Son of Krampus (Holidays of Love)

by Ellen Mint

  “He’s cute,” Tin said, causing Nadire to whip her head over at the elf.

  “Who is?” Nadire had enough sense to curb her rampaging brain as she darted her eyes to find the damn inquisitive fairy had loaded up Google on her laptop. A professional shot image of Emeric dressed in the same three-piece business suit minus the glasses filled the browser page.

  “Those eyes,” Tin mused, both hands cupped to her chin as she floated off the ground. Racing forward, Nadire slammed her laptop closed, cutting off the view of her biggest problem.

  “Mind you, his face is too corpulent and the nose off-putting.” The elf had little interest in human features, as most of the rest of them did.

  “I find it…” Nadire mused before shutting her true thoughts on his cheeks and nose down. “Hard to believe someone like that could come from the Krampus.” She didn’t know the legend well, not the way she did her father’s or Jack Frost’s whenever that ice-cold warlock would wander by for a cuppa. But everyone in the North Pole knew of Santa’s various cohorts over the years.

  Paintings of them hung over the main fireplace. She’d stared up at the Krampus, his forked tongue snaking out of the hairy mouth as if it intended to lick the watcher. The goat legs, so furred they hid any hint of unmentionables between the thighs, were crushing both a bauble and a gift. What truly gave Nadire pause was the whip held in the Krampus’ hands, its metallic ends glistening by the firelight in the painting.

  “Really? He looks quite a bit of his father,” Tin threw out without a thought, her body drifting higher up the vaulted ceilings. She was drawn to the stars, her fingers tracing the constellations as Nadire returned the letter to her vanity.

  “What do you know of him? Mirek, I mean.”

  “Our Lord didn’t tell you?” Tin was constantly dodging as if her father put her up to it. “Well, he left before my time began.”

  Nadire flinched at the confusing logic. How could the Krampus have vanished before Tin was created? “But you must have seen him. You recognize his son.”

  “There’s a difference between knowing and…knowing.”

  “What?” Nadire gasped, before shaking her head as if a hive of bees erupted behind her eyes. “No. Don’t tell me. I don’t need to know.”

  “My mother’s mothers often gave fond mention of the man they call Krampus. He certainly enjoyed his time when visiting the North Pole.”

  “You have to be kidding me. Can this get any worse?” Nadire sputtered, falling to her bed and burying her head in her lap. “On top of everything else, he’s an elf-chaser too.”

  Tin swirled around the room, taking her time in thought before saying, “It’s not as if the Krampus will be walking back through those doors again. Shame. They say he was excellent at dominoes too.”

  “That isn’t the one…” Nadire rattled off without thought. Her hand slapped to her mouth trying to silence her foolish tongue, but the curious elf paused in her rumination and honed in on the human.

  While the idea of house-elves working for the spirit of Saint Nicholas made some sense, over the centuries they never lost their inborn mischievous nature. Neither did their bottomless curiosity vanish, and Nadire just fed Tin a five-course meal.

  “Naddie, you didn’t…” Tin honed in on her, the floating face a few inches away as the lava-lamp eyes shifted to an amethyst. “Did you? Tell me you did. Or didn’t. Does your father know?”

  “It was an accident!” Nadire spat, both hands slapping against the bedspread.

  The elf scrunched her face up in thought. “Accidental bedding is a new one. Do all humans perform it?”

  “I didn’t know who he was at the time.” She tried to defend herself to Tin as if she was the biggest of her problems. “He didn’t know who I was either. Or so he claimed.” Nadire could buy some coincidences but on the eve of bringing a suit against her father, he just happened to be at the same convention as her? That sleigh had no runners.

  Sputtering in anger, Nadire leapt to her feet through Tin. The elf’s body softened so it felt like she walked through the snow to reach the other end of her bedroom. Picking up a pace that never seemed to leave Nadire’s legs, she said, “It was a mistake. A foolish, stupid, spur-of-the-moment mistake.”

  If she hadn’t been feeling lonely she’d never have done it. Tired of her job, her life, the burdens strapped across her shoulders. She thought a single night of fun, of pretending to be a normal person without the stress of making three billion people’s Christmas special weighing on her soul. And that one act of rebellion netted her what?

