Page 29 of Kraved By Krampus

“Your metaphors lack subtlety.” But I’m smiling now, remembering how she looked in the candlelight, lost in pleasureI gave her. “Though you’re not wrong. She is my queen, whether she knows it yet or not.”

The room pulses with satisfaction, and the fire settles into a more sedate glow.

Soon, little mate. Soon you’ll understand that you’ve captured far more than just my desire.

Chapter fifteen

Clara

Iwake to warm sunlight filtering through the windows, casting golden patterns across my rumpled bedsheets. My body feels heavy with sleep, and I blink a few times, trying to orient myself in the gentle morning light.

Did last night really happen?

I might try to deny it, except that my body is delightfully sore from last night’s activities. The memories flood back, heating my cheeks and sending tingles through my body.

After a long stretch, I throw on my favorite cozy sweater and comfy pants, and pad down to the kitchen, drawn by the scent of something delicious.

The sight that greets me stops me in my tracks. Krampus stands at the stove, his massive frame somehow making thedomestic scene even more appealing. He’s traded his usual old-fashioned attire for a simple black sweater that clings to his broad shoulders, and his sleeves are rolled up, revealing corded forearms as holding a spatula. The morning light catches his obsidian horns, making them gleam.

“Good morning, little mate.” His deep voice wraps around me like warm honey. “I had to argue with Magnus for the right to cook for you. The cabin was quite insistent on preparing your breakfast itself.”

I lean against the doorframe, taking in the surreal scene. “You cook?”

A rich chuckle escapes him as he flips what looks like the perfect golden-brown French toast. “I’ve had centuries to perfect many skills.”

The kitchen seems to glow with contentment, warm and inviting in a way that feels different from Magnus’s usual magic. Steam rises from a mug of tea on the counter—my favorite blend, I notice—and the table is already set for two.

My bare feet make no sound on the warm floor as I move closer, drawn by both curiosity and the domestic intimacy of the moment. “I didn’t expect...”

“That the fearsome Krampus would know his way around a kitchen?” His red eyes spark with amusement as he plates the French toast. “There’s much you don’t know about me yet, little mate.”

The way he says ‘yet’ ripples through me with tantalizing promise.

The French toast melts in my mouth, perfectly crispy on the outside and custardy within. Each bite carries hints of vanilla and cinnamon that dance on my tongue.

“This is incredible.” I take another eager bite, forgetting my usual careful manners. “Where did you learn to cook like this?”

His massive frame shifts in the chair across from me, which somehow adjusts to accommodate his size. “I spent time in Paris during the Belle Époque. The pastry chefs there were quite... accommodating after I helped out during a particularly harsh winter.”

The casual mention of his immortality throws me off balance. I focus on spreading more maple syrup across my plate, watching as it pools in golden streams.

“The storm has left quite a spectacle outside.” Krampus gestures toward the window with his fork. Beyond the glass, sunlight sparkles off fresh snow that blankets everything in sight. Ice crystals catch the light like scattered diamonds.

My fingers itch to write about this scene—the way the morning sun transforms the winter landscape into something magical.More magical than usual, I correct myself, thinking of all I’ve witnessed lately.

“Perhaps after breakfast, you’d join me for a walk?” His deep voice holds a note of uncertainty that seems at odds with his imposing presence. “The woods are particularly beautiful after a fresh snow.”

Noelle would have hesitated, would have worried about being alone with him. But Clara.. and after last night... Heat creeps up my neck at the memory.

“I’d like that.” I drain the last of my perfectly-warmed tea. “Though I should probably change into something more suitable for trudging through snow than my pajama pants and sweater.”

His crimson eyes darken as they sweep over my cozy ensemble. “Indeed. Though you look quite... charming as you are.”

I nearly knock over my empty teacup as I stand, flustered by the intensity of his gaze. “I’ll just... go get ready then.”

The stairs creak helpfully under my feet as I retreat, Magnus’s way of steadying my suddenly wobbly knees. Behind me, I hear Krampus’s low chuckle, and the dishes begin washing themselves in the sink.

I bundle up in my warmest sweater, boots, and a thick wool coat I find hanging by the door. The coat seems to adjust itself perfectly to my measurements as I slip it on. I should probably be much more unsettled by all this supernatural strangeness in my life, but these magical perks are surprisingly easy to embrace.

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