Page 4 of Whiteout

"You look like you're freezing. Come, sit by the fire." He gestures to the couch, and I sink down into the soft cushions. Kris reaches over me to pull two blankets down that were neatly folded over the back of the couch. He wraps one around my shoulders and drapes the other across my lap. The fire crackles, chasing away the bitter cold that had seeped into my bones.

"Thank you Kris. I really appreciate everything you are doing for me."

"It's no problem, Ivy. I'm happy to help." Kris adds a few more logs, then disappears into the kitchen. When he returns, he's carrying two glasses.

"I have bourbon and water. I didn't think you would want the cold water. I hope you like bourbon." He offers me a glass.

"It's perfect, thank you."

Kris settles into the chair across from me, his gaze intent, watching as I move the glass to my lips.

"Mr. Hastings called after he left you at the cabin today," he says. "He mentioned you might be stopping by to investigate the old Huntsman lore."

I nod, shifting slightly under the weight of his stare. "Yes, that's right. He said your family has a connection to the Huntsman legend."

Kris laughs, a low, rumbling sound. "That old rumor again. My family has owned this land for almost two centuries, and we know the local tales that have been passed down through the generations."

I take another sip of bourbon, savoring the warmth that spreads through me. "So, you must know a lot about theHuntsman, then."

"I know a thing or two."

This is exactly the kind of information I need for my podcast. "I'd love to hear about what you know, if you're willing to share."

"I'm sure you know the story of Santa Claus. He has his lists of the naughty and nice children. That story has been used to keep children in line and behaving for years."

Kris's lips curve into a slow, dangerous smile. "The Hemlock Hollow Huntsman is a much darker one." Kris' voice is low. "The Huntsman was a figure of fear in these parts. He was known for his strict adherence to tradition and his harsh punishments for those who misbehaved. The Huntsman doesn't punish children, and he only has one list. The names on that list will either be taught a lesson so harsh they will make damn sure their names never appear on that list again, or they will be dead before the clock strikes midnight on Christmas Day."

I shift forward on the couch, hanging on Kris' every word.

"The Huntsman is known for his distinctive appearance. He always wore a hooded leather mask, hiding his true identity. They say his eyes were dark and piercing, and his hair fell in wild tangles around his face touching the tops of his shoulders."

"I can't helpbut wonder why he kept his identity hidden."

Kris' gaze shifts to me as I ask the question, and I feel its intensity like a physical touch. "Some say he was ashamed of the deeds he felt compelled to do, that he hid his face to separate himself from his brutal acts. The people here were superstitious and believed he had an almost supernatural ability to know when someone had earned a spot on his list. He would appear out of nowhere, like a dark spirit, to administer his unique brand of punishment."

"That's so eerie. What kind of punishments are we talking about here? And what kind of behavior would earn someone a spot on the Huntsman's list?"

Kris' eyes darken, and a muscle ticks in his jaw. "People believed he could sense things. He hates thieves and liars, abusers of children and animals. But it was the ones who spoke out against the Huntsman, or showed any disrespect that wouldn't live to see another Christmas season. He would appear and demand a confession. If the person refused, the Huntsman would use his whip to punish them until they screamed their sins. He also loved gathering switches from the trees and using those to strike those who he deemed… disobedient. Their skin would be welted with angry red stripes across their asses."

"Oh my God." I can't help but be both horrified and thrilled by the gruesome tale. "That's intense."

I tighten mygrip on the glass in my hand. Part of me is captivated by the sinister legend, while another part is increasingly drawn to Kris himself. His rugged good looks and the way the firelight dances in his dark eyes are undeniably attractive. His broad shoulders and lean, muscular build only add to his appeal.

As I sneak glances at him, I notice the way his dark hair falls just past his chin, framing his face. There's something about his strong jaw and the slight stubble along his cheeks that exudes a wild, untamed charm. His voice is low and gravelly, and I can't help but imagine what it would be like to have his hands on me, or how that stubble would feel against my inner thighs.

When he looks at me, I feel like he was listening to my thoughts, and I find myself wishing he had. I want him to know the effect he's having on me. I shift slightly, pushing my thighs together, suddenly aware of my body's reaction to him.

What the hell, Ivy? Get it together. This is only because I haven't had sex in over a year.

I clear my throat, attempting to sound casual. "That's... quite a legend. So, do you celebrate Christmas up here? You know, with all the traditional folklore and all."

Kris sits back, the intensity of a moment ago dissipating. "Oh yes, the holidays are a big deal in Hemlock Hollow,especially Christmas Eve. That's the last night the Huntsman will deal out punishments until the next Christmas season. Christmas eve was always reserved for who the Huntsman believed deserved the most punishment. Christmas Eve is the night he kills."

"So, then there is a connection between the Huntsman and the missing women?"

"No, those are just rumors spread by the locals. Bored people with big imaginations and too much time on their hands."

"I'd love to go into town and get a feel for what it's like here. Maybe meet some of the residents and interview them."

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