The Valkyrie's Guardian (29 page)

Her scent lingered in his head long after he left her asleep in bed. Jack pulled Henry out of class, ignoring the dirty look the professor shot him. Jack took Henry to the library and placed a broken handheld video game player on a table, bait as well as a bribe.
Incentive
sounded better. Jack scanned the room to make sure the clerk was still across the room at his desk, out of earshot.

“Hey, Cheese. How's it goin'? Do ye like it here?”

“Satisfied with
what
 one has, the state or feeling of being contented.” Henry pounced on the little console and turned it about in his hands, trying to power it on. He seemed pleased to find the switch broken.

“Good. That's good. Get invited to an X-Men movie marathon yet?”

The flash of enthusiasm in Henry's expression meant he had been introduced to the Hollywood incarnation of their not-so-glorified lifestyle. Most extra-sentients tired of the joke.

“You know, Stan Lee — the creator of the original comics — was an extra-sentient.”

Henry scowled and scanned his eyes across the ceiling. “To be unfaithful in revealing or disclosing, in violation of confidence.”

“Nah. Stan was a friend of Kyros back in the sixties. The comic books were a practical joke. As far as I can tell, Kyros thinks it's funny.”

Jack fished a tiny Philips screwdriver from his pocket and held it between his fingers, out of reach for Henry. His beady black eyes flashed with desire. He wanted to open the console and fix the unit but needed the screwdriver.

“I could use your help, Henry.”

“Then light shone from Logafell, and from that radiance there came bolts of lightning, wearing helmets at Himingvani came the valkyries, their byrnies were drenched in blood, and rays shone from their spears.”

“Whoa, take a breath, kid. Cassie is napping at the house. She doesn't know I'm here and wouldn't approve, so don't rat me out, okay?”

“Many conditions chronically increase intra-abdominal pressure, and hence abdominal hernias are very frequent.”

Jack scowled. “Yeah, she's pregnant. But what I — ”

Henry leaned over the table and argued, “Acute abdomen can be defined as severe, persistent abdominal pain of sudden onset that is likely to require surgical intervention to treat its cause.”

“Cassie's in pain? She didn't tell me.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he crowned himself King Jackass. Of course she wouldn't say. “Uh, thanks for telling me. I'll take care of her, okay? In fact, she's resting now.”

Henry sat back in his chair, satisfied. “The most common traumatic causes of knee effusion are ligamentous, osseous and meniscal injuries, and overuse syndromes.”

“Yes, my leg is hamburger. Rub it in, why don't you?” Jack scrubbed his face with his hands. “Look, I hate putting this on a little guy, but if there's any intel you can give me about Krav's operation, I need it bad.” Jack flipped the screwdriver in his fingers, flashing the lure. “They used you to bait me. Why?”

Henry looked across the ceiling several times as though tracking a moth. “Refer to the absence or insufficiency of light.”

“I know the bastards kept you in a closet. And I'm sorry they hurt you. We'll do our best to keep all the students safe, I promise. But I need your help to do it. Please think, Henry. What did the
other one
say?” Jack used the term Lyssa had pulled from Henry's mind when she'd hacked it.

Henry looked hungrily at the screwdriver, and his chin trembled.

“Okay, how 'bout you let me take a look in your mind? You have an impressive mindshield, lad. I'm proud of you. Why don't you take it down for just a minute? Show me what I need to know, and you don't have to find the words?”
Then you can have the screwdriver,
went without saying.

Henry threw his head back and keened, a feral, injured sound that hurt Jack's ears.

“Okay! Henry, never mind. For the love of Pete stop that!”

The clerk at the desk jumped, ready to run to the rescue. Thankfully, Henry calmed.

Jack felt guilty, so he handed the tool over. Henry snatched it and went to work. In less than a minute the unit was a jumble of wires and small parts. Jack slumped in the chair and stared, defeated.

Henry began stuttering, and at first Jack thought he was muttering about the device he repaired. Jack tried not to jump up and whoop as he realized Henry was trying to quote dialog.