  “How was it?” Tin asked. “Him. Or it. Does it get called a him too?”

  Unforgettable. Every glance of his skin formed butterflies in her stomach, every kiss of his lips sent sparks racing through her veins. And, as hard as she tried to douse the flames with the cold logic of the truth, a giddy flush would take her cheeks when she thought of it.

  Nadire glanced the back of her hand to her face and, sure enough, it was overheating from a blush. Tin caught the move and giggled. “That good?”

  “So he’s…talented in the bedroom arts,” Nadire admitted. She could sing of his skill in a heavenly choir if he was anyone other than Emeric Hellswarth.

  “Just like his father, then,” Tin whispered, dragging Nadire back to the present.

  “Precisely, he is his father. Enough like him that they are trying to destroy my father, my family. And he…” Nadire crushed her palm, her fist shaking as she thought of all the smug lawyers huddled around a scrap of paper. Emeric included because to top off her shit sundae he was a lawyer as well. What else would the son of the goat-man be? A kindergarten teacher?

  “Father’s hiding something, the Krampus is hiding everything, and…” And the man she shared a night with was perhaps hiding the deepest secrets of them all. It felt as if no one was on her side but Nadire.

  “So…” Tin piped up, finally settling on Nadire’s bed.

  “So what?”

  “Perhaps I am mistaken, I haven’t walked the mortal realm since the age of Versailles, but aren’t human men easily misled by their dangles?”

  A chuckle burned in Nadire’s nose at the cutesy term elves used for genitals. At least it sounded cute to her ears, for the elves it was about as crass as calling someone a dick to their face. There was a lot of candy cane themed graffiti, often anatomically correct, painted on the walls of their private quarters.

  “That aspect of men will never change,” Nadire assured her, wiping away the thought as she focused on the letter.

  “Then all you need do is pop in on this Emeric, put a charm spell on him, and boom, he’ll reveal all his secrets. Maybe you can even talk him out of this foolish endeavor.”

  That was ludicrous. Nadire shook her head. “Humans don’t do charm spells. And,” she held her hand up, anticipating Tin’s next question, “neither do anthros. At least none of us that aren’t named Cupid.”

  “Huh.” Tin sat back, her rarely used legs kicking in the air. “Then how do you procreate?”

  “Usually with alcohol’s assistance,” Nadire admitted, already regretting telling Tin anything. At least her secret would be safe from her father. The last thing the elves would ever talk about around their Lord was sex.

  “Well, do that. Drench him in alcohol, hum your horny song…”

  “Don’t have that either,” Nadire sighed.

  “Burrs on shins, it is a wonder your species made it out of the trees.”

  That drew a laugh to Nadire. She often wondered the same while walking the world. So many people, so many quick wicks with dreary flames pacing the planet as if they were the beginning and end of creation. After years of failing to see a one, to notice them beyond their minor wants and desires, she stumbled into the first to catch her attention with a single elbow collision.

  Her eyes drifted up from the letter demanding documents she knew nothing of to her reflection. It looked weary, her skin ashen from the dust of the archives, but her lips reddened by
the heat of the fire. Leaning down, Nadire tugged open the top drawer in her vanity and excised a cosmetic pot set inside of mother of pearl.

  A perfect red hue, created for Queen Elizabeth herself, rested inside. It was her mother’s, left behind along with so much else. Nadire only wore it for Christmas eve, when she had to be at her boldest to direct the madness that was the Flight. Dipping the tip of her pinkie into the unguent, she parted her lips and swiped the color of passion across the bottom one.

  “Okay, Tin.” She smiled at her reflection. “Let’s set a trap for the Krampus’ son.”

  “Ooh, this means we get to pick dresses.” The elf clapped her hands and dove into the closet, no doubt searching for the glittering options too childlike for this operation. No, Nadire knew what she needed to ensnare and enchant Emeric. She just prayed that she had the wherewithal to harden her heart in order to do it.

  CHAPTER NINE

  TUGGING UP THE cuff of his shirt, Emeric inspected the time on his wristwatch. Receiving a note from Ms. Myra certainly surprised him, and the fact she wished to meet in a restaurant instead of her lawyer’s office caused him to check for flying swine. Perhaps, after a few days to reconsider the minor requests they were making, the Myras had a change of heart.

