Page 5

PART II

Idyllwild, California

Blackwood Estate

She paused with her bow hovering over the strings of the violin. Heather drew in a breath through her nose and then let it go through her mouth.

But the bow stayed where it was.

She could hear the notes in her head. Hell, she could feel the vibrations in her hand and arm, but she couldn't make herself touch the bow to the strings.

"Do it."

She heard the wild, surging pulse in her ears.

Whoosh... whoosh.

The music in her head screamed to be heard over the blood rushing through her veins.

Still, she sat there.

Her bow vibrating with her effort to touch it to the strings.

"Just do it."

As she forced air in and out of her lungs, she felt her body rock ever-so-slightly like a metronome.

One. Two. Three. Four.

One. Two. Three. Four.

One. Two. Three. Four.

The bass notes in her head.

D A B F G D G A

Her hand lowered the bow and the vibration of the first note rolled across her skin.

F E D C

Her notes descended through the scale and while she kept the pressure on the strings the same, she felt the pressure building in her lungs.

When the notes rose up, she drew in a breath and felt her shoulders lift at the same time.

To anyone watching her, the depth with which she felt the music inside her body was not all that evident in her mien. She'd been told early on in her studies that her face remained a mask most of the time.

Heather hadn't seen that as an issue.

It mattered what sounds she could pull from the instruments.

It mattered what emotions she could draw from the audience.

What did it matter that her outside expression was nearly expressionless?

Showing her emotions had never been a good thing.

Showing her emotions had taken everything away from her.

If she could have remained out of sight, she would have, but to make a career that would pay her bills meant that she had to put herself out in the public and draw attention to herself.

That's why she chose a performance name and a persona that would entertain others but give herself the comfort of anonymity.

Nix.

It began as an attraction for Greek mythos as a child. She could read the stories and imagine these all-powerful gods and goddesses moving heaven and earth for her.

Then, when she was just shy of eighteen years old and facing down the real horror of her life, she needed those mythological heroes, and no one was there to save her.

She found herself a member of WITSEC because of her father. His situation, his criminal life, led to her being plucked out of her life to save it.

And hating every minute of it.

A muscle tensed in her arm, sending the bow skidding across the strings of her violin. The atonal sound screamed into her ears and brought tears to her eyes.

The tears she dashed away as she stood, laying the violin in its open case, the bow beside it.

Lately, her past was coming back to haunt her.

Threats had been delivered to Blackwood Enterprises and its owner, Bart Blackwood. Threats that had sent her into hiding more than she was normally.

Just that morning, she'd received a call from Bart telling her that he'd hired a guard to protect her.

Her heart constricted in her chest at the thought of someone else in her space.

She was already having trouble playing the violin alone. Even the disguise she wore on stage wouldn't matter if she couldn't play a single piece from beginning to end. She was beginning to think that it would be better if she just disappeared.

Again.

There was just too much pressure on her.

Not enough air.

As she pulled a breath into her starving lungs, someone knocked at the door.

Knock knock.

No.

Knock knock.

She wasn't going to answer the door.

Knock knock.

She wasn't ready.

Knock knock.

She needed more time.

Knock knock.

Time she didn't have, because the lock clicked, and the door swung open.

The man standing in her door was a hallucination.

No, a mirage.

There was no way that he was standing in the same room with her.

He was from the past.

Another world entirely.

Her mask.

She needed her mask. It was what kept the secret of her identity from the throngs of fans and members of her constantly growing audience.

She knew that the mask and its many sisters were in the storage room. A black domino mask created to fit perfectly over her face, from the tip of her nose to her temples.

It was too far away to do any good right now.

"Heather?"

Even though she knew that he'd already seen her face, she lifted her hands to cover it, struggling to hold her sanity together.

Out of sight? Out of mind?

Certainly not.

Not with Mark.

Oh god.

Hadn't she suffered enough?

She felt his hands on her wrists, trying to draw her hands away from her face.

She was stronger now.

Older.

Wiser... no.

Sadder.

With an aching emptiness inside of her.

She kept her face covered as if she could shut him out and push him back into the past where he belonged.

"Go away."

