Page 8 of Never Kiss a Krampus
He came towards me with a grace that should have been impossible for something his size. Each step was silent except for the soft jingle of chains—they wrapped around his torso, crisscrossed over the fur and leather, binding him or decorating him or both. His hands ended in claws, long and black and wickedly curved. A tail flicked behind him, long and tufted at the end, moving with the irritated precision of a cat who’d just been woken up.
He stopped at the edge of the circle, tilting his head, studying me with those burning eyes as his nostrils flared, scenting the air. Scenting me. The salt line glowed faintly where it faced him, like it was responding to his presence.
I tried to move, but I couldn’t. My legs had turned to stone, my whole body frozen in a mixture of terror and something else, something I didn’t want to examine too closely. Because underneath the fear was a thrilling awareness, an electric charge that made my skin tingle and my pulse race for reasons that had nothing to do with self-preservation.
The silence stretched between us, broken only by the soft jingle of his chains as he shifted his weight. My mind screamed at me to run, to scream, to do literally anything except crouch there like an offering. But I couldn’t do anything except stare up at this creature I’d somehow summoned from the darkness, this being that should not exist.
“You called?”
CHAPTER 4
His voice was a rumble that I felt more than heard, a deep vibration that traveled through the floor and up through my bones, settling somewhere in my chest and making my ribcage hum. It was dark chocolate and whiskey, gravel and silk, a sound that should not come from any living throat. But it was also… cultured. Precise. The kind of voice that belonged to an ancient being who’d been woken from a very important nap and was deeply unimpressed with the circumstances.
“Uh,” I said, which wasn’t the brilliant comeback I’d been hoping for. “Yes? But I didn’t mean to.”
“You performed a summoning ritual at midnight during the darkest days of the year.” He crossed his arms over his chest, chains jingling with the movement. “What, precisely, did you mean to do?”
“I thought it was folklore. Stories. I didn’t think it would actually work.”
“And yet you drew the circle. You spoke the words. You offered blood.” His gaze dropped to my pricked finger, and his nostrils flared again. “Willing blood. The ritual is complete.”
I scrambled to my feet, swaying slightly. Schnapps and terror were not a good combination. “Look, I’m sorry. I’ll just… I’ll send you back. There’s got to be a reversal spell or something, right?”
“There is not.”
“Oh.” My knees felt wobbly. “Oh, that’s… that’s not great.”
He tilted his head, studying me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. His eyes tracked over my face, down to my oversized hoodie and back up again. I had the distinct impression he was cataloging everything about me, filing it away for some purpose I couldn’t fathom.
“You are drunk,” he said finally.
“I am not drunk. I’m… festively relaxed.”
One dark eyebrow rose slightly. The expression would have been funny on anyone else, but on him it was somehow intimidating and oddly attractive at the same time.Stop it, I told myself firmly.Do not find the demonic goat man attractive. That way lies madness.
“You summoned a being of ancient power because you were ‘festively relaxed’?”
“No! I summoned—” I gestured helplessly. “I was desperate, okay? My shop is failing, my grandmother’s legacy is dying, and I’m out of options. The book said this was for people in direst need, and I am in direst need. The very direst.”
His expression didn’t change. “All who call upon the old ways believe themselves desperate.”
“I’m not lying.” My voice cracked. “I’m losing everything. The bank is foreclosing. I have three weeks until they take it all.”
“And you thought to bargain with forces beyond your understanding for what? Money?” The contempt in his voice stung.
“Not just money. Hope. Help. A miracle.” I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the layers. “The book said Yuletide aid for those who need it most. That’s me. I need it. I need…”
I trailed off because his eyes had gone from amber to a deep, glowing red. Not angry red, but something else. Something that made the air between us crackle with tension.
“You called for aid,” he said slowly. “But aid from what? The ritual you performed was not for Santa Claus, little human. It was not for angels or saints or any gentle Christmas spirit.”
“Then what was it for?”
He stepped closer to the salt circle, and the line flared brighter, forcing him to stop. Good to know it still worked. “I have little patience for those who invoke the old ways without understanding them. I am a Krampus. Winter’s punishment. Balance to the season’s hollow joy. And you, little human, have called me from my duties for…” He looked around the attic with obvious disdain. “This.”
A Krampus.
I knew that name. Everyone knew that name, or at least everyone who’d grown up with Christmas folklore. Krampus,the anti-Santa. The punisher of naughty children. The demon who dragged bad kids to hell in his sack while Saint Nicholas rewarded the good ones.But that’s just a story,I thought desperately.A way to scare children into behaving.
