The Valkyrie's Guardian

by Moriah Densley

  Before she drew her next breath, Cassie found herself flat on her back, caged under Jack’s iron arms with the breath knocked from her lungs. His eyes burned bright green, warning he risked succumbing to a rage. Her next breath drew in dust, but the sound of her cough was drowned by Jack’s groan. He bared his teeth, and Cassie thought he was boiling mad before he tossed his head back and made a helpless noise.

  He collapsed on her, all 240 pounds of him, but Cassie repressed a grunt to spare his ego. It actually felt nice. Really nice, like a heavy quilt, with rock-hard pecs and … Oh my.

  Please, Cass. Don’t say anything about it.

  About what? she teased. He sighed against her neck. The muscles in his arms relaxed and he went limp in defeat — well, not all of him. Jack grunted again and rolled away.

  The little devil on her shoulder made her say, “You do have huge hands.”

  “Knock it — ”

  “Just saying I’m impressed, that’s all.”

  “I said stop, Cassiopeia.”

  “If the military doesn’t work out, you could have a big career as a po — ”

  His eyes flashed bright green. Next thing she knew, air whistled in her ears and her entire body jostled as it bombed through cold water. She floated to the surface. A wave crashed over her head. Jack paced, fuming as she stalked out of the water toward him on the beach.

  She tossed her wet hair over her shoulder and shot him a flirty smile. “Look who can’t take a joke.”

  His gaze raked her up and down. His nostrils flared, he flexed his hands. If he had a tail, it would be lashing back and forth. He was itching for a fight and wouldn’t be satisfied until he got it.

  She looked sideways to check for observers, then threw her weight into a low tackle to his waist, meant to throw him off balance. It worked — they crashed to the ground and skidded in the dirt. He whipped his shoulders to the side to get out of her chokehold and scrambled to his knees. She rolled out of his way, but too quickly he snatched her thigh and dumped her onto her back.

  He cried foul when she yanked him by the hair and wrapped her arm around his throat, but then she heard his very male satisfaction as she hooked her leg behind his knee and flipped him onto his back. It tangled them in an erotic pretzel, and that was the turning point for his anger into sport.

  She grabbed the dog tags hanging from the beaded chain around his neck and pulled him down for a rough kiss. They’d come full circle, and before long they were fighting again, which she didn’t know was possible while still locked in a kiss.

  Odd that violence inspired some deep thinking, but every moment in his arms her heart sang. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, delirious with a dark, hungry feeling. You’re in love, stupid, her helpful subconscious whispered. Cassie made a choice then, one she would wait to tell him.

  Forty minutes later Jack finally conceded and dropped to the sand, panting gusts into the dirt-powdered air. Cassie had felt every minute pass slowly, muscles screaming, her lungs overtaxed. Other than that, she felt good. Fantastic. Her lips still tingled from their wrestling-slash-making-out. Dirty sparring. She liked it.

  Cassie reached across the heated space and traced down Jack’s arm with one finger, watching it climb up and slide down at dramatic angles. She could feel the incredible pressure behind his blood pumping through the raised veins lacing his skin, triple the normal human reading for cardiovascular peak. She monitored his pulse as it slowed with the perspective of a doctor, noting that his resting heart rate — thirty beats per minute! — would be medically comatose if not for the thundering strength behind his pulse. His body temps always ran high, like a fever.

  “Don’t ever go to a hospital, Jack.”

  “I know. Freak show.”

  His skin was velvet stretched over steel, surprisingly soft. She couldn’t quit touching him. He let her explore, took it like a champ lying still, but only because she’d already worn him out.

  “What I want to know is, what does an eligible Scottish chick have that I don’t?”

  “Another two inches and forty pounds,” he quipped. “Double-wide hips.”

  “Can’t say I wish for that.”

  His lazy smile was breathtaking. One corner of his mouth pulled upward but dropped back while the other side made the attempt. His lips twitched a few times before he managed it, and then the most debonair lines creased his cheeks. Sunlight caught on the faint stubble dusting his jaw, his morning shave already nil. Suddenly all trace of boyishness vanished and a swashbuckler, smug Casanova showed through in his features.

