The Valkyrie's Guardian (37 page)

Kyros sent a silent apology as he mended the gash over her wrist, the stabbing-needles sensation fraying her already taxed nerves. “They're banged up but alive. Hugh took care of the clan, none of the tangos made it inside the house.”

“Thanks for easing me into it, but I have to know who didn't make it.”

“Buck.”

Oh no, one of her SEALs. She choked on a sob, then decided she didn't care if she cried, knowing she probably wouldn't stop once she started.

“He went down guarding the boys from the dormitory, trying to move them to shelter. Four tangos charged him, and he couldn't maneuver with the boys out in the open. He took eighty-two rounds before it stopped him. He got three tangos and the boys took out the last one.”

She could imagine it, details and all. Hot tears burned her temples. Who would call Buck's mother and sister in Detroit with the news? What would they tell his family? She vowed that if someone in a suit tried to feed his family some bureaucratic lie about a training accident, she would go there herself and give them the truth. It was their right to know their son had died a hero.

“Who else, Kyros?”

“Magnus.”

“Oh no.” She started sobbing again and swallowed to stop it. “Not Henry?”

“Injured, signs of torture and third-degree burns. It seemed he used his power to cloak the blast. He tried to cover Magnus too, I could see where he … ah — ” Kyros paused and hung his head. “Cass I can't … ”

“It's okay. I get it.”

Her foster father never got used to seeing children hurt. It drove his passion for the Network academies. Now that she understood, she couldn't imagine anything more important either. Black hatred for Tammuz roared like an inferno in her heart. Didn't matter that he was dead, she
hated, hated, hated
him. Wished him to the hottest pit in hell. Wished him alive again so she could kill him, slowly. Once for every person she cared about whom he'd hurt.

“Whoa, love. Easy there. I can't work with you cooking steam like that.”

Cassie breathed deeply, grateful it didn't hurt half so bad as before. Kyros was good.

“Tammuz?”

“Oh-so-dead.”

“You sure?”

One corner of Kyros' mouth pushed into his cheek, a sign of repressed humor. “I trained Jack well. You did a bang-up job yourself, agapití mou
.
Well done.”

“Well done as in, closed-casket funeral, or haz-mat postal envelope?”

His mouth pulled into a grim line. “The latter.”

Cassie knew she was a different person now than the one who left for a weekend at the lake with Jack, because the news made her deeply contented, satisfied like a good meal. Had it been only two months?

“So did the fat lady sing?”

His shook his head. “No sign of Boris in the aftermath. That went from annoying to catastrophic when Pops brought me some disturbing intel stashed inside the cave. It's never over.” He laughed without pausing in his work, a cold exasperated sound. “I'm tired, Cass. Centuries of this war, and it never ends. But today we celebrate victory.” A weak attempt at finding the silver lining, and they both knew it.

Her face drained as a thought popped into her head like a sudden memory. Why hadn't it been the first question out of her mouth? “Kyros, can you hear my baby?”

She didn't like the long pause before he answered, “I don't know, love.” A lie, she knew by the tight lines around his eyes. “But you're well enough to move now, so let's get you back to base and we'll worry about it then.”

He lifted her and carried her to a saddled horse, an odd sight to her eyes before she realized it made sense. Kyros cradled her as he rode, his countermotion to the horse's gait so fluid it soothed rather than jostled her. His centuries of practice explained that. He galloped through the gate at Kinmylies and reined a halt. The sight in the courtyard was sweeter than Noah's rainbow after the flood: A family working together, picking up the pieces of disaster. With everyone covered in ash and grime, she saw only people — friends. If didn't matter who was a berserker, a professor, a soldier, or a child.

Hugh was in his element, every bit the worthy leader, his steely resolve and squared shoulders keeping everyone busy and calm. He turned at the sound of the horse and stared.

Kyros dismounted gently, and she leaned against his shoulder. Hugh's eyes went wide. She must look a fright.

“Sorry about your castle, Lord Hugh.” She sounded like a cooked frog.

His eyes crinkled and white teeth flashed bright against his sooty face. “Happened before, will happen again.”

