The Valkyrie's Guardian

by Moriah Densley

  Hugh spat a string of f-word variations. “What the bloody hell is going on? Why are you in the west wing?”

  Jack raised his head and rumbled a warning with his teeth bared, clutching Cassie as though he shielded her from a threat. He was so stupid when he lost control.

  Cassie didn’t want to tattle on Neva. “I was just exploring,” she replied, her voice muffled by Jack’s shoulders caging her in. “The tapestries in the west wing are lovely, I couldn’t help myself. I have a weakness for eighteenth-century Axminster.” She figured an ego stroke would work on Hugh, and it did. He seemed mollified.

  Ben still writhed on the floor clutching his groin. “Sodding freak show! He’ll pull the house down on our heads.”

  “He found me missing from our room and panicked. You got in his way,” Cassie defended.

  Ben pushed himself to his knees and shook the hair out of his eyes, “My children’s quarters are in this wing!”

  Hugh snorted. “About that. Looks like you’re finished in the offspring department, Ben. Your voice is definitely higher.”

  Cassie brushed off Hugh’s attempt at humor. “Since when did Jack become a psychopathic child slayer? Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “He’s out of his mind. He’ll do anything. Ask him, lass. Ask him yourself why no one should trust him any farther than they could throw him.”

  Cassie wriggled to find a more dignified position for arguing. “He’s your brother.”

  “In name only.”

  “You’re a fool, then. Both of you.”

  “Go to h — ”

  “Ben. Let’s go.” Hugh intervened, sensing the precarious truce wouldn’t survive an act of aggression between Ben and Cassie.

  She hoped they beat it, and fast, because no sooner had they gone from view, Jack’s hands scrubbed her over from head to toe, desperate to see for himself she was unharmed.

  Jack, let me up. I’m fine. What’s going on?

  He paused to meet her gaze, whimpered in his throat, then crushed his mouth to hers, attacking her with a wild kiss. He grasped her face and delved deep, his lips hungry and furious. She tried to kiss him back calmly, she stroked the back of his neck to soothe him, but he wouldn’t back down from his rage.

  She gave in. Jack cradled her so tightly she could barely breathe, and she could still feel his fear. He was scared to death … about what? And he was angry. He kissed her with impatient strokes, a wordless argument. He yanked her shirt over her head and dragged them both into an alcove with a window seat. She leaned her back against the cushion, losing her own mind against the force of Jack’s enthusiasm. He meant to take her right here in the hallway.

  She broke away from his kiss to protest, but he was very efficient. Too late — her fault for wearing a skirt. Cassie pulled a tasseled throw pillow down from the window seat and propped it behind her back. Jack towered over her, shielding her with his massive chest. He grasped her hips and buried his face in her neck, dragging in deep breaths and sucking hard on the skin under her ear. Then he laved the spot with his tongue as though she had chocolate-flavored skin. Honey almond with smoked sage, according to his frenzied brain.

  Cassie fought a losing battle, trying to keep quiet. Jack had never been out of control like this with her; she half expected to have to defend herself. Instead she found herself provoking him, keeping him testy and angry because she liked it that way. She loved the unbearable heat, the intoxicating friction of sweat-slicked flesh on flesh. She felt time tick in slow motion, felt every sensation ebb and wane with excruciating relish.

  It didn’t take long. Neither could sustain such wild intensity. Mind-blowing sex was the perfect antidote for Jack’s rage — his sanity returned as his body calmed. He metered his breath and rested against her chest. Cassie knew he had less than five minutes until he crashed. He’d settled in too cozily here on the hallway floor, sprawled in a position probably asterisked with a warning in chapter two of the Kama Sutra.

  Jack. She jostled his shoulders. Get off me. She tried to wriggle free but he had her tangled and pinned.

  He responded with the reflexes of an old man in a snowstorm. His mind made a sound like chainsaw purring. Her genius lover, an overgrown cat. He staggered through the maze of hallways, half-delirious. She waited until she had him reclined on the bed, finishing his twelfth sliced apple before taking him to task.

