2. Niklaus

Chapter two

Niklaus

Three Months Until Christmas

H umans are masters of many things—art, music, food, literature, to name a few—but what they excel at most of all is sin. While they go about their lives and try to put on a facade to the world about their good deeds, I am the one who sees through the veil of their deceit and brings their wickedness to the light. I lay claim to each tainted soul I mark throughout the year every Christmas Eve. Oh, I love how the twisted souls taste once I reap them, banishing their vile existence into the raging infernos of Hell. What a merry time Christmas is, indeed.

It was the year 1960 when I snuffed the joy out of the wretched holiday for good—a holiday built on lies from a false God and an obese man who couldn’t keep his dick out of the cookie jar. The night a week before Christmas, I flew to the North Pole—to the fat fuck, Santa himself—chopped him up like a butcher, and scattered his severed limbs across the globe. That following Christmas Eve, while families prepared to wake up to presents under the tree, what they found instead was the remains of Mr. Claus, his perverted elves, and his reindeer. The humans think me a monster, but really, I’m The Saint who saved their sorry souls from his cruel acts. I may be an Archdemon, sent by the Devil himself to reap souls in order to feed the everlasting flames, but I have morals.

My one and only goal during my time spent on Earth is to claim souls, not only to empower myself but the fires in Hell. But the Devil never said what kind of souls I had to take, so I took it upon myself to devour the sick ones, the souls that taint the Earth—the sinners. Sin tastes sweeter than innocence, believe it or not. Santa was the sweetest-tasting soul I’ve experienced during my immortal existence and not because his diet only consisted of candy and treats. No, Santa was the sickest sinner of them all, spreading tales of joy and gifts under the tree, but he and his elves were perverts and child molesters. He knew how the children loved him, how they stayed up at night, hoping to catch a glimpse of the disgusting oaf himself. He preyed on their innocence, and he knew he could get away with it. But, what no one talked about were the children that went missing during the night. Or the ones who woke their parents up with their crying and screams, with wild accusations that someone was in their room and touched them. Yeah, let’s not talk about that. And they call me the evil bastard that ruined Christmas. I fucking saved them, and I continue to do so—while they don’t deserve it.

Now, every year on the 24th of December, the world cowers in fear of an Archdemon they claim stole Christmas to kill innocents to feed the Devil himself. Yet, the only ones who need fear me are the humans who rape, kill, steal, and cheat. Each year, I feast until I’m fully gorged on their polluted essence. The humans board up their homes, turn off every light to not draw any demonic attention—and bathe the world in darkness when I descend upon them, to reign in unholy mayhem. With the help of my hellish imps, I go down a list of names of wicked souls to rip into shreds, painting the snow-covered grounds in a crimson glow. I can’t be everywhere at once, and need all the help I can get to exterminate such vileness each year.

I casually stroll down the vibrant streets of Lockwood, searching for new souls to add to my list to feast upon on my unholy day. I love this shitty little town, it’s small in size, but it’s full of some really abhorrent bastards. In this place alone, I usually mark at least two dozen souls, though a few slip through the cracks and live to tell the tale another year. Some haven’t yet committed the sins that would seal their fate, giving me fresh souls to mark each season—and the best part? No one suspects that I’m the demon haunting their nightmares. I glamor my demonic features while amongst the humans, blending in with the vermin while I sniff out the stench of sin. I daresay, seeing a 6’6” otherworldly man with a gaping wide mouth, baring a full set of razor-sharp teeth and a forked tongue that can stretch longer than a street lamp would cause some concern. Not to mention my ethereal crimson eyes, long and wispy ivory hair accentuated by my onyx curved horns, and claws meant to shred into flesh with ease. So, to the public, I’m another ordinary man who’s just trying to make it in this fucked up world, flaunting around that I’m a good man—while harboring a monstrous identity.

I pause, straining my neck to listen closely to shouting amidst the hustle and bustle of the crowded market streets. I scan my surroundings to try and find the source of the scuffle. Ah, slightly to my left are two men in a screaming match down an alley next to the local coffee shop. A sinister smile warps my lips as I catch the faint scent of foul deeds wafting to me from their general direction—another possible mark to add to my naughty list, and if I’m lucky, maybe two. I laser focus on the arguing men, resuming my stride over to them as one shoves the other in the chest, and the tension rises between them. The other man reaches into his jean pocket, brandishing a switchblade, and with a quick flick of his wrist, sets the blade free and holds it out before him. Oh, this is getting juicy.

I stand before the men with a wide grin and a calm demeanor. I don’t want the one with the blade to get any funny ideas and try to slice into me, because then I’d have to go all demon on him and out myself. It’s happened before, and it’s a pain in the ass to cover up. So, I try to avoid situations like that if I can help it.

