“Do you have any idea how serious this is, Ms. Campbell?” Titus asked. “It’s imperative we discover who was behind the attack and why.”
“Today,” Mac snapped, “because a week could be too late.”
“Do you honestly think he doesn’t know that?” Julia said, gesturing at the bed as she fought to hold on to her serenity. “If you’re not getting the answers you want, it’s either because he doesn’t have them or doesn’t want you to have them. Either way, this is an exercise in futility.” She stepped to the side, opening a path to the hall. “Give him time to catch his breath, and he’ll be more cooperative once he’s had a chance to decide what happened.”
Both men stood stiffly, the elder Oceanus looking like he’d just swallowed a lemon and Mac eyeing her speculatively.
“I believe the door will open for you,” Nicholas said into the silence. “Gentlemen.”
Titus walked out without looking back, but Mac swung to the bed. “For the love of Zeus, Nicholas, you’re putting us all in—”
“I know where my loyalties lie,” Nicholas said quietly. “Do you?”
Mac hesitated, then finally turned and silently walked out of the room; Julia just as silently following him.
“Julia.”
She stopped at the door and looked back, saying nothing.
“Don’t ever do that again.”
She nodded. “I’ll try not to,” she said, pulling the door closed on the sound of his heavy sigh, which she seconded as she slumped against the wall.
Holy Hades, she was going to need another shower, she was such a ball of sweat. Because honestly, she’d been half expecting Mac to send her somewhere in a clap of thunder. She stayed leaning against the wall staring at five cats staring back at her as they all listened to the hushed murmurs downstairs, then the outside door open and footsteps on the side porch. Several vehicle doors closed and engines started, and in less than three minutes the house was silent again.
Julia went downstairs, turned the burner on low to reheat the home fries Olivia had been cooking, then headed to the bathroom. Seeing her hair had dried a mess, she sprayed it with leave-in conditioner, worked her large comb through the tangles, then braided it—even as she wondered if half the reason Titus and Mac had left without an argument was because she’d looked like a wild and crazy witch getting ready to turn them into toads or something.
“Welcome to the magic,” she muttered, digging through her cosmetic bag for her toothbrush. “Yeah, well, Miss Margaret Conroy, now I don’t feel so bad about keeping my pregnancy a secret our senior year, seeing how you never told me you’d married a friggin’ . . .” What? Wizard? Sorcerer? Magician? And what in hell had Peg meant, his mountain had patted her on the ass?
Julia sat down on the toilet. So what did that make Nicholas?
Well, other than the father of her baby.
Then what, exactly, did that make their child? For crying out loud, she was just getting used to being in love; now she had to get used to loving a magical . . . warrior?
No, not magical—mythical.
Even better—from friggin’ Atlantis.
And what did that make Titus and Maximilian Oceanus? The bosses, apparently, since everyone seemed to be deferring to them.
Well, except for Nicholas, because they couldn’t seem to get the information they wanted from him, so he couldn’t be all that afraid of their magic.
Oh yeah; she really didn’t need to ask him anything, because several very old, handwritten books she’d found in Nicholas’s library, surprisingly—or magically?—written in good old English, had mentioned Titus Oceanus in great detail. More a series of journals than actual history books, they had chronicled Titus’s rebellion against the gods, from his building Atlantis to hide the Trees of Life he was cultivating to hold all knowledge and ensure mankind’s free will, to his sinking the island into the sea when the gods had discovered what he was doing.
Julia didn’t doubt the magic Titus—and his son—appeared to command was good; it’s just that some of the accounts in that book, showing what lengths he was willing to go to in order to protect the Trees, had been downright . . . chilling.
And although not mentioned by name, there’d been no mistaking who the infant was who had washed up on an Atlantis beach, eventually becoming the warrior Titus often sent on missions as his . . . enforcer.
Yup, she’d fallen deeply in love with a big strong mythical hero.
