The Heart of a Hero

by Janet Chapman

  How interesting, Julia decided as she pulled in another shuddering breath, considering her highly dependable biological clock meant she should have started her period two days ago. Except not only hadn’t she, but she also didn’t have any of the telltale signs of tender breasts and slight cramping that usually preceded it.

  She wasn’t quite in panic mode yet, still holding out hope that running around like a crazy woman trying to make two brides’ fantasies come true was the reason she was late. Mother Nature was allowed to skip a beat once in a while, wasn’t she?

  Yeah, she’d get her period any day now.

  Julia held the little stone out when the other five cats all got up and crowded around, insisting she let each of them touch it. Well, except Ajax, who kept looking at everyone blankly, as if trying to figure out what was so interesting about a rock.

  Solomon gave her arm a less than gentle nudge after he’d taken his touch, then walked around the side of the house, giving a loud, growling meow as he headed down the side porch—which apparently was some sort of signal for the other five to follow. But when Julia didn’t immediately follow, Bastet stopped at the corner of the house and looked at her, then gave another chirp, this one rather demanding.

  “Okay, I’m coming,” Julia said with a chuckle, slipping her phone and the stone in her pocket and standing up—making sure she stayed pressed up against the glass. “Hey, where do you all think you’re going?” she asked when she rounded the corner and saw the parade continue past the cat door. “The whole point of this trip was to bring you guys home.”

  Julia dropped her head with a sigh, knowing exactly where they were going, which was back to her house—the one with the big soft bed they’d all spent the last two nights crowding her out of. Only instead of heading up the resort road when they reached it, Sol led his band of merry followers across the pavement and into the woods.

  Julia stopped at the ditch. “Ah, guys? It’s getting dark.”

  Bastet stopped just before disappearing into the trees and gave another loud chirp, which apparently signaled Sol to come back to see what the problem was. Could cats glare? Because she’d swear the big lug was looking at her through narrowed, impatient eyes. Julia sighed again, pulling her gloves out of her pocket and slipping them on. “Okay,” she said, scrambling across the ditch and up the bank on the other side, “but if this isn’t a shortcut, you’re all sleeping under the bed tonight.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Julia sat in her big leather chair watching out the office window, about to make an executive decision that if her escorts didn’t show up in the next ten minutes, she was leaving without them. Once Nicholas’s business trip had passed the six-day mark, the cats had started walking her to and from work every day—although she couldn’t figure out how they always knew when she was ready to head home every evening. The ritual had been ongoing for three weeks now, making it a sum total of twenty-eight days—not that she was counting—since anyone had heard from Nova Mare’s director of security.

  Which made Julia glad she’d caved in and installed a cat door after five nights of repeatedly having to get out of bed to let Ajax outside, then wait and let him back inside, because he couldn’t seem to hold his bladder longer than a few hours. But not wanting to cut a hole in a perfectly good wall, she’d had her staff carpenter replace one of the window sashes with a flapping door.

  Well, the cats walked her to and from work when it wasn’t snowing—spending their days only they knew where—and rode in her enclosed cart during foul weather. The new cart had actual doors and a heater and even windshield wipers, but the really cool part was it had a track system instead of wheels that supposedly made it able to maneuver through really deep snow like a Sherman tank—not that she’d had a chance to find out if that was true yet.

  Every day Julia grew more amazed at the lengths Olivia was willing to go to make Nova Mare one of the most exclusive and unique resorts in the world. And she didn’t care what the woman claimed; the former town mouse had some pretty outrageous dreams of grandeur. Although Julia did recall the gondola across the fiord was really Mac’s idea, which had actually been discussed at a couple of directors’ meetings.

  Four days to Christmas and still no Nicholas. Julia really hoped he was back by then, because she had a really exciting present to give him. One she hadn’t even had to shop for; she’d only had to stop having periods.

