10

Stoic, silent tears stream from her eyes as I swallow her blood. She stares unflinching at some point in the distance.

I heard her command the house. I witnessed, through my one bleary eye, her stalwart courage before the monsters, the bold way she ordered them to leave me alone and devour my attackers.

I had no idea that in a single fortnight she had developed such a bond with the house, or such bravery with my housemates. It would astonish me more if I weren’t so torn and twisted with pain .

After the first few trickles of blood, I’m able to revert to my usual Fae form, no longer the hulking, veined Krampus. Thanks to her, I won’t die. But my recovery will be slow.

With my tongue no longer a toxic danger to her, I seize Feather’s forearm and sink my teeth into her flesh. It’s an impulsive act, needy and reckless. She doesn’t protest, but her lips press together more tightly.

Rich and hot, savory and sweet, her blood flows down my throat. My sight glazes and I moan, lost in the dizzy euphoria.

“Krampus,” she says urgently. “Stop.”

Dazed, hardly comprehending, I growl in protest.

“Stop,” she orders, louder. “They’re coming closer. Stop, stop!”

With a violent surge of willpower, I unlock my jaws from her arm. She clamps her hand over the wound and gets to her feet.

I turn my head so I can see, with my remaining eye, the threat she’s facing. My stomach drops into harrowing darkness as the Bahkauv and Wolpertinger, finished with their meal of men, prowl closer to Feather and me. They can smell her blood, more delicious and tempting than that of the wretches they ate. And they have even less restraint than I do.

My gaze switches to Feather, standing there with her slim legs braced apart, gripping her wounded arm. She’s tiny compared to the colossal monsters, but her chin lifts in regal defiance.

“Run,” I rasp.

“No.” She speaks quietly to me, then louder for the beasts, her tone cool and firm. “You’ve had enough to eat. You did well. Good boys.”

She stalks around me, her pace slow and measured. She’s wearing shoes today, and her heels clip sharply against the floorboards. She goes right up to the Bahkauv .

My panicked breath hisses through clenched teeth, and I struggle to sit up, but I can barely manage it. I’m in no shape to defend her.

A frenzied, grievous terror shakes through my bones. She can’t die here, she can’t , not after saving me. “No, Feather.” The words rattle from me in a broken groan.

Feather holds her injured arm against her stomach and reaches out with her other hand. Reaches for the Bahkauv.

“Fool,” I whisper, and two hot tears spill from my eyes as I lurch upward, onto my knees. I nearly keel over and I have to prop myself with one hand, blood dripping from my chest onto the floor.

The Bahkauv bawls, loud and startling, but Feather doesn’t recoil. She presses her bloody fingers to the creature’s calf-like nose, stroking the broad, soft space between the immense nostrils.

“Good boy,” she says quietly. “You played your role well. Now go.”

My body quakes with pain and panic as I wait helplessly for her to be eaten.

But my panic turns to wonder as the beast shuffles backward, snorts, and then bounds away, clambering up the wall with shocking speed and disappearing into the shadows of the ceiling. There must be a hole up there, because I hear him scrambling through and scuttling off to some distant part of the house.

Wolpertinger lowers its head and starts to bite, just as Feather whirls around, snaps her fingers, and says sharply, “No!”

His teeth click shut a handspan from her face. She doesn’t flinch. Just stares him down. Not even a glare, really—just a look of pure, icy dominance. Sheer fucking force of will.

Wolpertinger screams again, like a hare being flayed, then skitters around her on long legs and wedges his lanky form back through the door. His shriek of discontent fades as he gallops away down the hall.

The Imp sits on his haunches in the blood, licking his tiny fingers. Apparently the idea of eating Feather doesn’t even enter his mind. When she clicks her tongue, he leaps onto her leg and scrambles up her body to perch on her shoulder.

Then she turns to me.

Between the bloody footprints the Imp left on her dress, and the blood from her own wounds, she’s a mess. She’s less emaciated now, but her skin is still bone-white from lack of sun, and shadows paint the hollows around her huge dark eyes. Her wavy brown hair forms a cloud of darkness around that delicate white face.

I’ve never seen a mortal look so wholly inhuman.

“Can you walk to your room?” she asks. “Because I don’t think I’m strong enough to support you.”

“I’ll manage,” I tell her. “I’ll crawl if I have to.”

I can barely crawl, as it turns out. But when she and I reach the door to the hallway, somehow my bedroom door is directly across from us. The house shortened the distance we have to traverse.

“In all the centuries I’ve lived here, the house has never done such favors for me,” I mutter, grasping the wall for support as I drag myself into the bedroom. “I might be a little jealous.”

“You didn’t listen to the house, or respect it,” she replies. “You filled it with foul odors and choked it with trash. I’m not sure it will ever forgive you.”

“Perhaps not.” I watch the blood dripping between her fingers. “You need medicine and bandages for that wound. I purchased those a while back—you should find everything in the bathroom cabinet. There’s a staunching ointment to help lessen the blood flow and promote quicker healing. I thought it might come in handy. ”

“Stop worrying about me and get into bed,” she says. “You’re the one who nearly died.”

