Page 64 of Never Kiss a Krampus
“You are worth saving.”
“I am a creature of judgment and punishment.” His voice was a low, painful confession. “I do not get saved. I do not get happy endings. I certainly do not get the girl.”
“Says who?”
“Everyone. Everything. The nature of my existence.” He reached out, then pulled back as if touching me would break him. “Do you know what happens to a Krampus who… fails in his duties? Who forgets his purpose? Who allows himself to be distracted by… light?”
“No.”
“They don’t get a reprimand. They don’t get demoted. They are… unmade. Their essence is scattered, their power absorbed back into the winter. A fitting punishment for a creature who has forgotten the cold.”
The ice in my veins had nothing to do with the temperature. “You’d be unmade? Because of me?”
“It is not because of you,” he corrected, but I heard the lie in it. “It is because I am failing. I am here, playing shopkeeper and reorganizing storage rooms when I should be dispensing justice. I am…” He struggled for the word. “…content. And that is the most dangerous transgression of all.”
I understood then, with a clarity that was as sharp and painful as ice. Every look, every touch, every almost-kiss—it wasn’t just him fighting his own desires. It was him fighting for his very existence.
“Oh, Bastian.”
“So you see,” he said, his voice bleak. “A magical byproduct is the kindest explanation. Because the alternative… the alternative is that I am selfishly destroying myself for the sake of a few weeks of warmth.”
“It’s not selfish.”
“Isn’t it? To chase a fleeting comfort when my purpose, my entire being, is at stake?” He finally looked away, his gaze fixed on the perfectly organized shelves. “You need to go to the Holiday Market tomorrow. I will remain here. To observe the shop.”
And to put distance between us. He didn’t have to say it.
“Okay,” I whispered, the word feeling like a surrender. “Okay.”
CHAPTER 20
The next morning was a study in forced cheerfulness, at least on my part. I made coffee. He stared out the window. I fed Jingle, who wisely chose to sit on the far side of the room. I put on a bright red sweater with sequined reindeer and he didn’t comment. I hummed “Jingle Bell Rock” and he didn’t tell me to stop. The silence between us was a physical presence, heavy and cold, despite the functioning heater.
“Right,” I said, grabbing my purse. “I’m off to the market. Try not to unmake yourself while I’m gone.”
He didn’t smile. He just inclined his head, a gesture that felt more formal than friendly. “I will observe. As is my function.”
“Right. Your function.” I stood at the door, my hand on the knob, feeling like I was leaving behind something precious and irreplaceable. “Will you… will you be okay here alone?”
“I have existed for millennia in isolation. A few hours in your festive apartment will not break me.”
But the way he said it made me think that maybe, just maybe, it could.
I walked to the town square where the market had been set up. Every stop I took away from the shop, from him, felt like walking through knee-deep mud. The blizzard had left the town looking magically blanketed, but the magic was already fading. The drifts were grimy with exhaust fumes, and the bright sun revealed the sad state of the pre-Christmas decorations. The Holiday Market was in full swing, however, crammed into the square around the sad-looking gazebo.
Rows of wooden stalls had been set up, selling everything from kettle corn to handmade scarves. A portable speaker played an endless loop of pop Christmas carols, the cheerfulness of which was starting to feel forced. The air smelled of roasted nuts and wet wool and desperation.
I found my assigned stall, a small, rickety structure near the back. Jenna had agreed to help me and she was already there, setting up displays of my merchandise with her usual efficiency.
“There you are!” she called, waving a candy cane like a wand. “I was about to send out a search party. Did you get snowed in with your ridiculously handsome and scary consultant?”
“Something like that,” I said, forcing a brightness I didn’t feel. “The power went out.”
“Ooh. Romantic.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Was there snuggling for warmth?”
My face heated, the memory of Bastian’s arms around me, the solid warmth of him, the unexpected intimacy of it all, flooding back. “Strictly practical,” I said, which wasn’t entirely a lie.
“Right. ‘Practical.’” Jenna’s tone was skeptical. “Well, whatever you were doing, it worked. The town is buzzing. We’ve already had three people ask if ‘the tall guy’ will be here today.”
