Son of Krampus (Holidays of Love)

by Ellen Mint

  “Smart choice, lie-weaver.” Mirek chuckled, tumbling back to his chair.

  “Trevor,” Mr. Weir gulped. “How far along are you?”

  “Just got to the second line!” the boy announced with a grin.

  “God save me,” the man prayed, his hands hooked to the table. As Trevor continued to plumb the depths of the old contract, Mirek and Nicholas glared death threats. Nadire thought about tugging her father back or knocking a shoulder into him to get him to stop. But the goosebumps rising across her flesh froze her in place. Emeric’s crystalline glare wasn’t upon her father, or Mr. Weir, or even the man holding them all hostage.

  No, that silvery-blue beam that sent adrenaline surging through her veins was pinned fully upon Nadire and she had no idea how to ignore it. Or ever forget it.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  HIS DAUGHTER…

  Emeric did his damndest to not stare at the woman pacing the office like a caged tiger, but her constant movements made that almost impossible. He tried sitting beside the man copying his contract, focusing on the achingly slow pen scratches. Still, his eyes kept darting up of their own accord, leaving him adrift in her ambling wake.

  Whenever she’d pause, no doubt sensing his eyes upon her, Emeric would suddenly have to scratch his temples. His palm provided a useful blinder until the meeting was over.

  This was not how he planned the day to go.

  “Donkey pizzle.”

  “Swine sward.”

  All right, his dad behaving like a primary schooler with the father of Christmas he did expect. They hadn’t exactly parted on good terms, and it grew more acrimonious with time instead of cooling. Internally, Emeric thought that due to the pair sharing too many traits instead of not enough, but he knew better than to voice such thoughts.

  “Father!” It was Nadire who snapped at him, her curt tongue causing his head to hang in something approaching shame.

  After casting out a, “Bah!” Nicholas stumbled back to stand beside his daughter. Once again, Emeric felt her rich brown eyes digging into him as if they could take one glance and ferret out every secret in his brain. Gulping, he glanced down at his pile of literature that was mostly brought to make him look important.

  Even with father and daughter curled up in the far corner whispering, his supernatural hearing could pick up on everything they said.

  “How bad is this?” Nadire began, her words as venomous as a viper. She sounded angry and it caused Emeric to gird his loins.

  “Nothing. A little problem. It’ll be fixed before September,” Nicholas tossed off and Emeric snorted. Highly unlikely unless both men were finally able to act their age.

  “Dad,” Nadire cupped a hand to the old man’s shoulder, “do we need to get Mom?”

  “No! No, this does not concern her. Leave your mother…!” The Saint whipped his head around at the two Hellswarths easily overhearing everything. Raising his voice, Nicholas shouted, “This is a waste of a perfectly good Tuesday, and you know it Mirek.”

  “Shall we start with who knows how best to whittle away days?” His father turned on the man.

  “Here we go, bringing up the fallen church of St. Stephens. As if you weren’t the one to challenge me to…”

  Slamming both palms on the table, Emeric interrupted whatever ancient fight the men picked back up. It didn’t seem to matter as one bled into the next. The sound caused both to look away from their adversary to the man left standing alone.

  “I…” Am exhausted with this bickering and it’s only been an hour. How in the seven hells did he think this would work? “I need a drink.”

  “I can send someone to fetch you a cup of coffee,” the Myra’s lawyer said, reaching for a bell or intercom, but Emeric interrupted.

  “No, please! I…I need to stretch my legs.” Before anyone else could argue, he raced to the door.

  Just before slipping out to find anywhere else to be, Nicholas’ cold eyes cut across Emeric. He extended his hand out nearly buffing across the top of Emeric’s head. A ring of gold caught in the light and the old man chuckled. “You’re much taller than I remembered.”

  Having no recourse, Emeric dashed into the hall. As the door closed behind, he took in a deep breath free of the bluster and blather, though he could already hear his father resuming the same old arguments. It was going to take a month just to get the poison out before they could really begin.

  So much for the idea of the greater good winning out.

