Nicolas

by Dianne Hartsock

  No. How could he accept that? It wasn’t possible. Fairy tales and legends. And yet, he’d seen so many inexplicable things these last few days. He looked at Nico’s profile, flushed and wet with tears, all he could see under the dark curls as Nico hid his eyes. Jamie made his decision. He’d hear Nico out and try to find the strength to believe in him.

  He ran his fingers through Nico’s hair, pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Tell me, baby. I’m listening.”

  A tremor ran through Nico, but he sat up, keeping his eyes averted from Jamie. “Did I tell you I was raised by my uncle, who I’m named after?” He went on when Jamie shook his head. “My parents died in an epidemic that swept our village when I was very young. Uncle Nicolas took me in, and I lived with him in Myra on the coast of the Mediterranean Sea. I loved that city and its people. My family was wealthy, and as I grew older, I began to give small presents of money or food to the most needy of our community.”

  Nico drew a breath, shaking his head. “It is a long story, Jamie, but I will try to be succinct. As I said, I loved my people, I loved God. When asked, I became the bishop of Myra, where I could do the most good. I was happy.”

  He fell silent, and Jamie watched the expressions crossing his face, nostalgia and sorrow. His voice dropped lower, husky with grief when he spoke again. “We prospered, until famine swept our province. It was a terrible time, hunger and sickness. I did what I could, but there was not enough food. So many died. I prayed to God every day to deliver us, but he never answered.”

  Nico widened his eyes. “Perhaps it was my doubt that brought about what happened next. I don’t know….”

  “What happened, Nico?” Jamie feared he already knew the answer.

  “I met Piter.”

  God. Jamie shuddered, remembering his dreams, not sure he wanted to hear this part of the story. Nico picked up his hand and pressed it to his hot cheek as if needing the comfort. Jamie’s heart stumbled at his distress. He leaned against his shoulder, gently kissed the corner of his eye, tasting his tears. “I’m here, Nico. Please, go on.”

  Nico nodded, keeping Jamie’s hand in his. “I had buried a child that morning. There was not enough food, and his parents had to choose which one would die so the others could live. Cristo, I hope you never see such suffering, my love. Long, nightmarish days while those I loved were taken one by one. I walked in the forest that day, the trees growing brown in the long heat without rain. I remember the children’s laughter in the woods, lightening my heart. But then I came upon the butcher’s hut, buried in the trees.”

  Jamie sat up, tried to catch Nico’s eye. “I know this part, Nico. I dreamed of it.”

  Nico’s breath went out with a regretful sound. “I know, amore mio. I wish you had been spared. It was… terrible. When I realized the butcher had murdered those innocents, it was as if all my despair and buried anger for those who had died in the famine seized me. I felt such madness in my head. This couldn’t be! I wouldn’t let it be. I closed my eyes and willed it not to be with every atom of my being.

  “There was a gasp, a sob of terror, and I opened my eyes, and the boys stood in front of me, whole and alive. I don’t know how. God’s mercy. But the butcher couldn’t let them be. I hadn’t meant to kill him! I shoved him from them and he struck his head on the stone hearth.”

  “It wasn’t your fault—”

  Nico continued as if he hadn’t heard him. “The butcher’s spirit fled its dying body, bent on its revenge. I had taken a life, and he meant for me to pay.” His voice dropped to a strangled whisper. “I deserve to pay.”

  Jamie grabbed his arm. “That’s not true. You saved those children. What Piter chose to do afterward was because of his own black and twisted soul.”

  “You don’t understand. I had lost my faith.” Nico trembled under Jamie’s hand. “When my people began to die of disease and hunger, I begged God to spare them. To take my life and let them live. God never answered. I began to hate him as the young ones He had placed in my care began to die one by one. If God is love, how could He allow such suffering?”

  Nico choked on his tears. “I know better now. God doesn’t make us suffer. We do that to ourselves by turning a blind eye to the needs of others. But I had doubted him and deserve my punishment.”

  A tear dropped on Jamie’s hand, breaking his heart. There had to be something he could say. He doubted any god would hurt Nico like this, but the man wasn’t ready to hear that. His mind raced, going over Nico’s story…. Ah, there was a detail Nico had glossed over.

