Page 37 of Prize for the Alien Grumpus

Love him? I don't even like him! He's arrogant, destructive, and currently living in my house under false pretenses. Sure, he's good with Sam, and maybe seeing him carry that Christmas tree made my heart skip a beat, and okay, fine, watching him charm my parents is admittedly impressive...

Oh god. Oh no. This is not happening.

Heavy footsteps announce Krampus's return, saving me from my spiral of panic.

"Your offspring is safely unconscious." He grins. "Now, who wants egg nog?"

We settle in the living room, the Christmas tree twinkling. Mom passes around slices of her famous pecan pie while Krampus distributes mugs of egg nog. The rich, spicy scent fills the air.

"These presents won't open themselves," Krampus announces.

Dad unwraps his gift first, his eyes widening. "The new Callaway Paradym clubs? These aren't even available yet!"

"I have connections." Krampus winks at me over his mug.

Dad lifts each club reverently, examining the pristine grips and gleaming heads. "This is... incredible. Thank you, John."

The evening winds down, and my parents gather their coats and presents. Mom hugs me tight, whispering about wedding venues. I barely resist rolling my eyes.

Then Dad pulls me close. His familiar aftershave brings back memories of him reading bedtime stories when I first came to live with them.

"We're so glad you're doing well, Melanie..." His voice catches. "But even if you weren't, we would love you just as much."

My throat tightens as I squeeze him harder. For all their criticism, they've always been there.

As their car pulls away, Krampus's arm slides around my shoulders. His warmth seeps through my sweater, and I find myself leaning into him without thinking. It feels... right.

The thought sends a jolt through me. This morning he was the alien menace in my garage. Now he's comforting me on my porch after charming my parents. My heart stutters. Am I really falling for him this fast?

CHAPTER 14

KRAMPUS

The couch springs creak under my weight as I toss and turn. Three AM. The house creaks and settles around me, but that's not what keeps me awake.

Something gnaws at my consciousness. Not hunger - though I could eat. No, something deeper.

"Ho ho ho," drifts from the TV I left on mute. Another Christmas special. Another reminder.

I tap my datapad, searching Earth's historical records. "Krampus...folklore...punisher of the wicked..." The entries grow sparse after the 1800s.

"Santa's helper? A footnote?" My claws dig into the leather armrest. "I am no one's sidekick."

The sound of Sam turning over in her sleep drifts down from upstairs. Such a pure soul. Unlike some...

My search shifts to local records. Thomas Redding. Address. Employment.

The datapad screen flickers as financial reports scroll past my eyes. Redding Pharmaceuticals. Revenue up 3000% this quarter. My claws tap against the screen, bringing up patient testimonials.

"...can't afford my daughter's medicine anymore..."

"...have to choose between food and staying alive..."

"...second mortgage on the house..."

The metal frame of the couch groans as I rise. The image inducer clicks on my wrist, masking my true form.

The night air carries the scent of pine and snow as I track Tom's address. His mansion sprawls across perfectly manicured grounds. Security cameras sweep the perimeter. Child's play.

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