"Not happening." His tone brooked no argument, but she wasn't used to the deeper timbre.

She splayed her fingers apart and looked at him. "Your voice."

His expression didn't change. Not a bit.

But his chest expanded like a bellows, and she found herself mimicking him. Filling her lungs with air that she'd been struggling for just minutes ago.

"It's been forever."

Startled, she took a step back. They'd spoken the same words at the same time.

It felt like the time that had passed disappeared for just that moment and the man who stood before her had a dark shock of hair falling over his forehead and a boyish grin on his face.

"Mars."

The name echoed inside of her.

Her head.

Her heart.

His name filled her with endless memories that she'd tried to forget, but they were still there. They welled up as though she'd punctured a hole in the top of a pressurized capsule and suddenly, she was drowning in them.

Drowning in the love that she'd shared with him years ago.

"I'm here." He closed his mouth, pressing his lips into a thin line that made his tanned skin almost white around his lips. "I've been hired to protect you," his gaze swept the room and landed on the instrument case a few feet away from her, "and the violin."

And the violin.

Of course.

She put away the heartbroken girl, tucking her away inside her head since her heart couldn’t hold anything anymore besides the blood coursing through her veins.

If Mark was going to play it calm and close to the vest, then she’d strive to do the same.

She focused on the violin.

That was a safe island to maroon herself on.

"I can see why Bart hired someone. It's worth more than the GDP of several small countries. And," she couldn't stop herself from trying to interject some kind of humor into the situation, "a few Birkin bags."

He didn't smile.

She was sure that was her fault.

It didn't help that she was struggling to keep herself planted in place. Having Mark so close to her after so many years? She wanted to wrap her arms around him and hod him tight. But she had a feeling that he wouldn't welcome it.

She could see the tension in him from where she was standing.

He was as shut off as she should be.

But her life and her emotions could be the very definition of 'complicated.'

"Mister Blackwood didn't mention the value of the violin."

She heard the confusion in his voice and knew that he was mulling over the reason for the omission. She would too if she was in his position.

"He probably wouldn't unless you asked him outright. Bart might live the life of a billionaire with ease, he's had years to grow into that, but he's also not someone who likes to brag about his wealth.

"Likely he didn't mention the value because it's not a necessary factor in his view. He's got it insured to high heaven. And likely, it's the only way that he knew I'd accept a guard if you were also here for the violin."

She could see that he was curious. She had been as well when Bart had first unveiled it as the instrument that he had picked her to play.

Heather walked over to the table and when Mark walked up beside her, she placed her hands on the tabletop.

It was too tempting to reach out and touch him.

He was only inches away and even as she felt the heat of his arm against hers, there was a distinct space dividing them.

She kept her focus on the violin. That was solid.

Dependable.

Because her life surely wasn't.

"The Margolis Stradivarius is a piece of art. The body is made of rosewood and even the grain of the wood adds to its beauty. When it was recovered and repaired, there were studies done with various forms of photography.

"I believe that it has more photographs taken of it than a Kardashian."

"That's something."

She smiled at his droll tone.

"The neck, scroll, fingerboard and tailpiece were likely made from the same ebony tree." She shook her head as he turned to look at her. "That's what I'm told. Bart has had studies done on the instrument and, as the person he's selected to play it, I've learned all of the mythos surrounding it."

"You were always reading mythology. I shouldn't be surprised that you've found a love for this as well. Heather, I-"

"Nix."

The denial was instantaneous.

And instinctual.

It had kept her alive all of this time.

A little too short.

A little too loud.

She forced herself to keep her gaze on the instrument in its case.

"I- I'm sorry. I just... That name. It's part of my past."

The room went silent, and she felt like the barometric pressure of the air inside the guest house had shifted, making it nearly impossible to hear anything besides the low thrumming sound of blood in her veins.

She waited for one of them to say something, but there seemed to be an endless amount of silence. Or maybe they were both afraid of what they might say.

She knew she owed him answers, but she just wasn't sure that the answers she had to give would mean anything to him.

When she last saw him, she was head over heels in love with Mark Goddard. She had pie in the sky dreams of marrying him and living happily ever after.