  The best part — he only smiled like this for her.

  Chapter 6

  “It’s a shame you sat down.

  I was enjoying the view.”

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

  “Kyros will freak out if you run off with Jack.” Lyssa swatted away Cat, who seemed intent on sharpening her claws on the sheet bunched at Lyssa’s waist. Cat twitched her ragged ears and pounced again, bounced off Lyssa’s belly, then rubbed her face against the fabric.

  Cassie reached to scratch behind Cat’s ears. It closed its one good eye and purred with a ridiculous noise like a washing machine full of rocks. “Let him. Besides, I’m Naval Special Warfare Command’s newest field medic, and I’d sure hate to keep all those sugar cookies waiting for medical attention.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Cassie smiled — Lyssa never minced words. She also wore astounding nightgowns, frilly pieces probably stolen from a 1940s starlet. One more thing to be jealous of. Cassie sat on the end of Lyssa’s bed, trying not to stare at the semi-sheer concoction in dark maroon. Perhaps it was best to mind her own business, since Cassie had woken Lyssa from her nap.

  “It’s Frogman lingo. Jack’s been teaching me. Anytime a SEAL candidate screws up, he has to get wet in the ocean then roll around in the sand. Sugar cookie.” Cat pawed at Lyssa’s belly and mewed. Cassie finally noticed how Lyssa reclined against the pillows, clutching the bedspread to her lap. Cassie had assumed it was for modesty’s sake, but then she wondered, “Lyssa, are you feeling sick?”

  “I’m fine.” Her eyes widened as she spoke, and that was her tell. She lied.

  Cassie didn’t attempt to pry into her mind. While most extra-sentients’ mindshields felt like a closed door, Lyssa’s was an iron slab with spikes. Only a fool would mess with her, so Cassie resorted to staring her down, showing her skepticism.

  “Cassie, you know I’m your biggest fan, and I’ll try to keep Kyros in orbit. But are you sure you know what you’re getting into? Kyros told me about Jack and berserkers. I had no idea. That’s some serious trouble.”

  “Fourteen-pound babies with a nasty right hook. I know. He’ll be too busy playing commando to get into trouble with me. Jack wouldn’t anyway. He’s such a boy scout.” Cassie lowered her voice for dramatic effect, “Did you know he’s a virgin?”

  Lyssa mouthed, W-o-w and furrowed her brows, no doubt cataloging the legions of Barbie lookalikes he’d strung along. He seemed like an unrepentant player, but it was all an act, apparently.

  “I want to be with Jack. And I want to be useful. It’s perfect — SEALs don’t talk about what happens at Coronado. No one will make noise if I screw up.”

  Cassie knew Lyssa understood her problem with behaving like a human doctor. Healing a child of a fatal gunshot wound might be worth the risk, but supernatural explanations didn’t fly with the Board of Medical Examiners.

  “Jack can keep you safe,” Lyssa conceded. “But please be careful. Remember who you are.”

  Cassie rolled her eyes. “One of only two known female extra-sentients, blah, blah. Who cares? You’re the important one — ”

  “Not true.” Cat began growling, and Lyssa pushed it onto the floor. With an irritated feline expression,
Cat darted from the room.

  “Who starred on Sesame Street last summer? Every kid on the planet knows his adverbs because Lyssa Logan can play a Paganini violin concerto while hanging upside down from Grover’s trapeze. And don’t forget ‘Lyssa the Invincible’ who vaporized the world’s worst supervillain.” Cassie tilted her head. “I’m not even immortal.” It was easier to say when she made it sound like an annoyance instead of heartbreak.

  “You don’t know — ”

  “I know. Lyssa, I ate three pounds of chocolate last night and felt fantastic.” It seemed Lyssa meant to argue, so Cassie added, “I’m going to enjoy the years I have. With Jack. Better short and sweet, right?”

  Lyssa half-smiled. It was the pitying expression a mother would wear. “I wondered when you would tire of tormenting Jack and fall for him.”

  “Oh, I plan to make his life a living hell. Business as usual.”