  Oh yeah; she’d gone past panic a couple of weeks ago after peeing on three home pregnancy sticks, and was now at the how in Hades do I tell him? stage. Hopefully she’d have it figured out and be well into resigned acceptance by the time he got back. Because if how much she missed him was any indication, she was pretty sure she was utterly and completely in love with the tall, blue-eyed, maddeningly handsome man.

  Except how was that even possible, considering she’d known him exactly a week and a half? And considering she’d actively avoided him four of those days, how could she possibly be missing and wanting and loving the muscle-flexing atavist with every fiber of her being?

  Granted, they’d had two one-night stands, so she not only must have trusted him on some innate level from the very beginning, she must still be trusting that little inner voice she hadn’t listened to when she’d had doubts about marrying Clay. And those hadn’t been last-minute doubts, either; she’d started catching small glimpses of Clay the jerk within a month of losing her virginity to him.

  Getting pregnant her senior year had obviously muffled that voice, but losing the baby only six weeks along should have had it shouting that was her chance to smarten up—especially when Clay had said it was probably for the best, and it was a good thing he’d persuaded her not to tell anyone. And she really wished that voice had found a tote full of bricks and smacked some sense into her when the jerk had suggested they get married anyway and keep to their plan of putting each other through college.

  No, it hadn’t been teenage lust that had made her think Clay had been her best shot at happily-ever-after, but rather the deadly combination of wanting to leave town, the zinging hormones of pregnancy and loss, and plain old teenage stupidity.

  So . . . if her inner voice had been right ten years ago but she hadn’t listened to it, what if it was right about Nicholas and she didn’t listen to it this time, either, and she walked away from the real deal?

  It would be nice if the man were actually here to help her decide, but no one—not even Olivia or Mac or Rana—had heard from Nicholas in twenty-eight days. Julia’s growing anger at his not even calling had turned to worry, however, when she’d discovered that her unflappable mentor was worried.

  Several mornings ago, when she’d been digging through the prop room looking for inspiration for Nova Mare’s annual New Year’s Eve bash, Julia had overheard Rana and Titus talking in the hall, the couple obviously believing no one was at work yet. Well, it had been more of an argument than a discussion, with Rana threatening to go find Nicholas herself if her almighty husband or son wouldn’t, and Titus threatening to have her back on the island in the blink of an eye if she stepped even a foot off the mountain.

  “In the blink of an eye or clap of thunder?” Julia had muttered to herself when the conversation had at that point turned ominously silent. Not wanting them to know she’d overheard their private discussion, Julia had left the prop room via the rabbit warren of corridors and run down to registration, then gone outside and run back up the path and strolled in the front door as if she were just coming to work . . . without her coat.

  But apparently even queens had to defer to real muscle being flexed, because Rana hadn’t stepped foot off the mountain, her mood had been anything but serene for the last several days, and Rowan was now walking her home every evening.

  Julia stood up when she spotted Sol in the path lights racing to the door with the rest of the herd valiantly trying to keep up, and she rushed out of the office to let them in. “Okay, okay,” she said with a laugh when Sol ran inside and down the hall without eve
n looking at her. “What’s all the excitement about?” she asked, following when the other five also ran past. “Were kids throwing snowballs at you?”

  Julia stepped into the design room to find all six cats standing stiffly, staring at the side wall as their tails twitched back and forth. She stilled when her skin prickled and her hair stirred with static electricity, and saw that even Sol’s hair seemed to stand out from his body like he’d been vigorously rubbed with a balloon.

  She slowly became aware of a sharp buzzing growing ominously louder, until it became so piercing that Julia started to raise her hands to her ears—only to still again when Sol suddenly gave a loud guttural growl. The other cats immediately shot toward the hallway as Solomon turned and charged directly at her. The huge cat leapt up and slammed into her chest, the force sending Julia stumbling back with a shout of surprise when she fell, Sol landing sprawled over her just as the wall beside them exploded.