  Closing his eyes, Emeric smelled the earthy bitter scent of coffee lingering like ghost trails for him to follow. He twisted down hallways, passed a bathroom that could also be a possible escape later, and finally stumbled upon a small break room. No one else was setting up shop, but a half pot remained on the machine.

  It wasn’t the coffee he was drawn to but the tea, Emeric never having the stomach for such a bitter taste. Bustling about in the blonde-wood cupboards he finally secured a bag of Twinning’s best and a small white cup. As steaming hot water dribbled from the standby coffee maker, he gripped onto the counter and took another lung clearing breath.

  Cinnamon. Clove. Orange. Anise.

  Myrrh.

  His eyes flew open, Emeric spinning his attention over his shoulder. The figure standing limply in the doorway looked like a small nightingale ready to take flight at a moment’s notice. Nadire. Daughter of Saint Nicholas. And the woman he slept with the night before.

  “You have some nerve.” She found her tongue quickly, the uncertainty cracking to anger.

  “I do?” Emeric pressed a hand to his chest in mock surprise. The woman crossed over the break room floor, her eyes blazing as if she’d been chewing on her thoughts for hours.

  “Yes, you! Being the son of the Krampus, bedding me without…”

  “Oh, so we are admitting that occurred.” Emeric snickered to himself. “The way you greeted me I assumed I’d imagined it.”

  The fire in her face didn’t dampen at his joke, but her prepared speech stumbled. “Maybe I should tell my father what happened. That the man suing him sent his son to seduce secrets from me.”

  “Is that what you think?” Emeric chuckled, picking up the wax-coated cup of hot water and bouncing the teabag in it.

  Nadire stretched her arms wide, her face pinching in consternation and what looked like the urge to strangle him. “What other reason could there be?”

  Even spitting hot tacks, there was no denying her striking features. She bore the jawline of Nefertiti, eyes of Cleopatra, lips as plush as Aphrodite’s, and the nose was all Saint Nicholas’. He knew he shouldn’t be staring, certainly not at the low cut of her blouse which that Trevor lawyer took his time to plumb as well. Nor at her legs and how her pert ass bounded about as she paced through that room.

  “That I met a beautiful woman and wished to sleep with her?” slipped from Emeric’s star-struck tongue. It was so earnest it froze said beauty in her tracks, her cheeks pinking from the thought. “After all,” he tried to walk himself back from the admittance, “it was you who invited yourself to my room. Which you fled in the morning without so much as a note.”

  He didn’t wince at the truth, but Emeric couldn’t hide the bitterness in his voice. Fool that he was, he’d thought there’d been a connection between the two. Something so strong and unforgettable he’d wanted to get to know her over breakfast. And instead, he woke to a cold bed and a broken promise.

  Nadire’s hand raised from her hip, her mouth parted as if she searched for an excuse for her actions. “Which I did because…because you’re suing my father.”

  “Oh.” He hadn’t considered that.

  “Yeah, I get a call in the early morning that I have to fix this mess. Whatever this damn mess is! So I left your bed in order to solve this because you’re suing my father.”

  She drove home her point by stepping even closer to him, her head twisting as she eyed him up. It’d take nothing for him to swoop a hand around her waist, to plunge his nose into her hair and breathe in t
he myrrh and clove oil that trailed his thoughts. To kiss those angry lips flushed nearly scarlet from her building frustrations.

  Emeric’s hand remained limp by his side, his eyes honing on the cup instead of her fiery browns. “You do not know why we’re in litigation?”

  “No, I…” The angry badger slunk away to be replaced by a confused and bothered woman. “Whatever it is, it’s without merit.”

  A chuckle rolled in Emeric’s throat as he spotted a far too familiar problem in her tap-dancing sentence. “He did not tell you,” he pronounced with such certainty it caused Nadire to growl. But Emeric wasn’t finished. “Because he’s often not telling you, because he still sees you as a child.”

  “That…” Her jabbing finger fell, both their hands hanging limply before them. Nadire leaned so close, it’d take nothing but a breeze for their knuckles to bounce together. “That’s probably right. I’m…old enough to be able to handle these things.”