  “Jack, I’m trying to give you the benefit of doubt, but was all that really necessary?”

  He spoke around his chewing, “Oh, yeah. Especially the last part.” He made a sexy growl in his throat and winked.

  She rolled her eyes and tapped her foot, impatient. Now that he had his calorie fix, he would soon drop unconscious, for at least a half hour.

  “Honey, I’m just glad I found you in one piece. Go ahead and rip me a new one, I feel great.”

  “What is it, Jack?”

  He sighed and dropped his jocular façade. “The sniper’s back.”

  Cassie cursed, it just popped out. She’d better curb the habit before the baby developed enough to hear.

  “That’s not the worst of it. I had a chat with Henry. Turns out Mr. X let him overhear his orders. Krav was after you.”

  “What?”

  “He was supposed to kill me, kidnap you without harming you, and evade ‘the Greek and his flame-haired mate.’ Kyros and Lyssa, who else? Good thing we brought backup, or it probably would’ve worked.”

  “Oh.” Cassie sank onto the bed. “That explains the ambush and their cloaked minds. They expected to have to distract Kyros and Lyssa while they outnumbered you and snatched me. Or did I miss something?”

  “Sounds like a winner to me.”

  “But why? Why capture me?”

  Jack snorted and raked his eyes over her figure. “Love slave?”

  “Very funny.”

  “At any rate, they know you’re here. I pretty much put up a neon sign, Hey bad guys, here is Network-One! C’mon over.” He tucked his arms behind his neck and leaned back. “And with that damned sniper here, you can call me Velcro, baby. Jack MacGunn, bodyguard at your service.”

  “You already are.”

  “Nope, I mean every waking moment and everything in between. You won’t even take a toilet break without me.”

  “That’s hardly necessary. What, you think they’ll break in through the loo?”

  “You been in combat long as I have, ye learn to take no risks.” He patted the mattress. “Come keep me warm, baby. I need to think a while.”

  Cassie sighed and shook her head, but crawled next to him and spooned herself against his side.

  “Ye please me, Cass, know that?” He yawned and squeezed her flank. “When I’m not in the mood to spank ye for being a naughty lass, I’ll ask ye to tell me what you were really up to in the west wing, and why ye didn’ tell me you’ve been in pain.”

  Stalling was good. “Later, Jack.”

  “A man wants to know.” He nodded off to sleep, one hand molded over her hip and the other warm on her chest.

  No, actually, you don’t.

  • • •

  An email had been waiting from Darren York, her ex-boyfriend who didn’t drop out of their medical residency. That would make him Darren York, MD FACS. He’d won the cardiothoracic surgery fellowship they’d competed for. When she occasionally heard from him, she tried not to be jealous, hearing about his FDA-funded clinical trials and journal publications. Damned rock star. But she hadn’t gone into medicine for the accolades. She took a deep breath and let it go.

  It had taken her three days to find a spot at Kinmylies where she could get a decent internet signal. Oddly, she found it outside a Cromwell-era ruin overlooking the river. She sat with her back propped against the wall, basking in the heat radiating from the sun-baked stones while Jack lay buck naked in
the grass next to her. He appeared to be dozing, but eavesdropping on his thoughts she knew he was concentrating, listening for any unnatural sounds in a three-mile radius. He kept an M-4 carbine within arm’s reach, along with holstered throwing knives.

  Jack had complained about a “funky smell” coming from the river and spent the morning alternately on diving patrols and watching the river from the hill under cover of the ruin, hoping to catch the sniper. He’d insisted Cassie wear Kevlar, but apparently he couldn’t scare up a pair of swim trunks. No complaints. Only the arrival of news she’d been going crazy waiting for could distract her from the sight of Jack au naturel.

  She opened the email from Darren, feeling almost giddy. He wrote:

  Haha, Cassie! Thanks for the Monday chuckle. How the hell did you concoct that thing? Reminded me of the time we concentrated the estrogen/progestin units in Leonard’s sample and convinced him he was turning into a woman. LOL, memories.

