Page 31 of Kraved By Krampus

Krampus observes silently, his expression unreadable. When the children finally disperse, he turns to me. “That was... unexpected.”

“Sometimes stories work better than punishment.” I pause, noting his troubled expression. “You don’t actually enjoy disciplining them, do you?”

His jaw tightens. “The tales of me beating children with branches are greatly exaggerated. I guide those who have lost their way. But humans...” He breaks off, his massive shoulders tensing. “They turned me into a monster who delights in cruelty.”

“But that’s not who you are.”

“What I am is complicated, little mate.” His voice roughens. “The truth would—“He stops abruptly as one of the children returns, tugging at my sleeve.

“Miss, your hair glows like my sister’s when you tell stories.” The little girl reaches up, touching a strand of my hair.

Glows?

Krampus clears his throat. “Run along now, little one. Your lessons await.”

I watch the child skip away, her own hair shimmering with that same silver streak I noticed earlier. “What kind of lessons?”

“Perhaps we should head back.” Krampus offers his arm, effectively ending the conversation.

But I can’t shake the image of those floating snowballs, or the way the children responded to my story. It felt natural, like I’d done it a thousand times before.

The rest of the walk back to Magnus feels different. The earlier playful atmosphere has shifted into something heavier, like the air before a storm. Each step through the snow seems deliberate, measured.

What aren’t you telling me, Krampus?

His arm is linked with mine, steady and warm despite the chill. The contrast between his intimidating presence and gentle touch still throws me off balance.

A flicker of movement catches my eye—something dark and serpentine slithering between the trees. My heart skips. I whip my head around, but there’s nothing there except pristine snow and bare branches.

“What is it?” Krampus’s fingers tighten on my arm.

I force a laugh, but it sounds hollow even to my ears. “Just my writer’s imagination running wild. You know how it is—start thinking about monsters in the woods, and suddenly every shadow looks suspicious.”

His red eyes narrow, scanning the treeline. The temperature drops several degrees.

“It’s nothing.” I pat his arm, trying to convince myself as much as him. “Really. I spend so much time making up stories, sometimes my brain gets carried away.”

Like how it’s getting carried away about glowing hair and floating snowballs and children with silver streaks.

But Krampus doesn’t move, his massive frame completely still. For a moment, he reminds me of a predator scenting the air. Then he blinks, and the intensity fades.

“Magnus is waiting.” He guides me forward, but his stride is more purposeful now, eating up the distance between us and the cabin.

I risk one more glance over my shoulder. The woods remain still, peaceful even, but I can’t shake the feeling that something watched us from those shadows.

Something that didn’t want to be seen.

Chapter sixteen

Clara

Magnus’s door swings open before we reach it, welcoming us into its warm embrace. The contrast between the winter chill and the cabin’s cozy interior makes me shiver.

“Tea?” Krampus’s hand lingers on my lower back as he guides me inside.

“Please.” I sink into my favorite armchair by the fireplace, which flares to life unprompted.Strange how natural all this magic feels now.

Krampus disappears into the kitchen, and I let my eyes drift closed. The events by the ancient tree replay in my mind—the child’s silver-streaked hair, the floating snowballs, that inexplicable pull I felt while telling stories...

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