Page 22 of The Krampus' Queen
“May we leave? I do not enjoy—” Krampus stares through the glass at all the children he pulled from their beds “—lingering here.”
Another whistle blows. The girl stuffing her kicked coal into the bucket leaps to her feet. Giddy, she races for the door. But just before leaping through, she stops and gazes around. Her face crumples, as if she wants to help the others around her. It’s only for a moment, but maybe that’s all compassion needs for the flicker to become a flame.
Krampus has already started trudging back up the stairs. I didn’t think how much harder it would be going up. Running my hand along the wall, I focus on not tripping and braining myself on the steps as I trail behind.
So he kidnaps children…Bad.In order to teach them to be kind.Good?I can’t wrap my mind around this, a part of me wanting to break through that glass and show the door to all of them. But then I think about that old lady and how terrified she must have been to feel a shove at her back. Did she roll down those steps and see her grandson standing there, smiling down at her as she fell?
Shivering, I bundle deeper into his cloak. “That’s what you were doing.”
“Hmm?”
“When you found me. Saved me. You were there to abduct Damien.”
“Yes.” Krampus reaches the top and extends a hand down to help me up. I miss the last twenty or so steps as he whisks me through the air. Instead of pulling me into his arms, he sets me on my feet. The staff slots into place, and the stairs pull back in, vanishing for another year. “He always finds a way to wiggle out of his punishment.”
“I was drugged, assaulted, and strung up half-naked all so his little brat wouldn’t have to get a time out?” I thought I was mad before, but this is a whole other level of rage. It’s like kidnapping a meter maid to get out of a parking ticket. His precious demon spawn wouldn’t even realize he was gone, but no, he has to keep kidnapping girls and terrorizing us on Christmas just so his brat never feels an ounce of punishment.
“Now you know the truth of the Krampus. There is your door.” He points with the staff then collapses it back into nothing. “Feel free to use it at your convenience.”
He used me. That rich asshole used me, and he’ll never see a day of punishment for it. Even the kids have to do hard labor, but not him. No. He’s rich and powerful so he can commit murder and people call it an oopsie.
“Though, could you leave the cloak behind? It has sentimental value.”
How many women did he tie up before me? How many will he after?
Krampus brushes his finger down the fur lining and my head jerks up. “How long?” I snarl.
The scary goatman flinches. “I forget. This coat has served me for seasons uncounting.”
“No. How long have you tried to get that little shit?”
His jaw drops. “Far too long.”
“If I go back, then he’ll do it again. He’ll hire someone else, you’ll have to rescue her, and he’ll get off scot-free.”
“I’m afraid so,” Krampus says.
“Why waste your time saving me? Us? Why not just take the kid instead?”
His eyes narrow, his jaw skittered like he doesn’t want to answer. “Because, if I left you, Damien the second would kill you.”
I laugh at his macabre humor. “That’s not… You can’t know that for certain. Right?”
Krampus only stares at me, and I start to shake. If he didn’t stop to save me, cut me from my chains, and bring me here, that monster would have fed my body to pigs. “Right and wrong concern Mr. DeVere little in comparison to his reputation.”
My heart sets. My chin rises. “Then it’s settled.”
He cocks his head. “What is?”
“I’m not leaving until we figure out how you can get that sonofabitch.”
CHAPTER 11
THINGS STARTED OUT rather rocky. The Krampus’ centuries of bachelorhood made him adept at surviving on his own. It’s also made it difficult for him to adjust to having anyone else in his castle. I’ll never forget that huge monster barreling through the bathroom door, drawing open his robes and unleashing a firehose stream on the toilet. I got a front-row seat in the bathtub.
Oh, there’s a bathtub, and it’s gorgeous. Carved out of wood like nearly everything else in his apartments, it’s a good twelve feet long to accommodate his length with gold poured inside up to the lip. Laying in it, I feel like a mermaid waiting for the prince to kiss her. After a few days, a small jar of salts appeared on the ledge that used to have nothing more than a bar of hard lye soap and a bottlebrush. No matter how many times I empty it, it always refills the next day.
He opened up all of his locked rooms, revealing not only the fancy bathroom but a library with floor-to-ceiling shelves, a shop for his woodworking and tanning, a parlor with a small table, and a ten-foot wide circular window overlooking the snow below. But best of all had to be the garden.