Jack translated as best he could with his very sketchy knowledge of Russian as Henry spoke in a low, gruff voice,
“You must kill the berserker but the female bring to me, unscathed. If the Greek attack, retreat. Not engage. Avoid his mate, the flame-hair as well. You do understand, Krav?”
Henry shrugged and resumed his project as though he meant,
That's all, folks.

“The
other one
ordered Krav to kidnap Cassie? Why?”

“Not within the range of one's knowledge or experience.”

Jack hit the table with his fist, and the splintering noise earned him a scowl from the clerk. “It's not you, Henry. I was
miles
off the mark. Damn it!” Suddenly it seemed ridiculous that Cassie slept unguarded in the room. He shouldn't let her out of his sight.

As he crossed the courtyard on his way back to the hall, the red laser dot came back. It danced around on the grass, as if it was necessary to attract Jack's attention. It climbed up his leg, circling around his bad knee in an infuriating taunt. Then it centered over his heart.

In any other circumstance, Jack would have bolted in the direction of the beam, following the trajectory. But he couldn't run with his injured knee if his life depended on it, and he couldn't wait another moment to find Cassie. He settled for shouting a crude curse in Gaelic involving the devil, deviant sexual behavior, and hellfire. Then he fled to Cassie's room, praying the entire way he hadn't already walked into a trap, that he wasn't too late.

He threw back the door and found the bed empty and cold. He smelled her scent in the room, but faintly. He checked every inch of the suite in a panic to be sure, but she was gone.
Gone.

• • •

Cassie heard a lion's roar. Even from far away it shook the walls. She knew the voice and that furious raw-throated tone, and therefore knew she was in trouble. She shot out of her chair.

“Oh, no. Neva, that's my exit music.”

Neva smiled, a lovely sight despite the dark circles under her eyes. “Is that yours or mine?”

Cassie shook her head. “Oh, it's Jack, all right. I'd better stop him from ransacking th — ”

A low-pitched crash followed by the clatter of falling debris illustrated the need for haste. “Thanks again. I'll come back later with chocolate.” Cassie ducked to kiss her sister-in-law on the forehead and dashed out the door.

She ran down the long corridors, mentally calling for Jack, but his mind was long gone, swallowed in the primitive throes of a berserker rage. He wasn't difficult to find, she had only to follow the commotion. She skidded to a halt at the end of the west gallery and found a volatile showdown in progress.

Side by side Hugh and Ben crouched low, their arms posed in a wrestler's stance. They blocked the entrance to the west wing, standing between Jack and the scent he drew in deep breaths, his face upturned to the draft wafting from the gallery. He'd tracked her through the house by smell. Jack was seconds away from bowling his brothers over. He paced like a riled tiger, growling with each exhalation. He looked frightening in all his glory, a wall of pumped muscle, his face a war mask, his eyes blazing a dangerous shade of fluorescent green.

His head whipped around and he sniffed the air in her direction. His nostrils flared, and his next breath was an ear-splitting roar. Cassie sprinted the forty feet to the gallery entrance, and the exertion took its toll at the worst possible moment. She was powerless to control the searing pain that clenched her gut. She couldn't help her agonized cry, she lost control of her legs and went down hard.

What she'd intended as a rescue turned into a disaster. Cassie rose to her knees, trying to call out to Jack, but a sharp wave of pain doubled her over. Jack lost it. Hugh and Ben thought they defended the entrance to their family's quarters from a rabid Jack. Even two against one, he would probably kill them. He roared again and charged, the sound like thunder.

She gritted her teeth against the pain searing down her legs and called desperately to Hugh.
Let him through, please. He's looking for me.
Hugh jumped, startled, but he got it. He darted aside and turned around to see Cassie on the floor. Too late for Ben to get the memo. Jack crashed into him and they rolled, a blur of fists and elbows. Hugh chased after them, shouting for their attention.

“Jack, please stop,” she called, hoping he could hear.

He froze mid-motion, about to dash Ben's head against the floor.

He dropped Ben's head and used a nasty Krav Maga groin strike to get out of Ben's hold. Jack scooped her up and folded her in his lap, shielding her with his arms and ducked head. His mind was a mess. He was minutes away from being able to process words, but she tried to calm him anyway. The pain subsided and she could breathe again. “Shh, Jack, I'm fine. Calm down, baby.”

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?”