Chapter 1
Damaris sighed as she stood in the back of the room, waving, though she knew the gesture went unseen. Her husband rode off on his sleigh pulled by a team of reindeer and was cheered on by a multitude of ecstatic workers. The din barely died down as the little men and women rushed off to have their own celebrations in the village, their work for the year now complete. Damaris had to smile. The elves worked diligently from dawn to dusk with smiles on their faces and a song in their hearts. Their only compensation was the happiness on the children’s faces Christmas morning and the stories Santa brought back with him after his long night of delivering gifts to the world’s recipients.
Often Damaris wondered how much the man embellished and how much he kept to himself. She knew that while he thrived on delivering gifts to the world’s children, there were times when he entered a home to find a much older, curvier, and scantily clad occupant waiting for him to arrive. Nikolai sure got a kick out of these occurrences the first few times they happened and, in his usual jovial manner, he would relay to his wife how he would tip his hat and respectfully decline the lady’s offer before leaving again.
Sometimes the woman wouldn’t take the hint and Santa became adept at gingerly dropping gifts beneath the tree while being chased around it. While these adventures tickled her husband immensely, Damaris was not amused and, after seeing how upset they made her, Nikolai had stopped telling her about them. This only made matters worst for not knowing made her believe he was being accosted in practically every home he entered. Then, of course, she began to wonder when amusement turned to desire and how often he was receiving more than cookies and milk on these treks.
The portrayal of the magical couple made Damaris laugh. She never understood where the idea of an elderly couple came from. Perhaps it was the fact Nikolai had been doing this for so long, but since the concept of the jolly old man was so popular, he decided to take on the disguise. Old St. Nick was actually a big bear of a man standing just over 6 feet tall with a mop of curly blonde hair and a closely cropped mustache and beard. What the stories did get right was his warm heart, deep belly laugh, and the most beautiful blue eyes she had ever seen. On the other hand, Damaris was a slender woman whose head barely reached her husband’s shoulder so she had to stand on tiptoe to kiss him. Her ebony hair cascaded to her waist and her eyes were, as Nikolai once said, as green as the Mediterranean before a storm. While she used to travel with him often when they first married, Damaris couldn’t remember the last time she had left the North Pole and was anxious to see this strange new world Nikolai described.
Damaris sighed again, realizing there was a lot that she and Nikolai used to do together. While he was still courteous and kind to her, she often felt more like a maid or housekeeper than a wife. She missed the feel of his arms around her, the electricity of his kisses, the smell of him. Each was so immersed in their duties that they rarely spoke anymore and oftentimes, Damaris would fall into an empty bed at night and awaken alone in the morning. The warmth of the wrinkled sheets beside her the only confirmation that her husband still slept by her side. It was a far cry from when they first met.
Damaris Osci hailed from the thriving metropolis of Pompeii. Her father owned and operated the largest hotel in the region, located on the edge of the city with sprawling views of the sparkling Mediterranean Sea. He often boasted of the wealthy and important clientele the hotel attracted though they rarely seemed worth the hoopla to Damaris. If they weren’t incredibly rude, screaming and hitting the staff, they were miserly and haggled prices down below the rate of even the worst hovels. Many of these guests would attempt to take liberties with members of staff making it necessary for Damaris to rescue a flustered employee from a drunken official or dignitary. She also faced irate wives who accused the young woman of enticing these grabby men herself. It was miserable work and she often sought solace from her rooftop garden.
One day the weather was extraordinarily hot and Damaris stood behind the reception desk absentmindedly brushing away the strands of hair that escaped her long braid from her face when he walked in. She looked up as the doorway darkened and her breath caught in her throat. The stranger practically filled the entire room and Damaris trembled. She thanked the gods for the feast of Vulcanalia, without which they would have had a vacancy. She would have difficulty prying this guest off an employee if he decided to get handsy. He was dressed oddly, wearing thick black boots instead of sandals. His tunic was made of a fluffy red material far too warm for the current climate with long sleeves and was closely cropped at the neck. His complexion was much paler than she was used to seeing and she wondered for a moment if he was ill. The twinkle in his eyes, blue like the summer sky, said otherwise. Damaris tried to speak but only a squeak came out. She composed herself, cleared her throat, and tried again.
“May I help you, sir?”