The nightmare she'd walked into when she’d crept into her home, years ago, felt as thin as rice paper when she thought of it now.

Would he even want to listen to her story? The pain that she’d gone through?

What did he know? What had he assumed?

What story had the FBI and WITSEC concocted? They’d offered to tell her what they’d told the world, but she’d shut the door on her past.

On her life.

Maybe it was better if she called Bart and explained that Mark wasn't going to work out as a bodyguard.

He was good.

Better than good.

Bart didn't hire people he thought were 'decent enough.' He didn't waste his money on adequate.

He hired the top of the line.

Was it wrong that she was proud of what he'd become? The best?

Back when they were teens, she saw him as a hero. A demigod, at the very least.

Mars. The God of War. The constellation that always seemed to be over her head when she looked up into the sky.

She'd fallen in love with the hero inside him, and now, she could tell that he was a hero in reality. He'd been athletic that summer. He'd been sleek muscles and a broad toothy grin.

Now he was muscular, and very likely lethal.

He'd become an Adonis, but she was a woman who wore a mask so that she could perform in front of packed concert halls. She hid herself from everyone except for Bart.

And now Mark had seen her again.

How could Mark think that she was anything but weak? A coward.

She turned to look at him, but she only let her gaze fall somewhere above his chin instead of his eyes.

She certainly wasn't ready to look in those night-dark eyes and see disappointment.

"Stop."

She leaned back when she heard his denial, but still, she couldn't meet his eyes.

"Don't push me away. Not yet, " she heard his rough indrawn breath, "not until we've had a chance to talk."

She shook her head.

Talking with Mark had always been too easy. They could fill hours and hours with easy conversation. He was the one person who listened to her, really listened.

If he was still like that, she wasn't sure she could stand pushing him away. Not when she'd missed him so much.

"I don't think that's a good idea. In fact," she fisted her hands on the tabletop and looked him right in the eye, "I know it's not. If you don't call Bart and tell him to find someone else, I will."

She didn't lower her gaze.

She kept it on his and felt the clash of their wills like a tug of war between them.

It would end, she reasoned, when he decided that she wasn't worth the fight.

He shook his head, just a fraction of an inch. Enough for her to see a muscle tick in his jaw.

Had he lost the dimple she loved so much?

Had she taken it away from him along with his smile?

No, she couldn't have that much power over a man like him.

"You need to go." She ground the words out between her clenched teeth and bit into the inside of her cheek to keep the intensity in her expression.

She couldn't weaken now.

She needed him to leave before the dam inside of her broke.

"Leave."

Something flashed in his eyes, and she hoped that he was on the verge of leaving.

Please, oh please.

"Mark-"

"Ares." His voice felt like it was purring in her ears. "They call me Ares now."

It was fitting, she decided.

The fierce look in his eyes sent chills through her body. It was as if a switch had flipped, and he'd gone from the Roman pantheon as Mars to the Greek as Ares.

She spoke again, feeling as if she needed to release some of the tension building up inside of her. "Still the God of War."

It was almost humorous, but she couldn’t find laughter.

"You can fight this all you want, Nix , but I need you to know that I win the battles I fight."

She stared back at him and wondered where the teenage boy had gone.

Had she lost him forever?

That's when she saw it.

The softer warmth of emotion in his eyes pushing out the hard, cutting edge of his glare.

"I won't leave. I won't tell Blackwood that I'm leaving. You know why?"

She opened her mouth to speak, a slight parting of her lips, enough to breathe in life-giving air deep into her lungs.

Still, she couldn't speak or move her head, held by the dark glare in his eyes.

"I don’t know what happened back in the Hamptons at the end of that summer, but I know that the story they fed everyone in the news was bullshit. You didn’t leave because you wanted to. Because you knew that I wanted to see you before you left, and I know you wanted to see me. So, until you can look me in the eyes and tell me that what we had back then is dead and buried, I'm going to fight for you, Heather . I'm going to fight for us in a way that I think you've never been fought for before. Remember that."

Remember that?

How could she not?

How could she-

He grabbed her by her upper arms and pulled her tight against him from mid-thigh to their middles. Then he did what she'd been dreaming of since that summer night.

He kissed her.