Julia stood up with a calming breath and began brushing her teeth. So what if Nicholas thundered through time on his figment of the imagination to keep mankind safe? Even heroes needed a soft place to land, didn’t they? A hearth to come home to, children to bounce on their knees, and a madwoman to make wild, passionate love to?
Julia went to the kitchen, pushed the home fries to the side, and broke several eggs into the pan. No, the question wasn’t could she be that safe place for him to land, but could Nicholas fall deeply and madly in love with her? He might say her not having an orgasm when they made love didn’t matter, but how long before he started getting frustrated and eventually resentful that she couldn’t respond to him like a normal woman? Four or five years, maybe, before he went looking for someone who could, considering it had taken Clay only three?
But then, Nicholas hadn’t exactly ever spoken of love, had he?
Julia slid the eggs and potatoes onto a plate with a snort. No man was going to declare undying love to a woman he’d known a sum total of ten days. She poured a glass of orange juice, cut an apple and an orange into wedges, slathered a couple of slices of bread with peanut butter, and made a mug of tea. Looking around for something to carry everything, she emptied one of the boxes and refilled it with Nicholas’s breakfast, then headed upstairs hoping a full belly might stop him from growling at her.
Except when she crept into the room—followed by five equally hesitant cats—she found Nicholas sound asleep with Sol tucked into his armpit, his head resting on Nicholas’s shoulder. The big lug just barely opened his eyes when the other five cats silently jumped on the bed and proceeded to find their own comfortable spots along the length of Nicholas’s legs.
Julia took everything out of the box and set it on the nightstand, hesitated, then gently picked up his hand and sat down on the bed. She pulled in a shuddering breath, her gaze roaming over his pronounced cheekbones and stubble-shadowed jaw, his lips relaxed in sleep and his . . . She’d never noticed his long lashes—likely because she’d always been too mesmerized by those striking sky-blue eyes. Running her thumb over the back of his battered hand, she gently laid her other hand on his chest.
“Oh yeah, you’ve definitely got the heart of a hero, big guy,” she whispered. “I missed you so much,” she continued, reaching up and brushing a lock of hair off his forehead, deciding she liked how the longer length softened the chiseled planes of his face. “And I was afraid that just as I’d found the courage to love you, you might not come back.” She pulled in another shuddering breath. “Promise me you’ll always come back, and I’ll promise not to mind your old-fashioned muscle-flexing.”
Wanting to support his bruised shoulder, Julia reached past Sol for the second pillow, only to have a piece of jewelry slide out of the case as she lifted it. She carefully tucked the pillow under the arm of the hand she’d been holding, then reached past Sol again and picked up what appeared to be a masculine-looking brooch that spanned the width of her own hand.
The piece was heavy even for its size, made of what she suspected was bronze, with inlays of tarnished silver and three large gemlike stones she couldn’t readily identify. The top stone might be a sapphire, as deep blue as Nicholas’s eyes; the middle one could be an emerald, she supposed; the third stone was solid black, although it appeared to shimmer in the sunlight.
She was tempted to call the piece ancient rather than simply old, except the metalwork was amazingly intricate. Julia frowned at the inlaid silver tree spreading across the top half, then traced its roots winding around t
hree distinct circles on the bottom half—the shorter of the roots running into the blue stone set just below the trunk, one root running into the green stone in the middle circle, and the longest root winding down to the black stone.
She knew this tree, having seen it—or one very similar to it—just recently.
In one of Nicholas’s books, maybe? The piece appeared to be northern European. And if she remembered correctly, the tree was . . . “Yggdrasil,” she whispered as she ran a finger over it, “the Norse rendition of the world built by Odin and his brothers, Vili and Vé, from the body of some evil frost giant the three gods had murdered.”
Julia turned the brooch over to find a raised slot for a wide leather strap, except the strap would run up and down, as if diagonally across a man’s chest. The top two gemstones were set all the way through the piece and faceted to catch the light, but the bottom black stone, even though it also came through, was smooth. She studied the word etched into the metal in an arc across the top of the back, but stopped tracing the inch-high letters when she realized they were filled with dried blood.
