Page 21 of Kraved By Krampus

With a firm shake of my head, I banish the treacherous thought. But even as I do, the scent of him lingers, taunting me with possibilities.

Chapter twelve

Clara

Iexhale slowly after Krampus leaves. The quiet of the library settles around me, and for a moment, I consider heading to bed. But something pulls at me—an itch beneath my skin. My fingers twitch, eager to hold a pen again.

Magnus seems to sense my restlessness, and with a whisper of magic, a soft blanket and a steaming cup of tea appear. I don’t question it this time.

A girl could get used to this.

With a small smile, I settle into the armchair, letting the blanket wrap around me like a familiar comfort. My fingers wrap around the pen, and the words begin to flow from some place deep within.

The dark deity stands in the shadows, watching his muse with a smoldering gaze. She sits at her desk, unaware of his presence, her face illuminated by the soft glow of her lamp. With a playful gleam in his eye, he steps closer, his footfalls silent on the wood floor.

I write of his movement, his power filling the room, and an inkling of what’s to come curls in my stomach. It’s like there’s a part of me that knows what he’ll do next, even before I put pen to paper. My pulse quickens as he stops behind her, close enough that she can feel his breath on her neck.

“What are you afraid of, little muse?” His deep voice rumbles, sending a jolt of fear through her.

No, that’s not right. It’s not just fear.I scratch out the last sentence and try again, letting my pen glide across the page.

“What do you desire, little one? Beyond the safety of your wholesome stories, what dark fantasies lurk in that beautiful mind of yours?” His warm breath tickles her ear, sending a rush of goosebumps down her arms.

The muse freezes, her pen hovering above the paper. Desire. The word reverberates through her, and for a fleeting moment, she considers turning to face him. But instead, she answers with a question of her own.

“Why do you care what I desire?”

The deity chuckles, and the sound wraps around her like a caress. “Because, my dear, I intend to give it to you.”

I pause, my pen hovering as I consider the implications of that statement. What would happen if this mysterious deity gave in to her deepest desires? A thrill runs through me, and my eyes flick to the window, where the snow falls silently outside. With a small smile, I let my pen move again, writing the muse’s next words.

“And what makes you think I would accept such a thing?”

His deep laugh washes over her like warm honey, and suddenly, he’s so close that his lips brush her ear as he speaks. “Because you crave it. You crave me.”

My heart pounds as I write, the words spilling out faster now. The muse’s breath catches, and her pulse thrums in her veins. Is it true? Does she crave this dark deity and the promises he brings?

Do I?

I lick my lips, feeling my heart pound in my chest as I write the next part. The words flow from my pen, bringing the dark deity to life. He’s a force of nature, pursuing his muse with relentless determination.

The deity circles his muse like a predator, his eyes gleaming with an unspoken promise. She tries to ignore the way her breath quickens, the way her body responds to his nearness. It’s a game of cat and mouse, and she knows he’s toying with her, drawing out the chase.

With each step, the air between them thickens, heavy with desire and a hint of fear. He corners her, his broad shoulders blocking the exit. She can feel his warmth, sense the power radiating from him.

“Are you afraid, little one?” His deep voice, a low rumble, makes me feel a thrill. “Afraid of what I might do?”

What would he do?I wonder, my eyes narrowing as I write. A tingling sensation rushes through my body as the thought crosses my mind, and I let my pen move across the page, bringing the scene to life.

“You know what I could do.” His lips curve into a wicked smile as he steps closer, his shadow engulfing her. “But the question is, do you want it?”

My breath hitches as I write, feeling the tension in the air between them. The muse is me, and yet she isn’t. I livevicariously through her, exploring my hidden desires on the page.

The muse bites her lip, her heart hammering in her chest. “Maybe I do.” The admission is a whisper, a challenge, and an invitation.

With a growl, the deity closes the distance between them, his large hand curling around her waist, pulling her closer. “Maybe isn’t good enough.”

I chew on the end of my pen, feeling my cheeks flush as I write the next line. My heart races, and I realize I’m holding my breath.

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