With their incessant shouts, each trying to dominate the other, neither turn to look at the unfamiliar man standing before them, watching the show unfold. “I fucking told you it was taken care of!” The hefty, shorter man with the blade exclaims.

“Clearly, it wasn’t, you fool! They never even found a body, and the bitch is crazy as hell! Do you even know what she’s capable of?” The taller, lean man with a scruffy beard spits back.

I cross my arms and examine the men, who are incredibly blind to their surroundings—not having a care in the world about who might be listening to their little spat. I wish I had some popcorn to toss into my mouth as I watch this unfold.

“You and the rest of those idiots had one job, and you failed miserably. If she’s as dead as you say, then are you telling me a dead girl just got up and walked away?” The taller man continues, lowering his voice slightly at the mention of a dead girl. Now, this is interesting; I do believe I’ve found something tasty to gnaw on.

“I’m telling you, Will, she’s fucking dead. I used this blade on her myself to—”

Of course, right before I was going to get a confession to the supposed murder, tubby catches sight of me and stops talking, idiotically turning his blade on me. “Who the fuck are you? You wanna find out what happens to dudes that sneak up on others having a private conversation in the shadows of an alley?”

I raise my brows and flash an easy smile. “I do believe I overheard the two of you arguing, and anyone could overhear your little death dealings in the dark. You weren’t being very discreet.” I look down at his dull blade and lick my lips. “You’ve piqued my interest with this alleged dead girl. So, let’s just cut to the chase: I do love stories about dead things.”

“You’re a fucking weirdo, man. Get the fuck outta here, you didn’t hear shit.” He pokes me in the chest with the blade’s tip, not hard enough to break the skin, but he’s trying to intimidate me. I don’t break so easily—or ever, for that matter.

A low growl rumbles from deep in my chest, and my eyes darken as I stare down at the blade against my blazer. I flick my malice-laced gaze up to the worthless piece of shit before me. “I’d lower that blade if I were you. I’d just like some names.” I turn to the other, Will, I believe he was called. “Both of your names. First and last, and then I’ll leave you to it.”

Will scoffs and glides his tongue over his yellow-stained teeth. “What do you want our names for? You a cop?”

I huff a sigh of annoyance and don a look of boredom. I’m not too fond of these kinds of dealings with humans, and my patience wears thin already. I shoot my hand to the wrist of the one holding the blade and bend it backward in one swift movement. A sharp cracking of bone echos against the cold, brick walls surrounding us, and then the clatter of metal as his blade drops to the ground. “Names. First and last. I will not repeat myself. You both reek of wickedness, potent enough to fill my reserves for almost a whole month, so I will have your names.”

The tubby man with a now fractured wrist cries out, holding his limp hand, and backs away from me. Pain is quick to break them, and they’re always so easy to submit to my demands. “Thomas Branson. You’re fucking crazy! I will find and kill you for this, mark my words!”

I smirk at his weightless threats. “I am sure we will meet again—you can count on that, Thomas Branson.” His name settles into my gray matter, sending a surge of pleasure through me. I turn to the other man with a wicked smile. “And you?”

The short weasel, with a wrist as limp as his dick, darts around us, running out of the alley to escape me, but little does he know he’s just given a demon his name. He’s marked for death, and I’m simply buzzing with a high at the thought of crossing his path again. Just as soon as the scent of his tainted soul is out of range, an overwhelming pungent smell floods my senses, protruding from the man left standing before me. This one’s soul is pitch black, and my mouth waters as I envision tearing into his flesh to claim it. He exudes power, and I will fucking have it. He looks sideways as if he’s considering following his friend, but I can’t have that. I need his name. I grip his shirt in my fists and let a low, demonic snarl rumble from my chest. “What’s your last name, Will?”

The asshole smirks in my face. “Ashcroft.”

Lucifer fucking dammit. I release my hold on his shirt with a snarl. That name just saved his soul from eternal damnation—from me, at least. “I suggest you follow your friend before I give you a matching fracture, Will Ashcroft,” I repeat his name with acid coating my tongue.

With an overly pompous laugh, he spins on his heels, walks out of the alley, and blends in with the shoppers on the street. Ashcroft—the fucking untouchable family. They’re a cult led by Lionel Ashcroft, who puts on a show to everyone in Lockwood that they’re a loving, God-fearing family who run the local church. But what the citizens don’t know is what the family gatherings entail, late at night. Their self-righteous family is full of sick individuals who give sacrificial offerings to Lucifer once a month. Normally, this wouldn’t bother me, but these sacrificial ceremonies protect them—even against me. I’ve never been able to mark an Ashcroft. It’s like the sacrifices cleanse them of their sinful acts, but it leaves their souls the darkest, black abyss I’ve ever had the pleasure to come in contact with—and fuck, I really want to claim them all.