  Debris flew into the design room, and Julia’s scream was lost in the deafening percussion as a wave of heat and blinding light filled the air with the acrid smell of what she was afraid was detonated fireworks. She rolled over, pulling Sol beneath her as wood and plaster and small chunks of granite rained down, then had to bury her face in Sol’s fur because of the dust, only to snap her head up when she heard an unmistakably human scream. “Ohmigod,” she cried, rising to her knees. “Someone’s in there.”

  Julia stumbled to her feet, nearly tripping over Sol as he rushed past her, and followed him through the gaping hole in the wall. She stepped into a narrow cave, only to stop when she realized the granite was . . . glowing, the walls actually giving off enough light to see that the sloping tunnel made a sharp turn twenty yards away.

  “No, come back,” she called out, picking her way over small rocks when Solomon disappeared around the curve. “More fireworks might explode—”

  Another pained shout echoed toward her, and Sol came rushing back around the turn, his tail swishing in agitation as he gave an urgent growl before he disappeared down the tunnel again. “Okay, I’m coming. Hang on, mister, I’m coming!” Julia shouted when she heard cursing—only to stop again when she didn’t recognize the language.

  Oh God, what if that angry man, Perdiccas, had come back for revenge?

  Julia rushed forward when she just as quickly decided Sol’s urgency meant it had to be Nicholas. She rounded the curve and saw him lying half sprawled against the cave wall, mostly naked and covered in blood. But it wasn’t the sight of the man—completely covered in blood—Nicholas was clutching to his chest that made her hesitate, but rather the bloody sword lying beside him.

  Spotting her, Nicholas shouted something she couldn’t understand, although she was pretty sure he mentioned both Mac and Titus somewhere in the tirade as he weakly gestured at her. It was then Julia noticed the large, deep gash in his side, which meant a good deal of that blood was his.

  “Ohmigod, Nicholas,” she cried, rushing to crouch down beside him. “Let me see where you’re hurt,” she said more gently, trying to move the obviously dead man she assumed was Sampson.

  Nicholas reached out with surprising speed and shoved her away. “Don’t fucking touch him!” he shouted, cradling the man back against him. “Do as I say and get Mac. Now,” he snapped, his hand reaching for the sword.

  Julia scrambled to her feet and ran back up the cave—passing Sol watching from the safety of the turn—ducked through the gaping hole, and ran into the hall, slamming open the outside door and racing down the path only illuminated by occasional lampposts. She nearly fell on some ice when she made the turn that led to Mac and Olivia’s lodge, but righted herself just in time to run straight into Mac.

  He caught hold of her shoulders. “Where is he?”

  “In a cave . . . behind the design room,” she said in gulping pants. “Covered in blood. Sampson . . . I think he’s dead. Nicholas won’t let him go. He told me to come get you.”

  “Henry,” Mac said as the boy ran up beside them. “Father is likely on his way, so head him off and tell him Nicholas is at the conference pavilion. Also call Rowan and tell him the same thing.” Mac started leading Julia back down the path. “Have Rowan bring Dante and Micah to the pavilion. And Henry?” he growled, stopping just as the boy started off, making him turn back. “Then you come there, too.”

  His entire countenance looking fifty instead of ten, Henry gave a silent nod, then ran into the woods in the direction of the elder Oceanus’s cottage.

  “Is Nicholas also hurt?” Mac asked as he started down the path again, his pace making Julia have to run to keep up.

  “Yes. I saw a deep gash in his side and one on his head. And his pupils were really dark, and . . . and he’s really angry.”

  Mac came to an abrupt halt. “Did he hurt you?”

  “No,” she quickly assured him as she started walking, only to start running when Mac quickened his pace again. “But the man—Sampson. I think . . . I think he’s dead.”

  “He might not be,” Mac said quietly. “How did you enter the tunnel?”

  “The side wall of the design room blew out and Nicholas’s cat, Solomon, ran inside when we heard a scream,” she ended on a whisper.