  Might as well look for those winged pigs again. He had no memories of Saint Nicholas, but his father was quick to tell an unending spray of stories, usually with a half-empty bottle of schnapps to provide emphasis. It seemed the man was stubborn, considered himself as infallible as the pope, and would only change his mind upon pain of death.

  More than likely, his kin was the same, which made Emeric leaving his make-shift office early to meet with her a fruitless endeavor. He should have responded with a curt request that he’d pick up her documents at the post office. That would have been wise, though at least this way he could inspect them in person rather than losing another week due to a go-between. No doubt grinding the process to a halt was Mr. Weir’s main tactic at the moment.

  Cease lying to yourself. You want to see her again.

  Emeric snickered at himself. Again? As if he wasn’t seeing her when he closed his eyes. It took three showers before he was able to remove her scent from his body, and…he hadn’t bothered washing the crimson shirt yet. Myrrh trailed him lie he was the magi carrying gold.

  It was foolish to cling to the memory of a woman he shared a hotel room with for one night. Before he knew who she was, before he knew how big of a pain she had to be. No wonder the daughter of Saint Nicholas was wandering about in hotel bars happily absconding with the first warm body she could find. Doubtful anyone else would put up with her stubbornness.

  Ignoring the fact that he’d done the same, Emeric stepped up to the restaurant’s door only to have a man in a fine white linen shirt open it for him. “Evening, Sir,” the man smiled, crisp eyes darting down his attire. Good thing he dressed for a business call or he’d probably have been thrown out on his ass. Luxury seeped out of every modern decor touch from the jet black coals with gas fire dancing off them to the mirrored mosaics of leaping fish that lined the darkened hallways. She hadn’t mentioned anything about the place being black tie, but Emeric shuffled nervously on his feet.

  There was no such thing as too good for the daughter of a saint.

  After buttoning the tight collar of his shirt, and wishing he had a spare tie tucked away in a pocket, Emeric approached the hostess podium. “I’m…”

  “Ah,” she greeted him, her white-blonde hair slicked back into a rock-hard ponytail. The high contrast of the makeup under dimmed lights put Emeric in mind of an old witch from the woodcut illustrations of fairytales, all bones and sinew. After gathering a menu in her arms, she nodded. “This way.”

  “You…I’m here for someone,” Emeric stuttered, fearing that if she put him back by the bathrooms he might miss Nadire.

  “Yes.” The witch-woman smiled, showing both rows of bleached-blue teeth. “I know. We were informed to look for you.”

  “You were informed…” Emeric repeated, wandering beside the pinched woman. They slid past the bar, flames belching off a line of cocktails as women in bandage dresses clapped appropriately. He expected to be led to the right where tables cuddled against the half walls, but the woman turned him to the left.

  “This way, sir,” she said, pushing open a door with a reserved sign hanging off the front.

  Maybe she thought he was someone else, someone in a wedding party? That made far more sense than… As Emeric walked past the friendly hostess, his eyes skipped over the empty tables of the reserved room. Not even silverware sat in anticipation upon them, as if the staff didn’t expect anyone to use it. He tried to force his brain to linger on the question, but his heart betrayed him by skipping directly to the lone woman in the sea of no one.

  Nadire’s face lit up when she spotted him, her cheeks rosy, her skin glowing from not only her personal aura but a dusting of snowy powder. And those lips. God guard him, but those lips that’d he’d tried to wash away the memories of sucking and pressing against his skin were the deepest, richest red he’d ever seen. Sweeter than a strawberry, more succulent than a cherry, Emeric’s tongue wet his mouth at the thought of tasting them.

  “Is this correct, ma’am?” the hostess asked Nadire, snapping Emeric from his foolish drooling.

  Tipping her head—her hair swept up off her soft, graceful neck—Nadire nodded to the woman. “Yes, thank you so much.”

  “You’re welcome. Please, enjoy your dining experience.” With that, she closed the door behind Emeric leaving him at the mercy of a woman who laid out her web beautifully. Angels themselves, Nadire’s middle two teeth nipped against her bottom lip, a smile brighter than dawn answering.