  Anxious to distract him, Jamie slipped to his knees on the hardwood floor and nudged between his lover’s legs. Nico’s eyes widened and Jamie felt his face heat but drew a breath, determined.

  He trailed his fingers over Nico’s thighs. “So… you’re a priest, Nico?”

  Naughty boy. Piter’s words replayed in his head, but Jamie ignored them. He hadn’t known Nico was a priest when they made love. He recalled the night he found Nico, how beautiful he was as he slept on Jamie’s couch, how desirable, and he wondered if it would have made a difference.

  Nico snorted, and Jamie glanced up, his blush deepening at the glint of laughter in his wet eyes. “Yes, mio caro, I was. But do not worry. We haven’t been… improper. That was a lifetime ago. Long centuries past. But Piter pursued me relentlessly, and I could never stay in any one place long. I grieved that I could no longer say Mass, wondering how I could serve God whom I still love.”

  Nico reached down and pulled Jamie up into his lap, laying him back on his arm so his hair spilled across the pillows. Nico drew a quick breath. “Tesoro mio,” he murmured. His smile lingering as he continued, “I gave up my priesthood and traveled the world, keeping one step ahead of my tormentor. And in my travels, I began to see the things common to all peoples, the things scarce in the world; peace and love, sharing the simple pleasures of life, empathy for the needy, goodwill toward our fellow man.”

  Jamie smiled, struggling to sit up. “You sound like our Santa Claus.”

  Nico’s bark of laughter startled him. “Hardly! I am no saint, amore mio. And where your myth lives in the snow, I have a delightful little villa in Italy overlooking an ocean of sapphire blue, where the sun sparkles like diamonds on the water. I often lie naked on the veranda and let the soft sun and gentle breezes caress my skin.”

  “You do?” Jamie asked on a breathy whisper, his bones dissolving at the image of Nico lying in the sun, dark curls surrounding his face, the tang of sweat on Jamie’s tongue as he licked a path up his golden skin. Nico dropped a hand on Jamie’s hip as if unaware of it, except his fingers began to stroke lightly over his growing dick through his jeans, making Jamie almost purr like a kitten as pleasure tingled along his nerves.

  Nico nodded solemnly, though his eyes twinkled. “I do. My father was a man of wealth. I can live in comfort and also have the means of helping where I think it is most needed.”

  He shifted on the couch, and Jamie missed the hand on his cock until Nico threaded his fingers through Jamie’s hair, tugging a little. Nico then touched his mouth, running a thumb over his bottom lip, and Jamie’s lips parted. He felt vulnerable, shameless, as he lay on Nico’s lap, silently begging for a kiss. A gleam entered Nico’s hazel eyes, making Jamie tremble even as warmth and desire spread through him. He feared he would never get enough of this man who could turn him into jelly with a glance.

  Nico placed a chaste kiss on his lips. “You’re distracting me, amore. But to finish, I must confess I have perpetuated the myth of Santa Claus and Father Christmas. It’s a way to disguise my comings and goings around the world, allowing me to help where I can and disappear without explanation. I share God’s message of unity and peace with this troubled world.”

  Jamie recalled how at the inn last night, when they’d first arrived, people who were strangers to each other had come together in friendship around Nico. And even earlier that day in the diner for breakfast. They’d gathered around Nico as if fascinated, sharing their stor
ies. His heart swelled with pride that he knew this man. “You must be the Spirit of Christmas, bringing hope rather than presents to everyone.”

  Nico’s blush surprised him. “Grazie, cuore mio, though I’m not the only one spreading this message.” His expression turned troubled. “But no matter where I go, Piter is close behind, bringing nightmare and despair in his wake, undoing all I have worked for.” Anguish filled his voice. “Will I never find peace of my own?”

  Jamie reached and pulled Nico into his arms, wiggling until Nico stretched out beside him, face buried against his neck. Nico’s breath and lips were warm on his skin and Jamie sighed, stroking Nico’s silky curls.

