Page 71 of Never Kiss a Krampus
“But I’m your menace.”
“You certainly are.” His arm tightened around me as I snuggled deeper into his side.
“Does that mean I can have cookies for dinner?” I asked, looking up at him. “It’s a special occasion. A… significant transgression kind of occasion.”
He studied my face for a long moment, a slow, wicked smile spreading across his face. “I believe I can allow for a transgression or two.”
He stood and walked to the kitchen, returning a few moments later with a plate of my grandmother’s gingerbread cookies and two mugs of hot chocolate, topped with the tiny marshmallows I saved for special occasions.
“This is… domestic,” I observed, taking a mug from him.
“Is that acceptable?” he asked, settling back beside me.
“It’s more than acceptable,” I said, my throat feeling tight. “It’s perfect.”
We ate cookies and drank hot chocolate in the warm glow of the tree lights, the post-coital haze making everything feel soft and dreamlike. This was what I had been craving, what I hadn’t even known I needed. Not just the passion, but this. The quiet intimacy. The simple, comfortable act of being with someone.
“You know,” I said, nibbling on a gingerbread arm, “I had a dream about my grandmother the week before I summoned you.”
He turned to look at me. “Did you?”
“Yeah. We were in the shop, and it was all lit up and perfect. She told me that the shop needed a little bit of… darkness. To appreciate the light.” I shook my head, a small, wry smile touching my lips. “I thought she was being metaphorical. Turns out, she was being literal.”
A thoughtful look crossed his face. “Your grandmother sounds… wise.”
“She was. She would have loved you, you know.” The words slipped out, unplanned, but true.
“She would have been horrified,” he countered, but he didn’t pull away.
“No. She would have seen past the horns and the claws and the grumpy exterior. She would have seen the way you organize my stockroom and the fact that you brought me hot chocolate without me asking. She would have seen you.” I leaned my head against his shoulder. “She always said that the brightest lightcasts the darkest shadow. She meant it as a good thing. That you can’t have one without the other.”
“Your grandmother was a philosopher of Christmas,” he said, a rare, genuine smile gracing his lips.
“She was.” A comfortable silence settled between us, filled only by the soft jingle of the cat’s bell as he finally emerged from hiding to curl up on the other end of the couch. “So, what’s the plan for tomorrow?”
“The same as it was before. You sell ornaments. I observe.” His tone was casual, but the arm around my shoulders tightened possessively.
“And what about…” I gestured vaguely between us. “…this? The binding? The… consequences you were so worried about?”
“We will monitor it,” he said, his expression turning serious. “I have sensed… fluctuations. Ripples in the magic that were not there before. It is possible that our… transgression… may have triggered an early stage of the unraveling.”
A knot of ice formed in my stomach. “Unraveling? As in, the ‘unmade’ kind of unraveling?”
“The initial stages,” he clarified, though that did little to ease my fear. “A weakening of the structure. A flickering of the core essence. For now, it is stable.”
“For now,” I repeated, my appetite for gingerbread suddenly gone. “And what happens when it stops being stable?”
“We will find a solution before that occurs.” His confidence was a balm, but I could hear the underlying uncertainty. He was just guessing. We were both just guessing.
“Bastian,” I said softly, turning in his arms to face him fully. “If this is going to… hurt you. If being with me is actually going to destroy you?—”
“Then it will have been worth it.” He cut me off, his gaze holding mine with an unwavering intensity. “To have known this. To have known you. An eternity of cold existence cannot compare to these few days of warmth. Do not take that from me by asking me to choose differently.”
My heart ached with a fierce, tender emotion. I reached up, tracing the line of his jaw with my thumb. “Okay,” I whispered. “But we’re going to fight for more than a few days. We’re going to find a Christmas miracle.”
He leaned down and kissed me, a slow, deep kiss that was full of promises and unspoken fears. But then he raised his head and smiled at me, a dangerous smile that made my pulse race.
“You have given me a taste for sweet things, little light.” He leaned down and stroked his tongue across my lips. “Like hot chocolate.” He pushed back the shawl and curled his tongue around my nipple. “And cookies.” He flipped up my skirt to reveal my bare folds. “And especially my sweet, sweet little human.”
