Page 85 of Never Kiss a Krampus
“I love you too, little light,” he murmured against my hair. “More than I knew it was possible to love anything.”
I turned in his arms, burying my face in the soft fur of his chest. “Good,” I mumbled. “Because that was a binding vow. There’s no undoing it now.”
I felt him smile against my hair. “I have no desire to undo it.”
For a long while, we lay there in a comfortable silence, listening to the wind outside, a lonely whine against the glass. I could feel the steady rhythm of his heart, a grounding, reassuring beat that was the only thing that mattered.
“Do you think it worked?” I asked, my voice soft. “The town. Do you think the greyness is really gone?”
“I think,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “that you gave them a memory of joy so potent that it will take more than one greedy developer to extinguish it. You reminded them what they were fighting for. The town feels… balanced.”
“Christmas morning,” I said, the thought sparking with sudden excitement. “We should have a town-wide pancake breakfast. On the square. Everyone brings something to share.”
“A Community Carol of Carbohydrates,” he suggested, and I burst out laughing.
“Exactly!”
“My little light,” he said, his voice filled with a warmth that had nothing to do with temperature. “You cannot help yourself, can you?”
“Someone has to organize the joy,” I retorted, feeling a sleepy, contented smile spread across my face.
“And you are the perfect being for the job.” He leaned down and kissed the top of my head. “Now sleep. Christmas morning will be here before we know it, and if I know you, you will already have a three-page list of things to do.”
I snuggled deeper into the covers, into his embrace, my body heavy and sated and utterly content. The last thing I heard before I drifted off was the soft jingle of a cat’s bell and the deep, steady beat of a Krampus’s heart.
Christmas morning dawned, crisp and clear and perfect. A soft, heavy snow had fallen overnight, blanketing the town in a layer of pristine white that muffled the world in a hushed, peaceful silence. The sun was a brilliant, pale gold disc in a pale blue sky, its light glinting off the snowdrifts like a million tiny diamonds.
I woke up slowly, a delicious, languid warmth spreading through me. I wasn’t alone. A heavy arm was draped over my waist, a long, powerful leg was tangled with mine, and I could feel the soft fur of Bastian’s chest against my back. His breathing was slow and even, a deep, rhythmic presence that was more comforting than any blanket. I lay there for a long moment, just listening, just feeling, a profound sense of rightness settling over me. He was here. He was real. He was staying.
Jingle Bells, ever the harbinger of dawn, hopped onto the bed and began patting my face with a soft, determined paw. I giggled and scooped him up, burying my face in his soft fur.
“Merry Christmas, you little menace,” I whispered.
The movement roused Bastian. He stirred, his arm tightening around me, a low, contented growl rumbling in his chest. “Merry Christmas, little light,” he murmured, his voice still rough withsleep. He nuzzled the back of my neck, the gesture so simple and intimate it sent a fresh wave of warmth through me.
“Did you sleep?” I asked, rolling over to face him.
“I did.” He looked different, rested. The weary edges were gone, replaced by a quiet, solid strength. “The last few days have been… taxing. It is good to simply be.”
“Be what? An annoyingly handsome furry creature in my bed?”
A slow, lazy smile spread across his face. “Precisely.”
He leaned in and kissed me, a slow, deep, thoroughly unhurried kiss that tasted of sleep and snow and forever. When we finally broke apart, I was breathless.
“As much as I could happily spend the entire day right here,” I said, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw, “I have accounting to do. I need to be ready to meet with the bank.”
Sales had been good enough that I was hopeful for a reprieve, but I hadn’t had time to focus on anything other than saving Bastian for the past few days.
I scrambled out of bed and pulled on a pair of fuzzy red leggings and a ridiculously oversized green sweater with a giant sequined snowman on the front. He watched me, his amber eyes full of a warm, appreciative light. “You are a force of nature, Noelle Green.”
“I prefer ‘conductor of joy’.”
“Then the conductor of joy should go see what’s under the tree,” he said, gesturing with one elegant claw.
There was a small package under the tree that hadn’t been there the night before. Wrapped in the dark wood and fur I had cometo associate with Bastian. I picked it up and carefully untied the leather thong. Inside was a single, perfect crystal, intricately faceted and hanging from a delicate chain.
“It’s beautiful,” I breathed.