  “You’re with me, baby. I’m here,” he murmured and kissed the top of Nico’s head. Nico looked up and Jamie kissed his wet eyes, moving down on the couch until their lips met. They lingered over sweet kisses and murmured endearments, finding solace. Jamie wasn’t sure how he felt about Nico’s story, but put aside his doubts. There would be time later for questions. For now, it was enough that they were together.

  The fire crackled. Tired, overwrought by emotion, Jamie settled into Nico’s arms. Nico kissed his cheek, then yawned and closed his eyes. For the moment, he looked young and serene and Jamie smiled, letting the familiar sounds of the cabin and Nico’s warm body lure him to sleep.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  THE FIRE snapped, waking Nico from a pleasant dream. He’d been home to Italy, watching the blue sea from the balcony of his villa outside of Salerno. He hadn’t been there in months and never realized how much he missed it. Jamie had been there with him, his glorious hair catching the sunlight.

  Nico drew a contented breath and reached for Jamie, fear jolting him when he encountered empty space. He blinked his eyes open. The great room was growing dark as evening approached and he sat up, his frantic gaze darting to the kitchen, then swinging back to the dining area. Jamie’s easel was a black shape against the faint light from the picture windows. Jamie wasn’t there. Nico listened, but the cabin remained quiet except for the occasional creak of settling wood.

  “Jamie?” he called, dread tightening his chest. Maybe he’d gone to the bedroom. Nico crossed the dim living room to the open bedroom door. Flicking on the light, his heart twisted when he found it empty. Jamie wasn’t in the bathroom, either.

  Nico returned to the hearth and stirred up the glowing coals, adding a stick of wood. He needed to think this through. Reacting blindly, giving into panic, would not save his lover. Cristo! How had he not heard the Krampus when he came to take Jamie? He shouldn’t have slept! Shadows filled the cabin and he knelt by Jamie’s Christmas tree, plugging in the lights. Tinsel reflected the glittering bulbs, the ornaments shining in bright splashes of color. Blinking at tears, Nico sat on the edge of the couch and stared at the wondrous tree, letting his sight blur.

  Piter had taken others, the few men Nico had allowed himself to love over the long, joyless years. In the legend, the Krampus was Nicolas’s counterpart, the goblin who switched the naughty children with birch branches, leaving a sack of coal when he whisked the worst of them away in his burlap sack. To Italy.

  But in reality, Piter did as he chose. He never hurt a child, preferring his mind games with them: monsters under the bed, in the closet. There was no such compunction when it came to men. He took those he judged to be wicked and used them for his own amusement. More often to torture Nico, who had to watch their confusion and pain and growing terror, helpless to stop Piter as he crawled into their minds and abused their bodies.

  A low moan escaped Nico. Where was his sweet Jamie? In the past, two of his lovers had gone willingly with Piter, preferring his untamed passions, seduced by promises of power and pleasure. But the last man he’d foolishly, dangerously given his heart to had been true to him. He’d met his shy Misha in the heart of a Russian winter, decades ago now, in an isolated cabin he’d stumbled upon while hiking from one town to another. Nico was used to the winter storms, but Misha’s fire on the hearth and the warmth in the poet’s eyes had made him stay when he should have moved on.

  They’d shared two weeks of passion, lonely hearts meeting in tears and fierce kisses and hungry bodies. Until Piter found them. Piter had played his mind games, and when Misha refused him, whisked him away despite Nico’s effort to keep him safe.

  “I’m sorry,” Nico said into the silence, voice choked with tears. It had taken him two months to track them. The Krampus took his prey to Italy, but they could be anywhere in the country. Nico found Misha in an alleyway of a small mountain town, body tortured and used. Nico nursed him, and in due time Misha walked away from him. The next year he walked off a mountainside into the sea.

  The fire snapped, sparks shooting up the flue. Nico watched them disappear, his heart a ball of lead. He’d failed Misha, like he was failing Jamie now. The brilliant tree drew his gaze once more and he watched the twinkling lights shining against the merry ornaments, as bright and precious as Jamie himself.

  Nico curled his hand into a fist. He wouldn’t let it end like this. The Krampus had an ability he used when he stole the children and men away. He wished to be somewhere else, and he was there, in the blink of an eye. It was a gift, perhaps because he was more spirit than man.