  Emeric snorted at her avoiding the age problem, especially as he often did the same. Turning, he placed his untouched cup of tea upon the counter and folded his hands together. “My father is not suing for monetary compensation.”

  “Then what?” Nadire sputtered, the wealthy Myras used to only solving their problems one of two ways.

  Taking a steadying breath, Emeric revealed his hand to her. “He wants back in. To rejoin your father in his job.”

  “You can’t be serious. This, all of this, is because the Krampus wants to start abusing—”

  “Ah,” Emeric cut off the slander he knew was coming. “Most of that was hyperbolized over the years. And my father is willing to approach his punishments differently than before. He’s even been studying, classes on child psychology and…”

  “No. No way. My father, Saint Nicholas, bloody Santa Claus will never, ever let a man…a whatever he is—known for whippings and beatings anywhere near children.”

  “I feared as such. You always were a stubborn lot.” Emeric sighed at the loss of a potential avenue.

  “Stubborn? Us? Your father quit, stomped off, vanished from the collective consciousness. Now, all of a sudden, he’s bored with retirement and wants back? Why should we care what a man that wishy-washy wants?”

  Snarling, Emeric leaned so near to her all he could see were her accusing lips and hurtful eyes. “Have you taken a look at the world? The state it’s been left in after decades of coddling? Of your father reveling in the mascot he’s become, gifting everyone regardless of their sins. You’re not exactly the ambassador of peace on earth and goodwill towards man any longer. You need him.”

  “He’s fucking Santa Claus. He doesn’t need anyone,” Nadire snarled, her eyes widening. She jabbed a finger against his chest.

  So near her hot breath washed over him, he could smell not only her perfume but the lotion she used to soften her cheeks. When the tip of her pointer made contact, lighting erupted from the touch and out across his body. An ache opened in his brain to grab her by the nape of her neck, kiss her glistening lips, yank her off her feet onto the counter, and rip that boxy suit from her tempting curves.

  Swallowing the flush, Emeric’s eyes closed as he tried to chew apart the foolish thought. “You are an exact replica of your father.”

  “As are you,” she spat back, despite knowing nothing of the man who became the Krampus.

  Sounds of squeaking shoes broke from down the hall and paused just before the door. Emeric leaned past Nadire’s eclipsing face just as that little lawyer arrived. “Mr. Weir wants us all back in the conference room.” Trevor must have noticed how Emeric and Nadire nearly had their hands all over each other, as he muttered, “Are you okay, Ms. Myra?”

  “Fine,” she said, at least keeping from having Emeric hurled out on his ass, “save this frivolous lawsuit.”

  “It’s not frivolous if the law is on our side,” Emeric said finally placing the weak tea to his lips and sipping.

  Trevor seemed to think himself her guardian as he stood sentinel and asked, “Do you need any help?”

  “I will be there in a moment, I have to…powder my nose,” she lied. God, she was an awful liar, but it was enough to appease the man who wanted to get under her suit as well. Emeric couldn’t blame him, it was a breathtaking view.

  After the lawyer wandered off, Nadire whipped her head over at him. “If you weren’t trying to ferret information out of me, why were you at that Santa convention in the first place?”

  “Honestly, I was in the area and wanted to see just how despotic your father’s reign over the holiday had become.” It was cruel, but also the truth.

  Nadire took it as well as he expected, her face burning red as she sputtered at him. “Forget any of that happened. As far as I’m concerned, we never met before today. And it will never ever happen again.” With her final promise, she spun on her heels and marched away.

  Leaning against the counter, the cup perched against his lip, Emeric muttered to himself, “I fear on that matter we can agree.”

  “…Then it’s agreed.”

  Emeric stepped in through the doors just as Mr. Weir made the pronouncement, his professional hackles rising from the man using his financial girth to try and squeeze him out. “I hope you have not tried to make any bargain without me present,” he spoke to the lawyer but his eyes cut across to his father.

  Remaining focused in the face of such doublespeak was not his father’s specialty. God only knew how many ruten were handed over to either Mr. Weir or the slimy Trevor in Emeric’s brief absence. Last thing he needed was Weir twisting his father’s off-color remarks into anything binding.