“So did you.” I start to heave myself onto the bed when she exclaims, “Wait! Don’t get blood all over the sheets!”

I sink back onto the floor. “What the fuck else am I supposed to do?”

She chews her lip, then says, “Let me bandage my arm, and then I’ll wash some of that gore off you.”

While she’s in the bathroom, I stare at the ceiling, trying not to think about her washing me. Sex is another way that the Fae can speed up the healing process, but I’m not about to suggest it and frighten her.

When she returns, her arm and hand are so neatly bandaged that I’m sure the Imp helped her. He pauses near me, sniffing and blinking before darting through the flames of the fireplace and disappearing up the chimney.

I could try dispelling my cape again, but instead I let Feather take it off me. Her eyes widen when she realizes I’m fully naked underneath, now that my furred lower half has reverted to Fae form. Swiftly she tosses a bit of the cape over my crotch, and I fight a painful smile.

The sponge squishes against my stomach, warm water dribbling along my skin. I close my eyes and inhale her scent while she mops away the blood. Occasionally her fingertips brush my flesh, and a tingle runs through my body.

“So who were those men?” she asks.

“The worst kind of wretches. They had a girl of twelve. They were using her.”

The sponge pauses. “Where is she now?”

“As I told you, Mother Holle takes care of the children. Sometimes she’s able to soften the memory of what happened, though she can’t remove it entirely. ”

Feather’s voice falters over her next question. “Why couldn’t you have been summoned before those brutes hurt the girl?”

“I cannot judge humans until a crime has occurred,” I reply. “After the sin is committed, or once the ongoing abuse has reached its peak, the child is sent a Krampus bell by the god-stars. Unless they ring it, I can’t find them.”

“Seems like an ineffective way to punish the wicked,” she mutters.

“I didn’t make the rules.”

“What about when a child is murdered? They can’t ring a bell if they’re dead.”

“No. In those cases, the Krampus bell is sent to their killer. It possesses a compulsive magic that makes them want to ring it, and when they give in to that desire, I find them and judge them.”

The sponge sweeps low on my abdomen. “Those men knew you’re Fae, that iron would hurt you.”

“I haven’t spent as long in Visseland as I have in some other regions, but I’m already a legend here. Not all the people believe I’m real, and most of them don’t realize what secret crimes their neighbors are guilty of, so they think I’m a villainous beast who preys on the innocent. Apparently these men suspected my true purpose. They knew I might come for them, and yet that fear wasn’t enough to deter them from wicked deeds.”

“So they prepared themselves in case you showed up,” Feather says.

I sigh, and the movement causes my chest wound to flare with pain. “Either that, or it was a trap, a test conducted on the advisement of Fae-hunters.”

“Hunters?”

“Yes. A bartender told me the Mayor of Rothenfel has hired Fae-hunters to come to the region and track me down. I thought I had plenty of time before they arrived, but perhaps they got here early… or perhaps they sent instructions, something for the locals to try before their arrival.”

Feather wipes the sponge along my thigh with quick, angry strokes. “If those Fae-hunters orchestrated a trap with a young girl as bait, they’re as bad as any of your other victims.”

“Agreed.”

“And they’ll try again.”

“Perhaps.”

“How will you defend yourself?” she asks.

“I need to figure out who the hunters are, what they look like, how much they know, and what supplies they have. They’ll be staying with the Mayor, so I’m planning to attend one of his parties and do a little investigation while I’m there.”

“Isn’t that terribly dangerous?” Feather squeezes the blood-soaked sponge into the bowl of water beside me. “What if they spot you as Fae immediately?”

“They won’t. I can glamour away all telltale signs.”

“And what if they can detect a glamour?”

“There are relics in this house which can conceal the energy residue of small glamours. I’m more concerned about the hunters finding this house by tracking its geistfyre energy. The quarry where the house resides is a bit too close to Rothenfel for my comfort. I could move it, but it’s a strain on both me and the house. And unless the Fae-hunters have certain detection charms or devices in their arsenal, they won’t be able to find it. So I’d rather not move it if I don’t have to.”

Feather dips the sponge again and moves forward to bathe my face. She starts with my horns—I suppose they must be spattered with blood from my fight with the men. Then she mops my brow gently.

“When is the party?” she asks.

“In a few weeks.” I let my good eye close as the sponge glides along my temples and cheekbones. “I need to find a companion for that night. It must be someone the Mayor has never met, who has never attended one of his gatherings. I have a few women in mind to invite, but I’m afraid they might not be too pleased if I leave them stranded while I wander off to explore the Fae-hunters’ quarters.”

I’m musing aloud, talking more to myself than to her, and I barely realize what I’m saying until the sponge stops moving at the corner of my jaw. It leaks warm water down my neck.

“What if I went with you?” Her voice is so small and faint I barely hear it.

My eye opens. Feather looks petrified by what she just said—more frightened of a party than of a sentient house full of monsters.

“No,” I say curtly.

She frowns, offended by my abrupt refusal. But I hate the vulnerable, scared look I saw on her face just now, and I refuse to be the one who puts it there again.

