, Jack tells me the sky is falling. You must have top secret stuff to discuss. I’ll take myself to the kitchen now so you can have your tree house club meeting.”

  Even after four years to get used to it, Cassie still resented Lyssa being Kyros’ right hand while Cassie stayed utterly in the dark as to their superhero escapades. It really stank being the liability, the damsel in distress. Jack undoubtedly now disclosed to the others what she’d been dying of curiosity all day to know.

  She was halfway to the back door when Jack caught her arm. Her breath hitched as he planted a blistering, tender kiss on her lips. Short but hot, like the one on the boat today. He pressed his lips to her temple as he whispered, “I’m sorry, Cass.” She stared dumbly as he loped back toward Kyros and Lyssa, the ever-persistent Cat tagging along.

  Cassie wished she didn’t love watching him move, all fluid grace and leashed power, like a jungle cat. She resented discovering a deeply sensual side to him. It contradicted everything she’d assumed about him. Too bad it was over, no chance to enjoy and explore it. He had bluntly said so: he would never … get involved with her, she assumed was the second half of his statement.

  Fifteen minutes later she was still hot and bothered. She watched a triple serving of roast beef spin, mesmerizing on the microwave plate. Then she sliced the only remaining avocado in the kitchen. She ate the sections raw, peppered with the spiteful flavor of revenge, any way she could get it. She should have known. Jack never came home with the same girl twice, so why would she be any different? Bimbo of the week, that’s me.

  She tried not to think about the way Jack made her feel, drugging her mind with what seemed like the sweet beginnings of something permanent and real. Cassie had been kissed by other men before and liked it, but that she and Jack scalded the grass and steamed the air into vapor summed up the superior experience aptly.

  Cassie let the microwave beep impatiently as she hunted through the cabinets for Anne’s secret chocolate stash. Kyros’ mortal human housekeeper wasn’t here to defend the booty, so Cassie helped herself to a Kit Kat and then a Reese’s. Whoppers came next, then a Butterfinger called in a tiny voice, Eat me! Eat me!

  She relished the creamy smooth flavor, tasting the nutty overtones on the back of her tongue and enjoying the rich smell and the slow slide of liquid chocolate down her throat. It would taste like poiso
n and trigger violent stomach cramping for an immortal extra-sentient, as they required the most nutritious and natural of foods to maintain their longevity. They weren’t even tempted by unwholesome food and drink, and such an indulgence was a method of macabre suicide for their kind.

  Cassie assumed her reaction to the opposite meant what she’d been suspecting for a while: not immortal. She already knew she wasn’t very powerful. So, the fates played hilarious games, trapping a second-rate extra-sentient in the same house as three immortal genius superheroes. While they went adventuring she would wait home, never far from a bodyguard, and grow feeble and die while they remained timeless and perfect. Har-har.

  She crushed the wrappers one by one into tiny pellets of cellophane. She didn’t find it very funny.

  Chapter 5

  “See my friend over there?

  He wants to know if you think I’m cute.”

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

  Cassie could always count on Jack for two things: he would come from near or far at the sound of food cooking in the morning, and he went ga-ga over women in workout clothes. Forget lingerie — Jack wanted yoga pants and a racerback top. This morning Cassie brought out the heavy artillery with both his vices: smoothies and spandex. Revenge, torture, either would do.

  Ice clunked around in the blender as she added peach slices, raw almonds, yogurt, and lemon rind. Perfect timing — Jack jogged down the stairs and nearly tripped over Cat, dropped his duffel and made a beeline straight for the kitchen. He rocked back on his heels, apparently expecting Anne the housekeeper, not Cassie. She made a point of opening the fridge as he entered, as though she hadn’t seen him.

  When she turned around, his eyes widened and he visibly swallowed hard. Unapologetically, his eyes roamed from her long swinging pony tail down over her shoulders exposed above a skin-tight cropped tank. His eyes lingered on her navel, watching it contract as she breathed, before scanning up and down her legs once, twice, and again. He wore the expression of a tiger watching a platter of meat through the bars of his cage.