  “Nothing of the sort, Mr. Hellswarth.” Their lawyer grinned, always placing emphasis on the beginning of their family name. “We were merely discussing how, in the interests of both parties, it is best to keep this out of court.”

  Emeric clasped his hands together at the sweat beading off of Weir’s forehead. The man had been out of the game too long, stuffing himself behind his highest office desk instead of meeting a shark eye to eye. “Given the amount of monetary damages done to my client…”

  “As if you’d see a drachma, never mind the three-hundred million you claim,” Mr. Myra railed, a fist rattling through the air. But under the bluster, Emeric heard a sharp intake of breath and his eyes swung over to watch as Nadire stared in horror at her father. She swallowed it almost instantly, her face purged of the reaction, but it told Emeric novels.

  “If we were to go to court, it would be federal,” Emeric finished with, not giving away their thoughts on such a matter. “And to have Santa Claus himself, I mean, the press alone. Imagine the clickbait of such a trial around the holiday.”

  While the Myras glared at each other, no doubt mentally cursing his body and soul for ages, it was Mr. Weir who smiled. “Which would put your client, your father, at the epicenter of such a trial as well. Who do you think public opinion would back?”

  “As I recollect, at this point in time, courts are not ruled by the public.” Emeric met him eye to eye, all emotion winnowed to an ice pick. While the truth was he and his father preferred to avoid actual trial as best as possible, he wasn’t going to toss that final hail Mary away either.

  “But, given both my client’s and Mr. Myra’s busy schedules,” Emeric continued, Nicholas snorting at the thought, “I will concede that working for our best interests to come to an agreement outside of a courtroom is preferred. However…”

  “Yes, yes, you want to parade about on your goat legs, scaring the sugar plums out of the kiddies on a national stage,” Nicholas thundered at Mirek.

  His father rolled his neck and sighed. “Says the man whose face is plastered on every advert, billboard, can of soda, and antacid from October until January. My ego is a drop to your ocean.”

  “Gentlemen…” It was Emeric who wedged himself in place to stop the bickering. His head ached as if a hot spike drove in through the back, the mess of infighting and stench of a den of lawyers nearly overpowering him. Or
… No. He refused to admit that she affected him, her anger more than sealing away a couple fleeting feelings in that hotel room. But, he couldn’t escape the lilt of myrrh and cinnamon in his nose either.

  Waving his hands, Nicholas stepped back and glared at his lawyer. “What’s next?”

  “We will delve into the financial statements of Mr. Hellswarth, which we require, along with other documents to the case.”

  “Funny,” Emeric dug into his pocket and tugged free the official letter he was originally planning on leaving with the secretary, “because I was about to request the same.”

  Weir read through the list, his brows furrowing to the underworld. No doubt he thought the hiring of the man’s son to be a pauper’s choice and not that Emeric had a good century or two of law under his belt already. He was, above all things, very thorough in his work.

  “Some of these--” Weir began.

  “Are non-negotiable. Unless we need to get a judge involved…”

  The old lawyer snorted at the toothless threat, his face looming closer to Emeric. In a soft voice, he whispered, “Be careful where you’re walking boy. You just opened up the door.” Before the younger man could respond, Weir turned to his client. “We’ll need someone to dig into your old documents, your real ones. Do you have anyone on your team you trust to exhume them?”

  Nicholas tapped a finger against the stubble on his top lip, mussing it back into place. “Naddie,” he said, drawing his daughter to glance up.

  Of course, he’d put it on her to choose a random underling. If there was one thing the Saint Nicholas empire was known for, it was supernatural beings subservient to them.

  “I want you to get these,” Mr. Myra said, causing Emeric’s jaw to drop. The old Saint passed the letter to her waiting fingers, both staring down at the list.

  “Are you certain…?” she whispered at her father, no doubt wondering about some monumental secret buried centuries back. While Emeric should be reading the father’s cagey response, his eyes transfixed upon her bright face. Even under the unforgiving lights of the conference room, she glowed. Not from an overabundance of makeup, or even some high-class skin cream made out of diamonds. No, it was as if an aura cast from her soul, golden light softening even her sharpest glare and withering frown.