SALOHCIN. That was it; the only writing on the entire brooch.
Julia sighed and started to set it on the nightstand, but stopped in midreach when she remembered having seen the brooch sitting there last night. And she was pretty sure it had been there this morning. She looked at Nicholas, his features softened in sleep. Had Rowan found the piece when they’d undressed him and had washed off the blood and set it on the nightstand before he’d left, and Nicholas had slid it inside the pillowcase this morning to hide it from the Oceanuses?
Did he know what Salohcin meant? Was it someone’s name or a place?
Julia carefully slid the brooch back inside the pillowcase tucked under Nicholas’s arm, then pulled the blanket up as far as she could without disturbing the cats. She stood up and kissed his cheek, then softly whispered next to his ear, “I hope you handle surprises as well as you apparently handle a sword, big guy, because I’ve got a couple that are going to knock your socks off.”
She kissed his cheek again, gave Sol a pat, then straightened. “’At a girl, Eos,” she said, moving down the bed to give the little gray curled up between Nicholas’s legs a scratch. “And Snowball,” she added, tickling the white one’s chin. “You go on and purr him a lullaby. And you others keep sending him your healing vibes, because there’s no better medicine in the world than unconditional love.”
Julia quietly walked out of the room and closed the door to a crack so Ajax could get out—which he’d likely have to do within the next hour or two. She went downstairs and stopped beside the island, but then continued on to Nicholas’s office, figuring the boxes of food weren’t going anywhere anymore than she was. She went to the wall of bookshelves and started searching for the books she remembered seeing on Norse mythology—which she hadn’t bothered to read because for some silly reason she’d been more curious about the Greek gods.
* * *
Nicholas watched the bedroom door closing to a crack, guessing that solved one mystery. Julia wasn’t asking any questions about what had happened last night because she was slowly piecing together most of the answers on her own.
He grinned, wondering why that surprised him, considering he’d left her complete access to his house. And knowing her propensity to dive into any book left lying around, he’d taken the time to pull the modern translations of his more interesting journals out of their hidey-hole in his cellar before he’d left and randomly tucked them into his library.
He’d watched through slightly open eyes as she’d studied the medallion he’d taken off the ambushing bastard who’d been sent to kill him—the blow killing Sampson instead. And just as he had, Julia had obviously recognized Yggdrasil, the Norse Tree of Life. Nicholas grinned again, sensing Julia in the office below going through his books, and decided it was going to be a very interesting next few days, indeed. He dislodged Sol and carefully pulled himself into a sitting position with a pained hiss, then took the medallion out of the pillowcase and set it on the blanket beside him before picking up the plate of eggs and potatoes.
No, make that a very interesting next few thousands of years.
Chapter Twenty-one
“I’m sorry you’re going to miss your Christmas holiday with your family.”
Julia lifted her gaze from the book she was reading and looked up the bed at Nicholas leaning against the headboard, propped up by four pillows and five cats—Ajax being outside at the moment. “No one will even notice I’m missing because they’ll all be too busy fighting over who gets to hold baby Tom-Tom.” She smiled at his surprise. “Reggie started calling the poor kid that the first time he held him, and it stuck. Everyone’s going to Tom and Jerilynn’s for dinner, even Daddy.”
He closed his own book—which was in Latin—and set it on the bed next to the others he’d been scanning, already having gone through the pile on the floor that she’d lugged up over the last three days looking for clues as to who or what Salohcin was. “Have you seen your father since you moved out?” he asked.
Julia rolled onto her back to stare up at the ceiling. “Twice.” She quickly glanced over. “But before you start flexing your muscles at me, we met at the Drunken Moose—nice and public neutral ground.” She looked back up at the rafters. “He hasn’t had a drink since Trisha and I moved out, and the second time we met for lunch he brought along a woman he met at the AA meetings he started attending down in Turtleback.”
“AA?”