  Mac stopped again, although it was too dark for her to read his expression. “I must rush on ahead, but I would ask that you also come back to the pavilion. We may need your assistance.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  He pulled his sweater off over his head and handed it to her. “You’re shivering.” And then the moment she took it, he turned and disappeared into the darkness.

  Realizing she was shivering uncontrollably, Julia slipped on the sweater and started running again as she tried not to speculate on how Mac had known the loud, earth-trembling explosion had been Nicholas. And likely Sampson—who was definitely dead, she decided, remembering he’d been hacked nearly in half by a . . . sword or something.

  Julia felt all her pockets as she ran before finally remembering her phone was in her tote, even as she wondered if someone should call 911, only to decide Mac probably had already.

  She reached her office just as Titus and Henry ran inside, the elder Oceanus turning in surprise when she ran in behind them. “Julia,” he said, moving to block her way. He shook his head. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “I found Nicholas and went after Mac,” she told him, pressing a hand to the stitch in her side. “Your son asked me to come back and help.”

  Titus swung around at the sound of a bloodcurdling scream and ran into the design room with Henry not two steps behind him. Julia followed, but stopped just inside the gaping hole in the wall when she realized Nicholas was still really angry.

  “Bring him back!” he roared.

  “It’s too late, Nicholas,” she heard Mac say calmly. “He’s gone.”

  “Fucking bring him back.”

  “You know I can’t,” Mac snapped. “Not if he doesn’t want to. He’s already chosen, Nicholas,” he continued more calmly again.

  “Then send me to him. I’ll make the son of a bitch change his mind.”

  “You need to give him up, Nicholas,” Julia heard Titus say softly, “so we can see to your wounds.”

  “Back off, old man,” Nicholas growled. “The fucking idiot took a blow meant for me; I’ll damn well not abandon him now.”

  “Enough,” Mac snarled. “Henry, run to the infirmary and get the triage kit. Micah, Dante,” he said just as Julia heard footsteps echoing up the tunnel from the opposite direction. “Take Sampson while Rowan and I control Nicholas.”

  “Could you not simply heal him, sir?” Julia heard Rowan ask.

  “Sweet Zeus, you want to deal with him in a rage at full strength?”

  Henry came running up the tunnel and stumbled to a halt when he saw her, making Julia realize she’d dropped to her knees and was bent over, hugging herself. The boy turned and said something back down the tunnel in a language she didn’t recognize, then stepped past her and ran into the design
room.

  And that was that, apparently; because with a succinctly explicit curse from one of the men, the conversation resumed but in the same foreign language. It was rooted in Latin or ancient Greek, though, so Julia caught a word or phrase often enough to know that instead of kneeling in a tunnel she hadn’t known existed, silently sobbing at Nicholas’s anger and pain, she probably should be running for her life.

  She flinched instead when something brushed her side and Sol gently butted his head against hers. She gathered him in her arms and buried her face in his fur, sucking in a shuddering breath when she heard Nicholas roar again, followed by sounds of a scuffle laced with more curses and grunts just as something metal—like that sword she’d seen on the floor—struck the granite with enough force to make her flinch again.

  Julia stilled when everything suddenly turned silent but for the heavy breathing of the men, and quickly scrambled to her feet holding Sol when she heard footsteps coming up the tunnel. She ducked into the design room and ran across the hall to her office, where she found the other five cats huddled in her leather chair behind her desk, all staring at her with huge, unblinking eyes.

  “I’m in my office,” she said when Mac called out to her.

  He strode in, the front of his shirt smeared with blood and his eyes unusually bright. Titus walked in behind him.

  “Father?” Henry said, skidding to a halt at the door, a large backpack in his arms.

  “Take it to Rowan,” Mac said, nodding across the hall. He looked back at Julia and started to say something, but then looked at his father.

  Titus actually managed something resembling a smile. “You needn’t worry, Julia; Nicholas’s wounds are not life-threatening.” He also hesitated briefly, then said, “But we wish to ask if you would be willing to spend the next few days being his nursemaid.”