Page 36 of Letters to Satan

“… and I’m not optimistic about convincing any of them to do our bidding.”

“Uh huh,” I murmur noncommittally, my brain spinning at a million miles an hour, a wave of panic replacing my dim amusement as the gravity of the situation sinks in.

When we first got here, I was so proud of this plan. I’ve done lots of things over my life that are questionable at best, but this? Loading the Santa up with a bag full of dildos and cock cages and sending him out into the world?

How fucking funny it was going to be, knowing I’d gotten a leg up on him. The crown jewel of my fucked-up arsenal, gleaming and obscene, standing defiant at the top of the trophy case.

Oh, how we planned on hearing the uproar from the masses, waiting as people opened gifts to find a silicone cock instead of a boring day-planner on Christmas morning.

How hilarious it would be to imagine Brenda’s face when she had neon purple anal beads—aptly named Grapes of Wrath—in front of her stuck-up husband and the fight that would follow.

How side-splittingly entertaining it would be when Maxwell blushed and tried to hide the nipple clamps behind his back.They aren’t mine!he’d argue, but everyone knows in the history of humankind, that argument has never worked. They’d yell and scream and not speak for hours, and it would ruin their holiday.

How absolutely delightful it would be to see them all curse Christmas…

Curse Santa.

And here I am, safe and cozy in his home, taking advantage of every kindness he’s offered me, ready to sit back and laugh as the chaos imploded. It was supposed to be a crowning victory in my time as Lucifer.

But now…

Now, it suddenly doesn’t feel very funny.

Now it feels wrong.

Because I don’t want to hurt Nik, not anymore. The image of his pain, the way the blow would shatter his impenetrable exterior… the thought alone makes my breath catch in my throat. Instead, I want to protect him, and help him, and maybe, just maybe, love him and see if he might find a way to love me back.

“We… we shouldn’t do this,” I whisper, but Jujube keeps talking as though he doesn’t hear me… and maybe he doesn’t.

“What I was thinking may work best is if we swap outourgifts with the others after they’ve been sorted and before they are loaded onto the sleigh. It’ll be a bit of a time crunch, and we’ll have to be silent while we do it, but I think we can pull it off if…”

“I don’t want to do this,” I say louder, but he still just keeps fucking talking.

“… and once they’re on the sleigh inside the sack, no one checks anything again and there’s no way anyone would catch us at that point.”

My mind swims and I push my palms against my temples, shaking my head as it all just gets to be too much. The guilt, his grating, know-it-all voice, the images of a broken Nik.

“Just… just stop!” I bellow, power making my voice flood every corner of the room, and his eyes widen as each head in the workshop whips to me. “What theFUGIOare you all even doing?! Why areyou even here?! Why did you agree to sabotage a man that’s sogoodto you?!”

Their mouths all hang open now, too, and complete, uncomfortable silence fills the shop as my temper flares out of control. My magic blasts out of me in waves, turning the air oppressive as it sparks across their skin.

In my rage, I pick up a giant green Grinch dildo and a small riding crop, holding them up with a shake. “No, I needsomeoneto explain this to me! I’m The Devil—making mischief is what I do. It isexpectedof me. But why—”

“Damien!” Xalreth snaps from the back of the room, but I ignore him, my anger too powerful to put aside.

“People have been judging me astroublefor as long as I can recall, like there’s nothing more to consider. Even before I became the Lucifer, everyone knew not to cross evil little Damien. Hellish, and terrible, and godda—” I catch myself before the censoring does, and I use the interruption to take a deep, shuttering breath. “If I want to cause chaos in the North Pole, if I want to make The Santa’s life a living Hell, it makes sense. It’s what everyone already expects of me. Butwhy—”

“Why indeed, Damien,” a quiet voice behind me interrupts, and I freeze, shock-still, as I twist to meet the fury of Niklaus’s green eyes. The world plummets, the ground underneath my feet slipping away as I fall. Down, down, down I go, wind rushing my ears as I realize with absolute, devastating certainty that any chance I had of fixing this is gone.

I am now truly, utterly,deservedlyalone.

“Everyone out.” His voice is dangerously low, his impenetrable eyes not veering from mine. And I’ve seen these emerald eyes in various forms of anger and frustration…. of sadness and hopelessness, but not hard and empty.

Never like there’s no emotion left in them.

“S-S-Santa—” One of the elves stutters, but Niklaus’s temper explodes.

“OUT!” Rage burns across his face as he roars, so stark I can almost see the flames. “Out! Every single one of you, getout!” I swallow roughly as he crowds me, stepping backward until my legs hit the table, but he doesn’t stop. He keeps moving forward until he’s flush against me and the edge of the tabletop bites into my thighs.

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