Page 21 of Never Kiss a Krampus
“It’s not an abomination. It’s… quaint.”
“It is inefficient. You lack essential tools. You have three different cookie cutters shaped like Santa Claus and no decent chef’s knife.”
“You can’t have Christmas without Santa cookie cutters,” I muttered, opening the fridge. “Besides, I like baking. Making dinner, on the other hand…”
“Is necessary,” he said firmly. I was acutely aware of the way my tiny kitchen shrunk around him, the way the soft light from my fairy lights caught the horns curling from his brow. He was terrifying, yes, but he was also magnificent, like some ancient god who’d accidentally stumbled into a dollhouse. “You like to bake because you share the results with others. You do not like cooking dinner because you do not like to eat alone.”
“That’s not true,” I protested automatically, and suddenly the air was charged with something heavy and dangerous. He took a step closer, and I instinctively stepped back, my shoulders hitting the refrigerator.
“I told you that lying to me is a transgression.”
“I wasn’t lying.”
“You were.” The words were soft. Dangerous. “I can feel your lies. Just as I can feel every flutter of fear. Every spike of curiosity. Every…” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a rumble that I felt more than heard. “…pulse of attraction.”
“I’m not attracted to you!”
The denial burst out too loud, too fast. Too obviously false. His expression shifted. Amusement flickered across his features, sharp and knowing.
“The bond doesn’t lie,” he said. “Even when you do.”
“I’m not lying,” I stammered. “You’re not even… I don’t…”
“Shall we test that denial?”
He moved even closer. He didn’t touch me but he was so close that I could feel the heat of him, the scent of him, overwhelming every sense. He braced one clawed hand against the fridge beside my head, the other on the opposite side, caging me without making contact. The chains across his chest hung between us, close enough to touch if I breathed too deeply. His horns cast shadows across my face. His eyes burned.
“Tell me, little human.” His voice was low, intimate, the kind of tone that shouldn’t have been allowed to exist. “If you feel nothing, why does your pulse race?”
“Fear.”
“Liar.”
He leaned in, his mouth near my ear, close enough that I felt his breath against my skin.
“Why do you tremble?”
“Because you’re terrifying!”
“Am I?” A dark chuckle, rich and amused. “Or am I exactly what you’ve been craving? Something that sees past your brightness to the desperation beneath.”
He inhaled, slow and deliberate, drawing my scent into his lungs.
“You smell like winter,” he murmured. “Like cinnamon and snow and something sweeter. Something alive.” Another breath. “And underneath it all… want.”
The bond flared.
He was right. Damn him, he was right. Every nerve in my body was screaming awareness, desire, a need that I absolutely should not be feeling for a literal Christmas demon who had materialized in my attic less than a day ago.
But God help me, I wanted to close the distance between us. Wanted to know what that fur felt like under my fingers. Wanted to see if those glowing eyes would darken with pleasure the way they’d darkened with amusement.
Wanted—
No. No, no, no.
“I don’t know you,” I managed, my voice barely above a whisper. “You’re not… You’re not even human.”
He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes, and the heat in his gaze nearly undid me.