  All right, down to business. I can’t stand the thought of you stumping me, so I’ll play ball. The analysis for the blood sample you sent me is as follows, drumroll please … Pregnant! With octuplet gorillas, judging by the hCG levels.

  Abnormal flags for excess creatinine: 415 units, but blood-urea-nitrogen to creatinine ratios low. (How is this possible!? Patient has quadruple the normal muscle mass for a male, the kidney function of an ox team but comatose blood pressure?) I hate to call the complete absence of viral or bacterial ’cytes in white blood cell count “abnormal,” but what human has pristine health? A BioDome quarantine patient? A Clorox drinker?

  Abnormal beta protein band, unidentifiable compound with both organic and metallic properties. Substance resisted detachment in analysis. Protein rider bonds to red blood cells …

  Cassie scanned down the list, item after item of abnormal substances in the blood, outrageous levels of various chemicals — proof of superhuman behavior on a cellular level. Seems she drove Darren crazy, wondering how she had doctored the sample as a joke. She wished it was a joke.

  It’s Superman, right? You have to tell me how you did it. You could start a Planet Krypton scandal in the tabloids with this, but that’s taking it too far, don’t you think?

  Still miss you, Cassie. Call me when you can, honey. I still have that black lace slip with the broken strap. If you want it, you’ll have to come and get it yourself. Hope you can imagine my eyebrow wagging at you.

  Darren

  Cassie shifted and tugged at the Kevlar vest. The screen on her phone went dark while her brain bogged itself in a stupor. Weird, but if she didn’t know better, she would’ve said the blood analysis sounded exactly like Jack. With the exception of the pregnancy hormones, of course. The evidence suggested her blood’s properties had altered — mutated — to match Jack’s. Still she didn’t believe it.

  Maybe it was nature’s way of making her a compatible host for the berserker baby?

  Okay, that made sense, in a Twilight Zone sort of way. So now the million-dollar question: Was it a permanent change? Because other than Jack being a spazoid, the greatest difference between them was his immortality and her lack of it. What would the change in her blood do to her?

  It could be good news, but the fact remained that she was only six weeks pregnant and already debilitated by complications. She supposed nature adapted to the baby’s advantage but took its toll on her. She’d known from the beginning this was part of the package, and it was still okay with her. A relief to finally know what’s going on in a medical sense. Less frightening.

  Jack, wake up. Let me check your knee again.

  He groaned and rolled onto his back, obliging but unhappy with being a lab rat today.

  Cassie knelt and tested the sutures in his knee. “Okay, good. No excess fluid, no signs of inflammation. Can you flex your kneecap?”

  He did that without trouble, which was an improvement. But he held his breath, knowing she would ask him to raise his knee and bend it to a ninety-degree angle next. He’d done it after the first operation she attempted a few hours ago, but the effort kicked his pulse into the red zone and squeezed tears of pain out the corners of his eyes. Hopefully the second surgery had worked.

  “Sorry, baby. You have to.”

  Jack exhaled, his expression like a man going to the gallows. She forced herself to appear clinical as Jack lifted his knee. He bent it slowly, and she waited. Still waiting for the bones to grind, for damaged tendons to pull and burn, but it didn’t happen. She smiled as he made it halfway before it bothered him.

  “It’s better. I’ll do the same procedure once more tonight, then heal the incisions.”

  “What’d you do?”

  “I lubricated friction points with a cartilage transfer and cushioned it with plasma. Don’t ask how I got it, you’d be grossed out.”

  “I’ll take your word for it, Doc.” He wrinkled his nose, wondering what on earth she’d done to him while he was under anesthesia.

  Cassie smiled. Funny that her fearsome berserker was such a baby about needles and scalpels when he slept with a serrated combat knife under his pillow. She helped him ease his leg back to the ground.

  “Nowhere near perfect, but you should be able to walk without limping. No stairs, no running.”

  Jack snorted and rolled a piece of grass in his teeth. He didn’t even attempt to mollify her by saying he’d obey. It would have been a lie, and they would both know it.