The man behind Hugh turned and dusted his hands on his pants, a fruitless exercise with dirt coating every surface in sight.

“Ben!” she called before she could stop herself, happy to see him alive and well.

His head jerked up and he met her gaze. He rushed forward, and taking her completely by surprise, hugged her and kissed the top of her head. It was awkward, with her still in Kyros' arms, but the gesture made her eyes water. As abruptly as it had happened, he stepped away without a word and resumed lifting rocks, clearing a pile of rubble.

“Well, that was odd,” Hugh mumbled, nonplussed.

Male voices bantering curses caught her attention. Through the gate behind her came Pops and Chet, flustered and heaving under the weight of Jack's arms locked over their shoulders.

“Seriously, Doolittle. Do you have to eat five square meals a day of lead pellets?” Pops complained, and Chet grumbled, “Damned rabbits! Where's my rifle?” She looked and saw a ridiculous crowd of furry brown jackrabbits trailing after them, mingled with a brace of foxes and one reluctant doe.

What was it with Jack and animals? People said that animals sense a person's character, so maybe Jack's attracted them. Or maybe because he was pretty much an animal himself, so all sorts of fauna followed after him to check out his funky smell.

She stared at Jack and waited for him look up and see her. Their gazes locked and his expression went serious. He shrugged out of his buddies' hold and limp-hopped over to her. She wriggled out of Kyros' arms, relieved to find she could stand. Jack grabbed her and folded her into his arms, snug against his chest. His heart hammered a jagged beat which hers matched. He choked, fighting back tears, the struggle shielded from view with his face buried in her hair. His embrace was firm yet gentle, careful not to hurt her.

His fingers cupped the back of her head and he crushed his mouth down on hers in a bitter-tangy kiss she would never forget. It was joyous, desperate, its energy deep and rowdy. He kissed like an angry husband. She kissed him back gently like an apology, relishing the contact.

For a few ugly minutes, she'd been certain she would never do this again. She would take his wrath — she deserved it. Not that she regretted what she'd done. He nipped her bottom lip and stroked it with the tip of his tongue. His lips rolled against hers in a sexy, slow slide that promised more to come. Then he pecked her with a hard kiss square on her lips like a punctuation mark.

Prelude to an argument.

“You are in the biggest trouble of your life, Cassiopeia MacGunn.”

She couldn't help it, she grinned.

“I mean it! I should turn ye over my knee and spank yer arse hard. Wipe that smile off your face, lass. I've never been more pissed off in my entire life!”

A seductive wave of heat flared between them, a pleasant tension that made her want to pull him even closer despite being locked in his arms.

“Why don't we take this inside?” She bounced a brow at him and winked. It made him angrier. She grazed her nails over his jaw, tickling his skin through his ever-present five-o'clock shadow.

“Yes,
please!
” called Ben, followed by a chorus of grumbling and chuckling.

Jack groaned and looked at the sky, and she knew she'd won.

• • •

Movie stars smoked a cigarette in bed in morning-after scenes. Jack munched on carrots.

Cassie smiled and propped her hands on his chest, ducking to bite the end off the carrot sticking out between his lips. He growled low in his throat, a feline sound which translated,
That's hot, baby.

He rubbed a warm hand up and down her side. She heard him contemplating taking the boat out to the lake once they returned home. Normal, leisurely thoughts for a Saturday morning — refreshing. Cassie laid her head over his heart and listened to the noisy slow drumming. Such a strong, healthy rhythm, music to her ears as both a doctor and a wife. The sound of security.

She felt guilty being so happy when there were people in the household still healing and others who grieved. Well, she was mostly happy. She needed to see Lyssa and ask her to tell the truth about the baby, but she just wasn't ready for bad news yet.

This is nice,
Jack commented lazily, kneading down her side again. He meant the extra five pregnancy pounds she'd already packed on, in all the right places.

Oh, no. She'd have to tell him. Would she strike him dead if he acted relieved at the news she'd lost the baby? Or would it be worse if he hung his head and wept? There was something unbearable about seeing a strong man cry. She didn't think she could take it.

“To give or reveal confidential or incriminating information,” came a raspy young voice, muffled through the door.