I feel a slight triumph after my run-in with the two men. After all, I was able to add one to my list. I make my way out of the alley and head further down the jam-packed street to see if I can find more prey. I walk past the neon signs of Twinkling Treats, blazing bright in the setting sun. It’s the grandest candy shop I’ve ever seen. Of all the things a town can be known for, Lockwood is known for this place—it brings in tourists from across the country to visit the massive candy store. My body stills when the sweetest, sugar-filled scent invades my senses, and a tingling sensation overtakes every nerve ending in my body—but it’s not from the candy. Blood rushes to my dick in a way I’ve never felt before, and I come close to shifting into my demon form to accommodate the amount of blood that’s currently engorging my very human cock. I dash into the candy shop, shoving past small children who jump up and down, trying to convince their parents to buy them whatever treats they want. I pay them no mind, even when I hear crying behind me. I must have knocked one of the little snot heads over. Oops.

I find the source of this painfully overwhelming arousal, in the form of a human woman. My breath catches as I gaze upon her. She’s talking to someone, but I can’t see who it is because a tall candy cabinet hides them. Rage surges through me, and I clench my fists. What is this that I’m feeling? It’s strange because, throughout my entire life span, I’ve never experienced whatever it is I’m feeling right now. In a trance-like state, my feet carry me closer to this unknown woman who smells of candy and death. I want to taste her, claim her—I want to fucking own and possess her in every deranged way possible. But why? I’ve never felt drawn to any human like this before. What is it about this one that brings out unfamiliar emotions— and is about to bring out the monster in me?

I round the corner, and stand behind the woman who’s still deep in conversation with… no one. I observe her, her hands waving around animatedly while she converses about her favorite candy with an invisible person. She’s batshit crazy, but that doesn’t deter my dick from wanting to burst through my denim jeans and fuck her in the pit of assorted candy behind us. I heave a sigh of relief at the fact that I don’t need to potentially mark an innocent for speaking to her… what the fuck is wrong with me?

I tap on her shoulder, which makes her jump and squeal in shock. She turns to face me, revealing the most haunting icy blues, and I find myself wanting to get lost in them. Why does she have this effect on me? She clutches her chest and huffs a breathy laugh. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Who were you talking to?” I attempt to hide the smile that threatens to break free.

She raises her eyebrows in confusion and plops a red lollipop into her mouth. “My friend.” She turns around and sighs. “I guess she ran off to get us some more candy.” She shrugs her shoulder half-heartedly and gives me the most cock-hardening, sultry smile I’ve ever seen—all while sucking on that damn candy.

I lean closer, inhaling a large whiff of her intoxicating essence, and goosebumps coat my immortal flesh. Her soul is tainted, but yet… it’s pure, which makes absolutely no sense. A mixture of sugary sweetness and wicked sin engrosses her entire being.

She notices me smelling her, and grins wide with a soft giggle. I would expect a sane person to be thrown off by a stranger smelling them, but this woman clearly isn’t all there in the head. In fact, I think she likes it. “Do I smell good?” She giggles.

I grasp the back of my neck and purse my lips—my eyes never leaving hers. “You are intoxicating. Please, I must know your name.”

She swirls her tongue slowly over the hard candy, her eyes hooded and dripping with lust. Fuck. “I’m Cherise.”

“What’s your last name?” I will mark this one, but I plan to claim her soul for an entirely different reason this Christmas.

“You’re soooo nosey,” she quips, playfully. “It’s Bates. Like the movie Psycho.” She takes the lollipop out of her mouth and stabs the air with it, laughing hysterically. Fucking. Crazy. Woman.

Cherise Bates. Her name doesn’t send the familiar tingles across my skin when I mark a victim. I cock my head, observing her closer. Her skin is riddled with scars, with an especially jagged and deep one passing between both of her lips. Her arms and neck are covered with little purple blemishes, tenting her skin. Did she do this to herself? Or is this someone else’s doing? I find myself consumed with thoughts of personally tracking down those that caused her harm, and if it was her marking herself like this, well… I’d have to punish her for that.

“What’s your name, sugar?” Her question snaps me from my spiraling thoughts of the alluring mystery of her presence.

I meet her stare once more with a sinister curve to my lips. “I’m Nik—Nik Saintclair.”

Her eyes blaze with lust at my admission—my false name. After this bizarre encounter, I do know one thing for certain: this girl’s fucking mine. Every fucked up part of her, I want to discover and claim as my own—but I want her to give me her soul willingly—something I’ve never done before.