“This is an elegant gathering,” I continue. “You wouldn’t know how to act. You haven’t had an education, or learned social graces. You don’t belong there.”

Her eyes narrow. “That may be true. But if a big dirty brute like you can pass as one of them, I’m sure I could learn as well. You can teach me these ‘social graces.’”

I imagine this delicate, shy girl dressed in a luxurious gown, floating into a room teeming with the Mayor’s careless, greedy, self-absorbed guests. The vision makes my stomach clench with anxiety. Brave as she was against the monsters of this house, the monsters of that mansion are worse.

“You can’t learn everything you’d need to know in just three weeks,” I growl. “It’s impossible.”

“So you think I’m stupid.”

“That’s not what I said—” My protest chokes off as she slaps the wet, bloody sponge over my mouth. Bitter salt tinges my tongue .

Despite my weakness, I summon enough strength to grab the sponge and fling it back at her. It smacks wetly against her chest, then plops into her lap.

She blinks loftily at me. “Just as well. I need to clean up, too.”

She puts the sponge in the bowl, rises, and takes hold of the hem of her short black dress. She lifts it, exposing her lace panties, her smooth stomach—then she drags the dress over her head and tosses it aside. Her breasts are sharply peaked into rosy tips.

“What the fuck…” I breathe.

“You’ve seen me like this,” she says. “Remember? When you kept me from freezing?”

“Yes, but…”

She kneels beside me again, her eyes as soft and innocent as her nude form. My cock twitches and hardens—I can’t stop the reaction.

“Gods- fuck ,” I choke out.

“What’s that?” She pretends to lean in and listen closely. “You agree to teach me the social graces I need so I can accompany you to the party? How kind of you, Krampus.”

“You think exposing yourself to me will get you what you want?”

Her cheeks flush a delicate pink. “I saw one of the Wives do it. I thought I would try.”

“Well, you’re out of luck. You’re not the type of woman who tempts me. The opposite, in fact.”

Her flush deepens and she cups her breasts, concealing them. “Am I too small? Too pale?”

“You look like a fucking child,” I snarl. “And you act like one. Go to bed.”

“But you need the bed.”

“Well then… find another room. ”

She gets up, grabs a blanket from the end of the bed, and wraps it around herself. “What about the monsters? What if they eat me? You said this was the only safe bedroom—”

“I know what I said!” Gripping the bed frame, I haul myself up and heave my wounded body onto the sheets. “Fine. For now, I suppose we’ll have to share. You’ve lost blood and you should rest.”

“You’ve lost blood too. I’ll fetch you some food to bolster your strength. And what about bandages? The bleeding seems to have stopped, but do you need—”

“Lie the fuck down!” I bellow.

I regret the outburst immediately. She shrinks from me, her gaze wary. When she slinks to the other side of the bed and lies down, I can practically taste her tension, her caution.

I want to tell her she doesn’t need to fear me. That I would never hurt her. But fuck me, I don’t know how to do this. I can feign merriment and gallantry out in the world, but here in the house, with her, I can’t be suave and charming. I don’t know why. My whole body grates and growls in her presence, turns stiff and gruff and thorny.

Am I protecting her from me, or protecting myself from her?

Much as I hate scaring her, I can’t make myself apologize. The Fae don’t say they’re sorry.

Instead I turn my back to her, my muscles aching from my iron-poisoned blood.

After a moment, her thin voice drifts into the silence. “We’re not done talking about this.”

Resistance flames in my chest. “You’re not going to the party.”

“I am. Because you have no one else. You’ll realize it when your brain isn’t addled with iron and pain. ”

My tongue flicks out, running along my lips—a habit when I’m aggravated or excited. It’s half-healed, but still sore. “You’re alone, too.”

“I have the house. And the Imp. And possibly the other monsters as well.” She speaks in the softest, lightest, most childish tone, as if she’s talking about toys she has collected, but there’s an undercurrent of acid in her voice. She’s reveling in the fact that she took the monsters’ allegiance from me.

“I could banish you from this house whenever I please,” I tell her.

“Do it, then,” she snaps.

I vent a hoarse, mocking laugh. “I would, but I need someone to wash my underwear and scrub my floors. ‘Maid’ is a role you play well. Stick to it.”

The silence between us is thunderous.

Finally she says, in a tight, pinched voice, “I hate you.”

“And yet you saved my life.”

“Foolish of me.” The bed creaks as she gets up and heads for the door.

I want to roar after her, to demand her return. But I stay silent.

When the door closes behind her, I roll onto my back, the tips of my horns scratching the headboard.

She’s right. I have no one else. And as much as I hate the thought of taking her with me into the Mayor’s world, I’m not sure I have a choice.

Surely I could teach Feather enough to get by in society for just one night. She is the traumatized victim of a psychotic kidnapper, but she is also a tireless worker and a bold commander of eldritch beings. Among those identities, perhaps there is another—a poised, well-spoken young woman who could appear on my arm at a party.

I hope I can shape her into such a woman, because otherwise we may both end up dead.