Page 4 of Kraved By Krampus

“And passion?” He steps closer, and the metal in my hands grows cold. “The very things you pour onto those secret pages of yours?”

“Stop it.” I back away until I hit the wall. “I won’t let you ruin everything. I’m Noelle Goodheart. I write about Christmas miracles and sweet kisses under mistletoe. Not... not...”

“Not ancient winter gods who claim their mates?” His eyes flash. “Not the primal magic that is coursing through you?”

“I reject this. I reject you.” My voice cracks. “Go back to whatever dark place you came from and leave me alone.”

The temperature drops further, frost creeping across the floorboards. His massive form seems to fill the entire room, shadows writhing around him like living things.

“You can reject me, little mate, but you cannot reject what you are.” His words cut through the air. “And you are so much more than the cage you’ve built for yourself.”

The shadows coil around him like living smoke as he takes another step forward. My back presses harder against the wall, but there’s nowhere left to retreat.

“By winter’s end, you’ll be mine, embracing both me and your true nature.” His voice drops lower, sending shiversthrough my body that have nothing to do with fear. “Fight it all you want, but you know I speak truth.”

My heart pounds so hard I swear he must hear it. The air between us feels electric, charged with something ancient and wild that calls to a part of me I’ve tried so hard to bury.

“I won’t.” But my voice wavers, betraying me. In the fireplace, the ashes of my manuscript still spiral upward in defiance of gravity, dancing in time with my racing pulse.

He reaches out, one clawed finger tracing the air inches from my cheek. Heat blooms beneath my skin where his shadow touches me. “Your magic responds to mine, little mate. Can you feel it?”

I can. God help me, I can feel magic. It pulses between us like a living thing, and the walls of the cabin seem to close in, subtle shifts that push us closer together. The scent of winter pine and wood smoke fills my lungs.

“This isn’t happening.” But even as I say it, my traitorous body leans toward him, drawn by some primal force I can’t explain. “I’m not what you think I am. This isn’t real. I don’t have magic.”

“No?” His massive frame cages me against the wall, and that crackling energy intensifies. “Then why do your ashes dance when you’re near me? Why does your pulse race? Why do you dream of darkness and winter nights? Of me?”

The ashes whirl faster, catching purple flames that shouldn’t exist. My manuscript, burning again with impossible fire, yet I can’t look away from those burning red eyes.

“I’m not yours.” But the words come out breathless, unconvincing, even to my own ears.

His low chuckle reverberates through my chest. “We shall see, little mate. We shall see.”

The shadows recede as he steps back, but his presence still dominates the room. I suck in a shaky breath, my lungsburning from holding it for so long. The cabin walls seem to expand again, no longer pushing us together, but the air remains charged with that strange, electric energy.

He turns away, moving toward the window with a fluid grace that belies his size. Outside, the snow swirls faster, the wind howling like a living thing. The glass frosts over, intricate patterns spreading across the panes.

I push away from the wall, my legs unsteady. “What’s happening?”

“A storm is coming.” His voice is calm, almost amused. “Looks like we’ll be spending some quality time together, little mate.”

Quality time. His words send a chill through me that isn’t caused by the cold. I hug myself, attempting to steady my shaking hands.

“I don’t want to spend any time with you.” But even as I say it, I know it’s a lie. Some traitorous part of me wants to step closer, to feel that crackling energy again.

He glances over his shoulder, red eyes glinting. “You say that now. But by the time this storm passes, you’ll be begging me to stay.”

Begging him. Heat floods my cheeks at the implication. I force myself to meet his gaze, lifting my chin. “I won’t beg for anything from you.”

“We shall see.” He turns back to the window, watching the swirling snow. “The storm will give us plenty of time to... explore our connection.”

Explore our connection. The words hang in the air, heavy with promise and threat. I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry.

“There is no connection.” But my voice wavers, betraying me.

He chuckles, the sound vibrating through my bones. “Keep telling yourself that, little mate. Maybe if you say it enough, you’ll start to believe it.”

I bristle at his condescension. “Don’t call me that. I’m not your anything.”

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