Jack startled, then threw his head back onto the pillow. “Cheese? Not now. Remember when I talked to you about staying away when I'm in bed with my wife?”

Cassie jabbed him in the ribs.
Can you at least try to be age-appropriate?

“Coition in a sexual relation, coupling, especially — ”

Cassie thumped her forehead and shot a death-by-lightning expression at Jack. The kid was messed up enough already.

Jack snorted. “Yeah, you got it. So not right now, okay? We'll come see you later.”

Henry's voice rose, adorable with pint-sized indignation. “To consider or examine by argument, comment, to talk over, especially to explore solutions, debate — ”

Just let him in, Jack.

“Fine! You little bugger. Hang on a minute.”

“To speak informally with another, exchange views or opinions by talking.” Henry sounded anxious.

“Hey, I have to put some pants on, okay?” Jack called.

Cassie couldn't find her shirt. Jack pulled it down from the light fixture and tossed it in her lap, with one more salacious glance and a wink.

Jack opened the door and Henry stumbled through — he'd been plastered against the door. Henry dashed to the bed and threw himself face-down in Cassie's lap. He exhaled in shaky breaths, his hands trembling. She stroked his head and muttered nonsense in a low voice; she couldn't think of what else to do.

“What's the matter, Henry? Are you all right?”

His tiny voice came muted from her lap, “Word over all, beautiful as the sky. Beautiful that war and all its deeds of carnage must in time be utterly lost. That the hands of the sisters Death and Night, incessantly, softly wash again and ever again, this soiled world.”

“That's beautiful, Henry.” She exchanged glances with Jack, who totally didn't get it.
Dona Nobis Pacem, lyrics from a musical work about war and reconciliation.
“You saw terrible things yesterday. I'm sorry for that.”

He tossed his head. “Deserving reproach or censure, blameworthy.”

“No! Henry, that's not true. An evil man exploited your power. No one faults you.”

“Full of grave risk or peril, hazardous, dangerous.”

Jack scoffed and leaned back against the wall. “Join the club, Cheese. Everyone at Network-One is dangerous.” He rubbed Henry's shoulder in the rough way men show awkward affection. “Hell, that wasn't even the first time a kid blew up an academy.”

Cassie rolled her eyes.
What is wrong with you?

Jack shrugged.
What? Just trying to help.

“And may the sin of your servant have forgiveness, for the Lord will make thy house strong, inasmuch as my master fights in the Lord's war.”

“Henry, I will buy you a lifetime supply of busted radios if you will just talk like a normal kid. Try it, buddy. Say, ‘I want a Twinkie.' ”

Jack, shut up.
“Henry, you're not in trouble, sweetheart.”

“Reparation made by giving an equivalent or compensation for loss, damage, or injury caused.” He crawled to Jack and pawed at his leg. Jack scrambled out of the way, cursing under his breath. Cassie warned him to be still. Henry seemed earnest, and she wanted to see where this would go.

He tugged Jack's pant leg until Jack leaned over and pulled it up over his knee, hissing as Henry pushed impatiently.

Totally weirded out here.

Just go with it, Jack.

Henry blinked and muttered as he poked the swollen, bruised joint. Pink scars scored the sides of his kneecap where Kyros and Cassie had repaired what they could with surgery yesterday. No one had dared speak aloud what they all knew: Jack's leg was hamburger, and he'd never be the same.

Jack held his breath as Henry laid an ear to his knee. Nothing happened for a full minute, then Henry looked sideways at Cassie and whispered, “Contribute strength or means to render assistance.”

“Okay.” Cassie moved next to Jack on the bed. She slipped inside Jack's mind and worked her way down to his knee, honing her mind the way a microscope zooms in to focus on the miniscule world of cells. Awareness blossomed as her probing met Henry's presence. His was brilliant and intense, his energy a complex force unfamiliar to her. A strange sensation as he merged with her mind, like a piggy back ride. It was uncomfortable at first, like trying to carry something heavy and awkwardly-sized.

Jack kept squirming, his breath too rapid. She knew he felt the teeming energy, tingling, penetrating deep through blood, muscle and bone. It generated heat, but like a healing balm.