  It was something Nico had never tried, preferring to travel by boat or train, mingling with people. And the thought of trying it frightened him. He wanted to be human, to feel the joy and triumph and pain of being a man. Would the experience change him into something else?

  Nico nodded in the shadow-filled room, reaching a decision. He’d hesitated with Misha and lost him. He wouldn’t do that with Jamie. The fire had died down and Nico stirred up the embers, set the screen securely in place. Turning off the Christmas lights, he sat in the dark. He didn’t know where Piter had taken Jamie, but he knew where he’d start his search. He’d go home.

  Closing his eyes, he pictured the veranda overlooking the sea. It would be early morning, still dark, the sound of the waves a soothing resonance below him.

  “Be with me, Lord,” he murmured, and fixed the image in his mind. His stomach lurched, the sensation of quick movement, wind in his ears, then a sudden stop. A cold breeze buffeted him and there was the sting of sleet on his face. Peering through his lashes, he saw the familiar surroundings of his home bathed in moonlight before rolling clouds blocked its light.

  “In nome di Dio,” he breathed, overwhelmed by emotion. He longed to go to his knees in prayer, but fear ate at his heart. He didn’t feel Piter’s presence. Closing his eyes, he pictured the man, golden haired, green eyed.

  “Where are you?” he asked into the night. It felt odd, trying to reach the creature. Usually their connection was more like a rubber band. Nico would flee, and be free of Piter for a short time. But then the band stretched to its limit and brought Piter to him, wherever he hid. It might work in reverse, guiding him to Piter, but that could take weeks or months. Better to search for him now.

  His breath stuttered when he pulled the image of the Krampus into his thoughts. He touched on evil and he shut his mind, the darkness in men’s souls rising up around him from all sides. Despair clutched at him. How was he to find Jamie in the midst of this wickedness?

  Maybe he was going about it all wrong. He needed to look for the good in men’s hearts. He pictured Jamie, his sweet body and pretty face and kind soul. Peace settled over him and he drew a deep breath, focusing on the gentle man, letting his love seep out into the night. He felt a tug on his heart. Jamie was to the east. Perhaps Bari? Certainty came to him. Of course, the city where the Basilica di San Nicola stood. Piter’s joke, taking Nico’s lover to see his bones.

  Nico opened his eyes, raised his face to the salty spray sweeping off the ocean. He drew it into his lungs, thrilling at the wind and cold rain stinging his cheeks, lifting his hair. He loved the power of storms, the breath of God. He longed to have Jamie with him, tucked against his shoulder. Nico would make love to him in the tempest, drunk with passion, pulse surg
ing, giving all he had to bring him to exquisite bliss.

  “Ti amo, cuore mio,” he whispered, missing him. “Hold on, my heart.”

  Pain struck him, intense, piercing, flaying his skin, an echo of Jamie’s agony. Cristo! Helpless tears filled his eyes as he felt the bitter sting of a switch against his skin. The Krampus showed no mercy, tormenting his sweet lover. Jamie’s thoughts flew to him, though Nico knew he was unaware of their connection. “Nico, I need you!”

  “I’m coming, angelo mio. Be strong,” he murmured, his heart pounding with fear and resolve. He closed his eyes, concentrating, and felt the lurch of movement.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  JAMIE CLAWED his way through layers of pain to consciousness, not sure he wanted to wake up as the muscles of his body seized and he screamed, the echoes reverberating in the chamber. His eyes flashed open and he gazed in horror at the cement walls and stained floor of his prison.

  “This is a dream. It’s not real,” he assured his frantic mind. But then he recalled Nico’s words. Piter would never play another mind game with him. A shudder ran through him. This was the cruelest reality.

  His arms ached, wrists shackled together and suspended over his head by a thick chain looped through a hook in the unfinished ceiling. He straightened, easing his arms somewhat, but his legs shook, unable to bear his weight for long.

  “Why am I here?” he whispered, licking his dry lips, becoming aware of his thirst. He couldn’t see much of the area, lit by a single bare bulb overhead spilling its sickly yellow light on him but keeping the corners in shadow. He seemed to be the sole occupant except for a wooden table shoved against a wall. Various metal tools glittered on its surface, along with some long black objects that looked like various types of whips.