Page 29 of Christmas Eve with Krampus

As we walked, he held onto my wooden box for me. He places it gently down on the frost- and snow-covered ground before lowering his bulk down beside it.

“Join me on the earth, liebling.”

As I do, I can’t help but think I much prefer being his ‘liebling’—his darling—than the dismissive way he called me ‘mortal’ the last time I sat with him on the frozen ground.

Only this time? I don’t plop my skirt on top of the dirt. Nope. Before I can, Ruprecht swoops me up into his embrace, nestling me on his lap.

Sated from all of the sex, tired from the long walk away from the workshop, and suddenly so very warm, wrapped up in my demon, I curl up against his sweat-slicked chest. One hand plays with the fur on his shoulder. The other wraps around his hard side.

His claws go to my hair, combing out the knotted strands as he hums under his breath.

The last thing I remember is my Krampus humming “O Tannenbaum” to me as I fall asleep on Christmas night.

It’s the morning after Christmas, seventy-two hours after I willingly walked into the dark forest—and I’m alone.

It’s just me, the tree we leaned against last night, and the wooden box Nicklaus gave me tucked into my side.

But Ruprecht?

He’s gone.

At first, I’m heartbroken. After the two nights we shared—and just how intimate we became in such a short amount of time—I would’ve at least expected him to say ‘goodbye’ without ditching me in the woods. I’m bitter, too; it seems like all I’m good for is a few fucks before being abandoned. That’s been my love-life every since my high school sweetheart ditched me, and though the demon isn’t quite a man, I thought he’d treat me better.

And maybe he did.

He made it clear that he believed I was meant for him. That, instead of being Nicklaus’s bride, I was Ruprecht’s. But while his brother is like nothing I ever expected Santa to be, Ruprecht is even more of a conundrum. He’s a demon, but he’s selfless enough to let me go.

The shimmering border is gone. The path out of Blackmoor is open.

I can leave?—

But I can also stay. Ruprecht didn’t come out and ask me to, but if I asked him, I’m pretty he’d welcome me into his cottage.

Into his bed.

The Toymaker… Santa… is waiting for the next Mrs. Claus. If I hadn’t caught Ruprecht’s attention first, that could’ve been me. And despite all the good PR ol’ Saint Nick has, no way he would’ve let me leave his workshop if Ruprecht hadn’t gotten his claws—and his chains—on me first.

I don’t know if I believe in the concept of fate like they do. That I was born in a suburb of Los Angeles, moved to Alabama, and after living there for so many years, it was fate that led me to Blackmoor.

To Nicklaus.

To Ruprecht.

But it wasn’t fate, was it? It was my desperation to do something—anything—about the chronic ache in my hip.

Was it fate that led Philip Portnoy to answer that ill-timed text before t-boning my car and fracturing my hip? If I believe that I was meant to end up in Blackmoor, then I’d have to accept that my disability was preordained, too. After all, without it, I never would’ve had a reason to search for a miracle.

Did I find one?

My scars are still there. Ruprecht licked them, giving me some relief for a little while, but my hip is tight. Stiff. My leg aches the moment I hit the cold… but the pain is still more than a little gone. Being with the mythical Krampus has done something to heal the worst of it.

Nicklaus gave me a wooden box that I can’t open.

Ruprecht’s Christmas gift was definitely preferable. The way he tended to me like I was precious, then fucked me within an inch of my life better than any guy I’ve ever been with… this was a Christmas to remember.

I only hope I never forgot it. Because, well, he didn’t ask me to stay.

So I guess I better go.

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