Page 3 of Starstruck with the Krampus

With that, he ducks out of the conference room, answering the phone. The door slowly closes behind him. Gianna is watching it avidly, her gaze riveted on it, and when it clicks shut, she blinks.

Suddenly, we’re alone in a room together. The door is unlocked, yes, and made of frosted glass, the same as the entire wall of this room, but we’re hidden from the prying eyes of her coworkers, suspended in time.

I study her like I’ve never allowed myself before. The curves of her body, the flow of her wavy dark hair, the soft plane of her cheek, still tinged pink. She’s exquisite, and that’s just her looks. What interests me so much more is that inquisitive, quick, dirty mind of hers that I keep getting glimpses of.

I could watch her for hours. For days, if she’d let me.

The silence between us stretches, and I realize Gianna is studying me just as closely. I know my human glamour is up because she’s not screaming in horror, but I still touch the heavy golden ring on my thumb that holds the charm in place.

Then I sit back in my chair and let her look. I want her to be comfortable with me, not skittish and trying to escape every time I come closer.

Her gaze skips from my eyes to my lips, then down to my chest. I have all my suits tailored because the regular sizes in human shops don’t fit, but I’ve never been too conscious of how I appear to people—it’s a glamour, after all. Now, I find myself wondering what Gianna thinks when she sees me in this form.

Not the lustful thoughts—those are clear as day—but the rest. She wants me, I know it, but does she want more than a dirty fuck? Or do her fantasies all end with the sunrise, a thing to be kept in the dark and forgotten after it’s done?

I will never forget her.

It’s a terrible thing to know that. I’m still in my prime at forty-four, for Krampus live a little longer than humans, which means I have more than half a century of loneliness ahead of me. I can indulge in this flirtation with Gianna for a while, but I will have to let her go eventually. Soon.

But not before I learn whether she’s coming to that party tonight.

“Happy birthday,” she blurts out suddenly.

I raise my eyebrows, surprised at her train of thought.

She flushes a bright pink and stammers, “I-I saw some paperwork. The tax stuff. I’m sorry for prying, but I saw your birthday was the twenty-first. That’s the solstice, right? I mean, I know it is. Do you celebrate Yule or Christmas?”

She says all this very fast, as if she’s been holding the questions back and they managed to burst free despite her best attempts.

I can’t help but smile. “I celebrate both. Yule with my friends, if we’re all around, but Christmas is my favorite holiday.” I lean forward, my elbows on the table, and add, “This is my time of the year.”

It’s a simple enough statement, but she doesn’t know it carries more meaning. I’m at my most powerful when the nights grow long. My ancestors spent the deepest part of winter terrorizing the wicked, and I do feel the urge sometimes, though we’ve evolved enough for the most part that we don’t go maiming those who have sinned over the last year.

Usually, I’ll satisfy my urges by asking a tech witch friend to empty the bank accounts of some certified assholes and donatelarge sums of their money to charitable organizations and the local pet shelter. This year, I’ll need to be careful, especially around Gianna. Webber is walking on thin ice when it comes to her, and I’ll need to curb my instincts or risk accidentally hurting the man.

Gianna fidgets in place, and if I didn’t know she was human, I’d think she was picking up on my impulses. But she doesn’t know what I am, and it’s better that way.

“Was there anything you wanted to tell me?” I ask.

My voice comes out lower than before, the tone gravelly, so I clear my throat and curl my fist around the ring on my thumb. If the glamour spell is glitching, I’ll have to visit the witch who crafted it for me.

Gianna reaches into her handbag and pulls out a small red box. It’s tied with a green ribbon, and I can’t believe I didn’t scent it until now. The aroma of almonds and sugar wafts from it even from across the conference table.

“I got you a gift,” she whispers and nudges the box across the polished wood. “It’s just a small thing. I’m sorry if it’s inappropriate, I didn’t know?—”

“Gianna,” I say quietly, cutting off her apology. “Thank you.”

This is a complete surprise. I didn’t sense this in her thoughts at all—after all, gift-giving isn’t wicked. For the first time in my life, I wish I had the power to see all her thoughts, to know what she means by gifting this to me.

She blinks at me with wide brown eyes, then breathes, “Will you open it?”

I reach for the present and untie the bow, anticipation rising inside me. I know it’s sweets, but what kind? What did Gianna choose for me?

“They’re called amaretti,” she blurts before I can even lift the lid. “Oh God, I should have asked, you’re not allergic to nuts, are you?”

I grin up at her. “No nut allergy. No others, either. Are you allergic?”

She pushes back her hair, which has frizzed up a little, as if it’s reacting to her nervous state of mind. “Shellfish,” she admits. “I get sick if I eat them.”

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