Twelve Nights of Christmas

Married life, Perseus scoffed in his head.

Hera forgive him. He loved his wife and he loved his baby girl. He'd die for them. But the spark in his romantic life had long since dimmed. Now it was the Christmas season, and he had nothing to look forward to in his sex life. He hadn't laid with Annabeth in months, it seemed, and he admittedly had to give most of the blame to their daughter, who was only two years old and still needed constant pampering.

Yet despite what he led everyone, especially his wife, to believe, he did have something to look forward to every night, and not just on Christmas.

You see, every night, he would slumber peacefully knowing that a woman visited him every night in his dreams.

She always snuck in unexpectedly.

She always crawled into bed when he was alone.

She always took everything off slowly.

She always left him begging.

She always left him…in general.

He awoke every morning right before she would ever finish her deeds, to a crying daughter and a stressed housewife. That is, until he had to go to work, which was Monday through every godsdamn Friday. He worked every grueling hour of his eight-hour shift at the office, only to come home to a nice family meal (and by family meal, that of course meant he and Annabeth struggling to get a single bite of food into their belligerent ball of sunshine's piehole). Then, after kissing his tired wife goodnight, he fell asleep so as to see his mystery, mental lover.

Again, now, it was Christmas Eve. And he was awaiting the chance to get to bed.

He was cleaning the dishes from having the family over for dinner, yawning so ferociously that he could inhale the scent of the Dawn dish soap.

Then he heard it. Rustling, in the corner of the house. Every time he turned to the source, the source changed. It moved with his head, never being caught, not even once.

"Who's there?" he said in a whisper. No answer.

"I mean it!" he said again, "No games! Santa isn't real so show your fucking face before I call the cops."

The rustling stopped, and a figure moved beside the Christmas tree.

Out stepped a tall woman, though not taller than Percy, with black hair, pale white skin, and an entirely black outfit. She appeared as dark as night, but from what Percy could see, she was the most gorgeous thing he had ever seen being Aphrodite and, of course, his flawless bride.

"Hello, love," she purred, causing the hairs on Percy's arms to stand up.

"Who are you?" said he, clutching the dish towel in his hand.

"You'll find out my name soon enough. But for now, think of me as your secret Santa. I come bearing gifts—twelve of them, to be exact. One for every night until Christmas. And on the first day of Christmas, I give to my love a partridge of course."

Percy jumped as the sound of a bird chirping came from the kitchen table beside him. When he looked back to the woman, she was gone.

Percy again was cleaning up his house, this time from his daughter leaving her toys in the living room. Again he had allowed his wife to rest early.

Then, just as he feared, the woman reappeared.

"You can't visit every night, woman. I have a wife."

She scoffed. "I am a friend bearing gifts and nothing more."

She held out her hand, and shook his. He stared at her, confused.

"My song has different lyrics, my love. On my second day, I give you a handshake."

He frowned, expecting something either far better, or far worse. Instead, he just nodded as the vanished again before his eyes.

He was at work now, trying desperately not to fall asleep at his computer. He failed, of course, then gazed into the eyes of a visitor, who woke him up with a start. He jotled backwards when his eyes met his guest.

The woman from before.

She was resting her hands on a handmade basket, which smelled of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. She smiled at him.

"Your third day…you give me cookies?"

She smiled again and walked away from his cubicle, vanishing again when he looked out to see her walk away.

On the fourth day, she gave him a simple hug. There were no words between them, just silence as he melted into her embrace.

On the fifth day, she placed $10,000 in his bank account. He had trouble fabricating himself winning the lottery for Annabeth.

The sixth day was a chaste kiss.

The seventh day, his favorite so far: Annabeth asked him to lay with her for the first time in months. She did not claim this gift, but he credited the woman anyways.

On the eighth day, she visited rather late at night, long after his wife and daughter had gone to bed, and her gift was simple enough in two steps: first, he took off his pants, and second, she took him into her mouth. Thankfully he was a brilliant liar.

The ninth day she did not appear. But his boss did manage to promote him for his hard work. He jokingly left his own batch of cookies out for the woman before going to bed.

On the tenth day, Annabeth took their daughter to her father's house for the day, and the woman visited him early. They talked, ate, and finally, unfortunately for his loving wife, relished in each other for the evening in hot passion.

The eleventh day seemed the longest. He began to wonder if there would be a last two days, but he still waited patiently.

Again, Annabeth and their daughter had gone to bed. He had finished cleaning. He was now watching old Christmas movies quietly in the living room, hoping, praying his lover would visit him again as promised.

His wish was granted.

She stood in front of the television, which he promptly turned off. He smiled at her, but her face looked disappointed.

"You failed my test, Perseus."

His face twisted. "W-what?"

She didn't speak. She approached him, and he feared her, and rightly so. He anticipated a kiss, or another hug, or perhaps another session. But instead, she teased him, tantalized him, his breathing now rapid and uneven.

Then he gasped.

She had…she had stabbed him.

He choked and spit blood, only able to grunt the word, "why?"

"You forgot to ask anyone else what they wanted for Christmas," she giggled. "You took from me my love and my lavish gifts, you took your wife's trust, and you gave nothing back. And now, I punish you. For being on the naughty list."

"My daughter…"

"Will be told of her father's great history as a great hero. I wouldn't dare harm the child's image of her father."

He was fading fast. "It—it's only the eleventh day."

She giggled once more and looked at the clock, which read midnight…on Christmas morning. She pulled the knife out of his chest and he doubled over, gasping his last breaths. She placed her hand on his trembling shoulder.

"On the twelfth day, I give you my name, my love." He choked once more and his sea green eyes met hers, which were as black as could be.

"My name is Nyx. Merry Christmas, Percy Jackson…merry Christmas to all! And to all a good night."