  No. She’s a Myra, remember. And she made it very clear before where she stood. Even that reminder failed to cool his blood as the memory of her body nearly pressed to his while she berated him caused his heart to flip.

  “Well.” Emeric turned his head away from the beauty to stare at the fish-themed decor. It let him get a foot under himself. “A private room in an upscale restaurant. I dare say it’s too fancy for my blood.”

  He waited for her to throw out the same curt dismissal her father would of how his kind probably preferred a barn, but Nadire’s nimble fingers lifted a napkin off her lap. “I thought, given the precarious nature of our dealings it best to only speak in private.”

  Emeric snorted at the thought. Smart, but it certainly did play to her…

  She rose from the table like a goddess emerging from the sea. All breath knocked out of Emeric’s lungs as he gazed down at the full view of Nadire in a dress designed for scandal. Red fabric scooped barely around her breasts, the heart-shaped neckline highlighting the vast tracts of her sweet tan-brown skin. The same he’d kissed endlessly behind that motel door. Her dress’ straps fell off her shoulders to caress her upper arms, Emeric drawn to the satin sheen by the candlelight.

  God, he wanted to slip them off, to press his lips to her shoulder and slowly work his way to that low strap. To listen to her gasping and writhing from his touch as he lapped his tongue around the thin band of fabric and tugged it down.

  A hand landed in front of him, Emeric blinking madly to remember what one did in that situation. Other than grab it, tug her into his arms, and kiss that hot mouth with every fervor in his body. “That’s a smart idea,” he eked out, finally finding common sense by enveloping her small hand inside his.

  As the pair shook upon their future dealings, Emeric tried to will away the pulse of blood pounding to every corner of his body. One in particular needed to calm itself and fast before he lost all credibility. “Though, do you truly think any of the denizens of this restaurant would really believe in Santa Claus?”

  Nadire smirked, her hand falling out of his to the side. “Truth? These types are more likely to be impressed by the Krampus than my father.” She turned, the puffed-up crinoline of her skirt orbiting higher to encircle her hips.

  Not
thinking about how they’d feel below his palms, Emeric honed in on what she said. “Then you do admit that my father is known.” He had her, or at least a start of the puzzle. Emeric prepared to go for the kill when his eyes followed what his ears picked up. She was wearing the same heels as when they met. The ones she’d pressed into his ass to drive him deeper inside of her.

  “I didn’t realize that was in question,” Nadire said, once again dragging Emeric back from his erotic fantasies. Worrying a hand over his forehead, he scrunched his face up tight as if he’d downed a shot. Why was it impossible for him to think around her?

  Because she’s dressed like she intends to ensnare a man for life, and it was easy to see it working.

  A deeper frown tugged away the blanket of lust, Emeric slipping into the chair across from her. Why was she so gussied up? It couldn’t be for him. He’d expected to find her in the same pants suits and blazers of before.

  “I’m surprised that you’ve returned here,” Emeric said. “I didn’t think there was anything left for you to handle personally.”

  Nadire smiled, her hands bridging and she skimmed the edge of her chin against them in thought. “I prefer to do things in person as much as possible,” her voice dipped lower, that hypnotic gaze burning through her black eyelashes.

  The fumbling, cautious fool evaporated and Emeric’s hunger slipped free. Sliding forward in his chair, he murmured, “Good to know.”

  “And,” she said, skimming back from him as if nothing happened, “I had to meet with our lawyer for what I assume are obvious reasons to you.”

  “Mr. Weir?” Emeric snorted at the thought of someone like her devoting an iota of a second to dress for a man like Mr. Weir. Jowls, wattles, and grey hair aside, the man was the type to keep a few stables of mistress just to appease his ego.

  Nadire picked up her menu, her eyes hunting over the options. She barely glanced up at him to say, “And Trevor, of course.”

  And Trevor. Of course. Emeric snorted at the thought.

  The man stank of infidelity, of a corrupted heart, of narcissism. But she couldn’t smell it, couldn’t see it. Though, given Trevor’s clear interest in claiming the daughter of a wealthy client for his own arm, Nadire certainly didn’t need to put in such effort.