  Chapter 22

  “Here, you take my lollipop, and I’ll improvise.”

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

  Wake up, Cassie. I need you.

  She shot awake and staggered, her head spinning. Cassie had been in the middle of a bizarre dream about a red-headed valkyrie. She’d looked familiar, she was lovely and dangerous, and oddly, friendly. The valkyrie in her dream tipped her head back, gorgeous copper-russet-striated hair twirling in the wind while her fingertips shot precise beams of lavender-colored lightning. Seconds later, the vision faded.

  “Magnus is missing. Get up, honey.”

  “What — missing? How?” She reached for the bedside lamp but Jack stilled her hand. That’s right — his night vision. She’d blind him if she switched on a light.

  “Curtis summoned me. Magnus was missing from the second quarter watch roll call. We’ve either got a prank or a kidnapping. Come with me, silently.”

  She heard the quick shuck-shuck of Jack putting his pants on. Cassie rolled out of bed and remembered she wore only her skin. Jack had worn her out last night and she’d fallen unconscious where she’d dropped, that being the foot of the bed on top of Jack’s chest. She was alert now, and aware just how freezing cold the middle of the night in Scotland was.

  And then it dawned on her. Magnus, the spontaneous combustion kid, missing? Oh, no.

  “What about Henry?”

  “Accounted for.”

  She hated feeling relieved when a boy was still missing, but there it was. All she had time for was yoga pants and a camisole before Jack herded her out the door. He grunted his approval and rubbed a hand down her flank. She heard him sending mental orders to the guards scattered over the three floors of the academy. She trailed behind him as they approached the dormitory, most of the professors already awake and waiting for Jack.

  “Cassie, you swear you rigged that alarm, right? Because nothing went off, not the motion or heat detectors. Not to mention the triple layers of guards.”

  “I’ll double-check the keypad, but I know I configured it correctly. If someone left the room, it should’ve tripped the alarm.”

  Everybody, listen up. At Jack’s command, the professors slumped at the foot of their beds sat up and the guards shuffled closer. “Magnus is missing. He was present for the first quarter watch roll call and gone for the second. Cassie?”

  She squinted to see the display
by light of the emergency exit sign. “Disarmed. Someone shut off the alarm system.” She added on a private channel, It was password-encoded, Jack.

  Who has it?

  Me. Curtis. That’s all.

  They both avoided looking at Curtis, who stood with the other professors and appeared untroubled, as far as she could tell in the dim light.

  Jack swept his gaze around the room as he broadcast to everyone, Okay, here’s the plan. I want all security personnel except Alpha Team to guard inside the dormitory. Lights out, absolute silence. Keep the children asleep. Professors, stage a search of the three floors but stay in pairs. Turn on lights, make noise. Make it look like you’re searching for the missing student, but stay in the hallways.

  Alpha Team, stake out the dormitory after the search party leaves. If this was a diversion, the enemy will move when we seem distracted. Apprehend any tangos, deadly force authorized if necessary. Got it, everyone? He nodded after everyone sent their silent agreement. In case of FUBAR, revert to emergency evacuation plan and wait at rendezvous point.

  Jack went first out the door. He tucked Cassie under his arm and whisked her down a dark hallway before the search party and security team left the room.

  “Jack, did anything about Curtis seem off when he summoned you? Because his mind behaved a lot like that brainwashed SEAL candidate who attacked me. Blank-ish.”

  “Smart lass. That’s why I said nothing about what you and me are doing. The rest was a decoy.”

  “What are we doing?”

  “Up for a little game of cat and mouse?”

  Jack led her down the fire escape stairwell, and she tried not to stumble. His knee popping made her cringe, but she didn’t even try to make him slow down. He wouldn’t.

  He whispered, “I’m thinking: Mr. X brainwashes the dean and makes him disable the alarm, takes the kid … he’s not going to stick around, right? He’s going to run for it. But first he’ll wait and see how we react. Maybe it was a diversion. Maybe he really wants the kid. Maybe he’s just a psychopathic jerk. We’ll find out when we corner him.”