Page 10 of Guarded By the Krampus

“Oh,” Satin breathed into the sudden silence the egg’s reveal had caused. “May I, Roskov?”

“Of course, my winter rose. But you and only you. Everyone else here merely gets to feast with their eyes.”

Satin strode toward the sound of his voice, and I followed behind her. She held her hands out, and he put the egg in both of them.

“Turn around so we can see it!” one of the other partygoers shouted, and Satin did as she was told, cupping it against herself with one safe hand, while letting the other roam, feeling each individual element with her fingertips.

“It’s so lovely,” Satin whispered, holding it up to her face to press against her skin.

“Does it speak to you like your marble?” Roskov asked.

She nodded quietly. “Yes,” she whispered, as a tear appeared beneath her blindfold, to roll down her beautiful cheek. She made a soft, sad sound, and wiped underneath her blindfold, touching that tear against the crown. “It has affected me just like it always does, my general,” she said, reluctantly handing it back. “I could listen to it for a thousand days.”

The crowd murmured, enchanted by her emotion. Even I was momentarily caught, my mind spinning between wanting to protect her and wanting?—

Movement snapped me out of it. A man I didn’t recognize from the party earlier, near the edge of the crowd, his hand dipping into his coat. It wasn’t one of Roskov’s men—and I caught the shape of a gun.

I grabbed Satin and plunged her to the ground, egg and all, shoving her behind the throne. “Stay here,” I commanded, and then ran to fight, as other partygoers screamed.

His first shot went wide, his second landed—but too bad for him, satyr-hide was ridiculously tough, and the force of such a small caliber bullet was only like getting punched by a child.

“You fucked up,” I said, grabbing him by his throat, and yanking him to my full height. That was when another man tried to stab me—his knife was sharp, it did make it through my side. Not as deeply as he would’ve liked though—its serrated blade caught on a rib. “You, too,” I said, throwing the first man away like he was garbage, before leaning back and kicking the other, crushing his chest with the force of my hoof, sending him flying across the room.

By then Roskov’s men had caught up, quickly finishing the remaining three intruders.

“How did they get in here?” he angrily demanded.

All I cared about was that they were dead.

And—Satin.

I ran up to where I’d left her, and found her shaking behind the throne, her entire body curved around the egg. In my haste to protect her, I’d set her blindfold askew, and I thought I saw a glint of something behind it, before I offered her my hand.

Which she couldn’t see.

I knelt down in front of her. “You’re safe. I’m here.”

She cradled the egg in one arm and hastily straightened the line of fabric across her face.

“And…those men?” she asked, unable to call them assassins in mixed company.

I glanced behind me. “Done for.”

“Good,” she said, and then Roskov barged up.

“My dear!” he cried out—and then reached for the egg. “Are you all right?”

She relinquished it to him. “They must’ve been coming for it!” she exclaimed, with more spirit than she’d shown earlier in the evening.

“But you,” Roskov began, quickly inspecting his piece. “It’s not damaged a bit—you saved it!”

“Of course I did,” Satin said. She grabbed hold of the throne beside her, and used it to leverage herself up, which was good, because if it’d been up to me, I would’ve picked her up and ran her back into her car. “I would sooner die than let anyone hurt such a priceless piece.”

He set the egg back in its case then took her hands, one by one, and with tears in his eyes, he kissed them. “It is because of this that you are a true artist. But as for everything else that happened tonight—” he closed the case around the egg. “I will move it to my bank’s vault, immediately,” he told her, then looked past me, to the remaining crowd. “Is everyone all right?”

“No! You are out of caviar!” a brash friend of his shouted back, and Roskov laughed.

“You see?” Roskov said to me, then turned to Satin to translate. “Tell your friend that while we appreciate his services, that we, too, are used to danger—and we know how to put it in its place.” Before she could translate for him though, he shouted, “Ehh! I see you Ilya! Get that fork out of your pocket! I’ll be shaking down every one of you wealthy pricks before you leave my house, at this rate!”

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