Page 43 of Kraved By Krampus

“We knew you were special.” She beams. “That’s why Mr. Krampus brought you here. He says some magic needs time to grow, like flowers in winter.”

Oh, Krampus.My chest aches. He’d known all along, had been protecting not just these children, but me too. And I’d rejected him, denied him in front of Victoria.

A snowball whizzes past my head, followed by a chorus of giggles. The children have resumed their play, their magic flowing naturally now that they’re not trying to hide it. Ice sculptures form and melt, snowflakes dance in impossible patterns, and the winter air hums with possibility.

I understand now why he’s so protective of them. They’re not naughty children needing punishment—they’re young magic users learning to control their gifts. His reputation for punishingbad children is a cover, protecting these precious souls until they can protect themselves.

Sarah tugs my hand again. “Will you help us practice? Mr. Krampus says you write the best stories.”

My throat tightens. “I don’t know if—”

But my magic responds before I can finish, frost and golden light spiraling from my fingers to create delicate illustrations in the air. The children gather around, eyes wide with wonder.

I have to find him. I have to make this right.

Chapter twenty-one

Krampus

The fire in Nicholas’s study casts dancing shadows across the mahogany walls, a cheerful warmth that irritates me in my current mood.

Everything about his space exudes comfort—from the plush armchair I’m currently occupying to the endless shelves of leather-bound books organized by subject rather than author or title.How does he get anything done in such disorder?

My old friend sits across from me in his favorite chair, his lean frame draped in that signature red robe lined with white fur. The bells on his belt chime softly as he leans forward to pour more cocoa into my untouched mug.

“The young ones in Stockholm have shown remarkable progress.” I force myself to focus on our discussion about themagical children. “Their control over elemental magic grows stronger each day.”

Nicholas strokes his white beard, a knowing twinkle in his eyes. “And the ones in your academy? How are they faring?”

“Well enough. Though some still struggle with—” My words trail off as memories of Clara’s newfound abilities surface unbidden. The temperature in the room drops several degrees.

“My friend.” Nicholas sets his mug down with a gentle clink. He waves a hand and the fire in the hearth grows. “We’ve known each other for centuries. I recognize when something troubles you. These children aren’t what’s on your mind, are they?”

Damn his perceptiveness.Ice crystals form along the rim of my mug and shadows swirl around my fingertips.

“Your silence speaks volumes.” He leans back, studying me with those ancient eyes that see far too much. “Could this be related to your visitor—the one you would claim was unexpected, though we both know better?”

The crystals spread across the surface of my chocolate. “I do not wish to discuss it.”

“The same guest who managed to bypass the ancient wards? The one whose magic signature has been intertwining with yours?”

A growl rumbles in my chest. “Nicholas—”

“The one who’s clearly captured your attention so thoroughly you haven’t heard a word I’ve said about the Norwegian delegation?”

Had he mentioned Norway?The flames from the fire cause my horns to cast twisted shadows on the wall as I shift uncomfortably in my seat.

“Krampus.” Nicholas’s voice carries that infuriating mix of patience and amusement he’s perfected over the centuries. “You’re freezing my favorite cocoa set.”

I release my death grip on the delicate porcelain mug, now completely encased in ice.Damn.With a wave of my hand, I banish the ice, but the shadows still dance at my feet, betraying my agitation.

“I have duties to attend to.” Rising from the overstuffed armchair, I turn toward the door, but Nicholas’s next words stop me cold.

“Like brooding in your study?” He adjusts one of the ornaments adorning his desk—one of the countless ones in his study, each one a memento from some act of kindness or generosity he’s so proud of. “Or perhaps avoiding the woman who’s awakened something in you?”

Something in me? More like everything.The thought slips through before I can crush it.

My claws extend involuntarily, scoring the back of the chair I now stand behind. “The children need guidance. The academy—”

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