Julia rolled back onto her stomach. “It’s a support group for alcoholics. Mom got him to go a couple of different times years ago, but it never lasted.” She brushed the blanket smooth in front of her. “Dad actually drank less after she died, only going on a bender every couple of months instead of every few weekends.” She shrugged. “Maybe having a woman friend who understands what he’s fighting will make it stick this time.” She looked up with a chuckle. “Dad was all spiffed up and smelling like a bottle of cologne, and Deloris—that’s the lady’s name—was acting like he hung the moon. They’re going to Tom and Jerilynn’s for Christmas as a couple.”
“I’m sorry you’re going to miss it,” he repeated.
Julia shrugged again. “It comes around every year. And besides, I’ve been so busy, I didn’t have time to go Christmas shopping and I missed the deadline for online ordering.” She looked down at the blanket again, this time nervously plucking at it. “I did manage to get you something, though. And I didn’t even have to go shopping because I made it. Well, we made it,” she said, finally looking up, only to scramble upright when she saw him staring at her belly. “Ohmigod, you know.”
He lifted his gaze to hers and nodded.
“But how?”
“My mother is a midwife, so I grew up surrounded by pregnant women. I could probably spot one across the room at only a few weeks along.” He raised his arm, gesturing with his fingers for her to move into his embrace—which she did without hesitation. He stroked a finger down her cheek as she melted into the crook of his shoulder. “The glow of your skin, the hint of a secret in your eyes . . .” He lifted her chin to look at him. “Plumper breasts,” he said with a chuckle when she hid her face in his shoulder. “You’ve also slowed down. A month ago I couldn’t have pictured you lying around in bed for three days just reading.” He lifted her chin again. “Thank you. I can’t imagine my son having a more beautiful, intelligent, loving mother.”
Julia tried to hide her face again, but suddenly leaned away instead. “Son? You know we’re having a boy?” She narrowed her eyes. “As in you magically know?”
He shook his head. “No magic involved. I’ve merely decided I’m not having daughters.” She saw him actually shudder as he looked toward the hall. “Just sons,” he growled, looking back at her and grinning again, albeit arrogantly. “You’ll be thanking me in the years ahead, Julia. Or have you not spent any time around Sophie and little Ella? Or Peg’s girls, Charlotte and Isabel?” he continued, hi
s eyes shining with laughter. He pulled her back to his shoulder and kissed the top of her head. “We’ll get married New Year’s Day.”
Julia scrambled away again to gape at him, but then sighed. “Peg warned me you guys don’t ask.” She got off the bed and walked to the window. “But I . . . I’m afraid, Nicholas,” she softly confessed, staring down at the driveway.
“Of the magic?” he asked in surprise.
As in the magic they’d been tiptoeing around for the last three days instead of actually discussing? “No, I’m pretty sure I can deal with that part of you.” She took a deep breath and continued staring out the window. “But I’m not so sure I could handle your coming to resent me when I can’t . . . I would probably still be married to Clay if it weren’t for . . .” She took another deep breath. “What’s going to happen when I don’t respond to your lovemaking like a normal woman?”
Julia dropped her head when he said nothing and fought the tears stinging her eyes. “I love you,” she whispered past the lump in her throat, “with every fiber of my being.” She finally turned to see him looking down at his lap, sitting as still as a stone. “It would kill me if you started taking my lack of response . . . personally.”
“What I take personally,” he said quietly, still looking down, “is being judged by the same measuring stick as your former husband and lovers.”
“Lover, as in one,” she growled. “I don’t, nor did I ever, sleep around.”
He snapped his head up, his eyes widening—that is, until they suddenly narrowed in . . . Oh God, he looked thunderous. “You’re basing all your beliefs about lovemaking on one man? And from that you’ve decided we all need to prove our manhood in bed?”
Julia spun back to the window. “I’m not broken.”
“I’m not the one you have to convince.” She heard him pull in as deep a breath as his bandage would allow. “I would ask that you trust me on this, Julia, since it appears I’m the one with any real experience. So all you need convince me of before we marry is that you won’t take it personally when I don’t even try to make it happen.”
The Heart of a Hero Page 27
