Page 8 of The Holly King's Sacrifice

“I will dress you,” he says. “I don’t intend on letting you die in the cold—if our trek through the forest was not indication enough.”

I feel silly when he says it like that. Of course he doesn’t want me dead; if he did, he would have let me die in the forest, or killed me while I slept. No…this demon has other plans for me.

“What are you going to do with me?” I ask again.

He regards me with a cool stare, his silver eyes so cold that they burn.

“We have to eat, and we have no supply line,” he says.

So now he’s going to tell me? I’m destined to be eaten by these monsters, I’m sure of it.

“Thus, we hunt,” he continues. “You shall stay at my side through the darkest night of the year.”

“And then?”

“Then we will decide your fate,” he says. Then he reaches out an arm like he intends to take me into his embrace. “Now come—it is high time that you dressed and prepared.”

I frown. “I can walk on my own.”

“Yet you will freeze if you do not take shelter in my arms,” he says. “Come, woman.”

I rise from the bed and take a halting step forward, hissing out a breath at the cold wooden floor on the soles of my feet. As soon as I make the noise, the Holly King reaches out and snatches me off of the ground, curling me against his chest.

And he’s warm, at least—so I burrow into that heat, trying my best not to let him see the blush tinting my cheeks.

“You are so frail,” he mutters. “How could you ever be one of us?”

I don’t respond.

Because I genuinely don’t know.

4

Aspen

Theyactuallyhavesomevery nice coats in their demonic lair—no doubt taken from other human victims like me. Still, the demons clothe me in a thick, plush grey coat with fur lining, along with layers of warm leggings and snow pants. The boots I’m given aren’t of human design, strips of leather wrapped around the ankles. They’re warmer than anything I’ve ever worn, insulating my feet from the cold.

I’m also given a weapon, though it isn’t anything I’ve ever used before—or anything I could see myself using, for that matter. It’s clearly demonic in origin, made out of bone with a sharp end. I peer at it as the Holly King gets his own gear, donning that horrible mask once again.

“I don’t think I can kill anything with this,” I murmur. “I don’t have the strength to kill an animal with a club.”

“You will do as you’re told,” he grunts. “You are here to accompany me, and to learn our ways through doing, not by asking inane questions.”

I falter, sealing my mouth shut. It’s all my pesky questions that got me here in the first place, and I have to remember that if I want to stay alive. My family didn’t like my questions either.

So I don’t say anything else, even though my mind is whirling with possibilities.

The Holly King leads me back out into the winter cold, seemingly unconcerned about the fact that I now have a weapon. I guess he shouldn’t be; I would only attack him if I had a death wish, and my survival instinct is strong. Other demons mill around the compound, some ignoring me while others look at me with questioning glances. None speak to me, though, all dwarfed by the massive, looming Holly King. He’s wearing a fur cloak now, the dark color making him seem even bigger, while his gleaming antlers bring his total height to what has to be at least eight feet.

I don’t know how long the demons have been in Christmas, exactly, but it seems like a while. Through the rows of houses, I catch glimpses of the pyre from last night, the corpse reduced to charred and crumbling bones. Other than that, it’s clear that this is a war camp; everyone is scarred and looks exhausted, some with recent wounds. Across Lake Superior, I see a towering white monolith that definitely wasn’t there before.

The Holly King speaks to no one as he guides me through town, stalking forward like a beast. We finally reach the edge, where a wooden barricade is guarded by two other demons, a stable next to a large gate. The Holly King takes me inside, and my eyes go wide as we stride into the warmth of the stable.

There are three creatures kept here, though they’re certainly not of this world. Covered in thick, shaggy white fur, they blink over at us with three docile eyes each, those eyes red and the irises sideways like a goat. They’re four-legged, as big as a Clydesdale, and have sharp, curled gold horns.

Rams—which of course they would be, given that they’ve come from hell.

The Holly King moves to the gate of their enclosure as one approaches him, and he scratches it gently under the muzzle as it comes out to meet him. He loops a leather harness around its snout, then fastens it again at the neck. The creature is calm the entire time; either it has an excellent temperament, or it knows this man.

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