  Lyssa shook her head. “I knew the day I met you both, watching you play music together. There is deep beauty in his soul. It moves me.” Lyssa frequently made mystical hippie comments like that, and Cassie nodded, trying not to appear completely ignorant of artistic matters.

  Lyssa did have a point, though. Cassie confessed, “I was wrong about him. He’s a good man. And I think he loves me back. What else matters?”

  “You might consider what it would do to him, watching you die an agonizing death on the birthing table.”

  “I’ll just patch myself back together.”

  “If you pass out? Blood loss? Shock? Blunt force trauma to vital organs?”

  Cassie managed not to wince. “Then he’d have a son. He’s immortal — plenty of time to get over it.” She shrugged. It took a few years off her life, but there was absolutely no irony in her tone, no welling tears, no telling grimace or sigh. She should have been an actress.

  Before her tight throat betrayed her, Cassie asked, “So what was your fight with Kyros about?”

  Lyssa looked at the ceiling and sighed. “No way.”

  “Please? Have anything to do with why you’re not playing any concerts until fall? I hope it’s not linked to the reason you’re pretending not to be ill.”

  “You’re too smart, Cass.” She winked. “But it’s private, sorry.”

  “If you’re afraid to tell Kyros what’s wrong, let me try. I’m a decent healer. I learned from the best, remember?”

  “That’s not — ” Lyssa paused to hiss a breath through her teeth as her back arched. A long moment Cassie watched as Lyssa stiffened, trying to keep a calm face, but Cassie knew these symptoms immediately.

  Lyssa was pregnant. And something was wrong.

  Ignoring Lyssa’s attempt to hide her strain, Cassie tugged the blankets away and thrust out her hands to feel for contractions over Lyssa’s abdomen. Unmistakable. The small bulge tensed and churned under her hands. Without waiting for permission, Cassie closed her eyes and felt for the tiny presence.

  A faint wisp of life, no larger than a newborn kitten. Almost four months. Cassie tried to probe the tiny presence, then it flickered. A little boy. He was aware of sounds and sensitive to emotion. His genetics already determined dark hair like his father, sage green eyes like his mother, and the fledgling electrical current indicated the same astounding talent Kyros had with electromagnetism. Scientifically speaking, the offspring of the two most powerful known extra-sentients should be … essentially, Superman.

  Lyssa quit struggling and observed with Cassie. Already Lyssa sobbed silently as Cassie learned why it had been a secret, why Lyssa didn’t want to tell. Again the baby’s thoughts stuttered then — a void. Long moments later he struggled to connect his presence to his mother. He was weak. Dying.

  Observing the pitiful reaching and heartbreaking failure, the innocent confusion — Cassie wanted to claw her heart out. No! she clutched Lyssa, who folded in on herself, as though she could protect the baby with her will to shelter him.

  Cassie furiously scrubbed the tears from her eyes and ordered herself to think. Almost impossible to shift into doctor mode when she was desperate with panic. Think, Cassie! She delved again with her mind, searching, following the systems, looking for — There. A detached placenta. Hemorrhaging. The contractions distressed the baby’s heart rate, and Lyssa’s body thought it was in labor. That had to stop first, or else her body would reject the fetus.

  Cassie froze a moment. She had no idea how to stop labor. It was a natural process, not an injury or illness. She tried to repair the bleeding instead, ordering herself to calm. Every moment she worked, her heart sank lower. While she attempted one remedy another injury grew worse. The little boy seemed asleep, his mind resting. It was lack of oxygen. Suffocation.

  Lyssa quaked, her body seizing with searing pain that rode her nerves. Worse was the unearthly scream in her mind, anguish exploding in a burst of realization: It was too late.

  Cassie focused her effort on calming Lyssa. Helped her breathe, turned her onto her side. Not much else to do except repair ruptured blood vessels, smooth damaged tissue. At least it kept her from ripping out her hair and shrieking like a demon.

  Cassie had watched children die before, but it was nothing like this. They both knew when it happened. Like a candle blowing out, with a lingering trace of a curious, sleepy thought from the babe. And then blood, too much of it.