“Yes, I require a room for myself and my horse.” He replied a thick accent colored his clipped rendition of her language.
Damaris swallowed a smile of relief and she said,
“I’m sorry sir, while we do have space in our stables for your horse, the hotel is full for the holiday.”
The man looked confused for a moment and Damaris wondered if he understood her. She opened her mouth again when he asked,
“Would it be possible to share the stable with my horse?”
Damaris barked a laugh before slapping a hand over her mouth.
“I’m sorry, sir, that’s not a request we’re used to hearing around here. I’m afraid Father wouldn’t approve.”
He leaned across the desk and winked.
“Perhaps you could tell him I’m the stableboy looking after a guest’s horse.”
“No one would believe that you were a stableboy.” Damaris giggled as she ran her eyes over the man’s large frame. “Besides, it’s not my habit to lie.”
He regarded her for several moments with sparkling eyes and smiled softly,
“If only there were more women like you in the world.”
She blushed deeply. Keep it together, she thought.
“I am sorry, but it really wouldn’t be seemly to have you bed down in the stables with the animals.”
He waved off her objection.
“I assure you, Miss, the scent of an animal does not offend me and Quicksilver is one of my oldest and dearest friends. The truth of the matter is I am in desperate need of rest and there is no space anywhere in the region. If you wish, I will pay double the rate of your best room for the use of your stables for the night. That should appease your father, no?”
Damaris gasped and she shook her head.
“Oh no, I couldn’t ask you to do that!” She pursed her lips and continued. “Alright, come with me. I will deal with my father.”
She led him into the back corner of the stables where she watched him remove a large black saddle edged with gilded bells from his white horse.
“This area was just cleaned and fresh hay laid down so there’ll be fewer fleas and vermin. You should be warm and comfortable tonight, not that you’ll freeze in this heat,” she sighed, brushing loose strands of hair from her face again.
“Thank you very much, I appreciate your kindness, Miss...?”
“Damaris.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Damaris, I am Nikolai Klaus.” He replied, taking her hand and kissing it.
Damaris blushed again. Suddenly the ground rocked beneath her feet tossing her against him as he stumbled back against the wall. The animals inside the stable stomped and screamed. The bells on Nikolai’s saddle jingled incessantly as the building shook. After what seemed like an eternity, the shaking stopped and Damaris found herself pressed against her new guest, the feel of his breath on her cheek sent shivers through her. She pushed herself off him and straightened her tunic.
“Are you alright, Mr. Klaus?”
The man was visibly shaken but he nodded as he righted himself. “What was that?”
“An earthquake. I must warn you, they’re fairly common in this area, though they seem to be more frequent of late. That’s why this year’s Vulcanalia is extra special. The priests say the volcano god grows restless and we must send two willing brides this year to appease him.”
Nikolai started and asked, “Anyone I know?”
Damaris laughed, “No, these women are beautiful, pure, and divine. They were bred specifically for this honor. No ordinary woman will suffice.”
Nikolai reached out and brushed the hair from Damaris’ face. His fingers brushed her cheek and lingered for a moment. She gazed into his eyes, brilliant pools of blue, and her mouth went dry as her heart skipped a beat.
“Well, I can’t say I’m not glad but I think the priests missed out on something special,” he said, his voice had a rough edge suddenly.
Damaris stepped away while taking a shuddering breath. As professionally as she was able she replied,
“I must check on the staff and make sure everything is in order. Dinner is at 7.”
Nikolai nodded, a slow smile spread across his face that made Damaris’ heart flutter again and she hurried out of the stable. She stopped outside the door of the hotel and gasped. Earthquakes were a part of life in Pompeii. Some said it was the price to pay for living in a beautiful location with abundant food, wine, and pleasant weather.
Still, the earthquakes became more frequent and violent in recent years and the government was slow on repairs. Damaris knew from her staff that the poorer parts of town had yet to receive any help with the citizens relying on each other to rebuild and start over. The most recent quake collapsed several buildings down the street. Smoke rose in the distance and the screams of people rushing to put out fires and rescue those trapped in the rubble sounded all over the city. High above, the sight of smoke pouring out of Mount Vesuvius made Damaris’ stomach clench so hard she thought she might vomit. She hoped the priests were right, that Vulcan would find this year’s sacrifice acceptable, or they were all doomed.
