Page 41 of Never Kiss a Krampus
“He’s greedy,” I said, staring at the signs. “He doesn’t care about community or history. He only sees profit margins.”
“Greed is a sickness. It devours everything it touches. And I suspect in this case it has been amplified by something unnatural.” He turned to me, the glamour flickering around the edges of his form. I saw, just for a second, the curl of a horn, the dark shadow of fur, before they vanished again. “Your plan. The Good Deeds Extravaganza. It is a start. But it is not enough to simply offer kindness. You must create an experience. Something so compelling that it rekindles the town’s spirit.”
“What kind of experience?”
“That is for you to discover.” He began walking again, and I hurried to catch up, my boots crunching on the salted pavement. “Your creativity is one of your few redeeming qualities. You will need to use it.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“A clinical observation.”
“Right.” I stuffed my cold hands into my pockets. “Well, I guess I’ll add ‘create a soul-changing experience’ to my to-do list, right between ‘reconcile accounts payable’ and ‘figure out what to do with my inconveniently attractive Krampus.’”
He actually stumbled. Just a little, a misstep on the uneven sidewalk, but it was enough. He shot me a look of pure annoyance, but I could have sworn there was something else there too. Shock, maybe. Or amusement.
“You are dangerously impulsive.”
“You’re dangerously distracting,” I retorted, then immediately regretted it. The word hung between us in the cold night air, a fragile, stupid admission.
He stopped again. This time, he didn’t just turn to me. He backed me up against the brick wall of the post office, caging me in with his arms. The glamour was solidly in place, but I could feel the real him pressing in on me—the predator, the ancient power, the being I’d summoned from shadow and smoke.
“Distracting.” His voice was a low growl that vibrated right through my coat and settled deep in my bones. “You believe I am the distraction?”
My breath hitched. “Aren’t you?”
“Noelle.” My name on his lips was a warning and a caress. “You have filled your home with so much light, so much relentless, defiant brightness, that you have created a beacon in the darkness. You have called to forces you cannot comprehend. You are the distraction.”
He leaned in, and I was sure he was going to kiss me again. The thought sent a thrill of pure terror and pure desire through me. I closed my eyes, bracing for the impact, for the taste of winter and want.
But it didn’t come.
I opened my eyes to find him studying me, his expression unreadable.
“A lesson,” he said, and the words were cold water on my rising flame. “We were supposed to be discussing your next lesson.”
“My next lesson,” I repeated, my mind still fuzzy from the near-kiss.
“Balance. You understand the concept for your shop displays, but not for your life. You pour all your energy into others, into this town, into saving a legacy. You leave nothing for yourself. A cup cannot pour from an empty vessel.”
“Is that what this is?” I challenged, pushing against the wall of his chest. “You’re trying to teach me about self-care?”
“I am trying to teach you about survival.” He stepped back, giving me space, and the sudden cold made me shiver. “You want to save your shop? You want to defeat Grinchly? You will need more than goodwill and festive optimism. You will need strategy.”
He started walking again, and I had no choice but to follow him, my thoughts a tangled mess of half-formed desires and business plans. We walked the rest of the way in a charged silence, each of us lost in our own world, but connected by the invisible threads of the binding. I could feel him next to me, a solid, reassuring presence, even when he was driving me crazy.
Back in the shop, he immediately shed the glamour, the ripple of magic washing over him like heat off pavement. His horns reappeared, the dark fur returned, and the heavy chains settled back across his chest. Jingle Bells, who had been snoozing on the counter, took one look, meowed in betrayal, and bolted for the safety of the apartment.
“Coward,” I muttered, shrugging out of my coat.
“He is a creature of comfort,” Bastian said, examining the displays we had so painstakingly arranged that morning. “He dislikes disruption.”
“Tell me about it.”
“You are still flustered.” He was looking at me now, his amber eyes burning with an intensity that made my skin feel too tight. “The bond is… loud.”
“Sorry,” I mumbled, and was immediately annoyed at myself for apologizing. “It’s not like I can control it.”
“Nor can I,” he admitted, and the raw honesty in his tone was more disconcerting than any of his threats. “But what I want makes no difference.”