  With Lyssa’s mind open, Cassie felt everything, shared every jab of pain, every searing emotion. The two women cried out, dual howls of unearthly agony. Black emotion welled like a tidal wave, and Cassie wished it would swallow them both. Anything was better than the breath-robbing pain pounding in her chest.

  Cassie tried to keep Lyssa from thrashing but felt like doing the same. Lyssa’s hands formed claws, she ripped at the skin over her heart, making an inhuman sobbing sound. More like an animal keening. Cassie scrambled to keep her from hurting herself, but her fists slid off Lyssa’s wrists, both too slick with blood to grip.

  Thunder shook the walls. It was Kyros. He burst into the room, an aura of magnetic energy sizzling in a huge radius around him. A male roar drowned every other sound. Lyssa reached for Kyros with shaking hands, and he collapsed near her —

  Strong arms gripped Cassie, and before she opened her eyes, she was being carried down the hallway, away from the storm raging in the bedroom where Lyssa and Kyros grieved together.

  Jack. Kill me.

  He crushed her against his chest as he ran through the lightning storm radiating from the house, farther and farther from the static pull until the pulsing hum grew fainter. With blurry vision Cassie watched sparks and explosions, circuits and transformers overloaded with sympathetic voltage from Kyros’ outburst. Streetlights went dark. A low hum buzzed in her skull until the sound of crashing waves washed over her consciousness.

  Jack sank to the ground with Cassie balled in his lap. He tucked her head under his chin and banded his arms across her back. She could barely breathe under his iron grip, but it was what she needed. It kept her from flying apart. His embrace pushed back against the awful tide of despair clawing its way out of her chest.

  Never, Jack. I have never seen anything more … awful! He petted her head while she sobbed, communicating wordlessly what she had observed, showing him how the tiny baby had struggled. How he felt abandoned, then sleepy, then nothing. Why? That’s not supposed to happen. Not to them.

  That was the second time, Cass.

  What? Her heart stopped at the news. A dozen waves swallowed the shore and receded. If she could have pummeled Jack, she would have thrashed him, but he still pinned her tightly. You never told me.

  Wasn’t my place to tell.

  Cassie couldn’t speak. She turned her face into his neck and sobbed. She wailed until her lungs couldn’t draw air.

  Shh. Breathe, lass. With me.

  He controlled her breath, synchronized with
the pulse of the ocean waves. He held her focus on the sound of their two heartbeats settling into rhythm. There sat Cat next to Jack in the sand, keeping watch. Before Cassie could complain about it being a pest, Jack mentioned,

  Cat fetched us. Did you send her?

  No. Lyssa shooed it out, wouldn’t quit pawing at her belly.

  Cat found Kyros and made some signal. He followed Cat back toward the house then ran for it once he heard Lyssa in pain.

  Cassie paled, realizing Cat had sensed the baby was in danger. Kyros’ weird cat usually served as an extra-sentient detector of sorts, but that would be the last time Cassie ignored the furball when it wanted to play Lassie. Would three-and-a-half minutes’ warning have been enough time to save the baby? Perhaps. Probably.

  Then it really was Cassie’s fault. Despair stabbed at her gut, a deep, sinking pain. She whispered miserably, I failed, Jack.

  No, lass. Nothing you could do. Not even Kyros. She’d never heard his voice in such a gentle tone. It happens, love.

  It shouldn’t!

  I’m sorry.

  Cassie cried until Jack’s shirt was soaked, until her body simply had nothing more to give. The numb exhaustion was a marginal improvement, but she hardly cared. Her eyes blinked, and she saw an unfamiliar stretch of beach. Might as well have been the gates of hell.

  “Nothing matters.”

  “Not true. Cass, much of the despair you felt was Lyssa’s. You were in her head. That’s dangerous. You’re not suicidal — calm down, okay? Let the burden belong to those who own it.”

  Somehow that was a revelation, what she needed to hear. Cassie let her mind wander, anywhere but what had just happened. Jack sat rocking her with his arms banded across her back, the pressure and heat comforting. It could have been minutes or hours while she decided she couldn’t stand living with Kyros and Lyssa another moment. Everything about them — their superpowers, fairytale romance, their tragedies — all more than she could handle.