CHAPTER 14

“WOO!” MY LIFE flashes in time with the snow pelting my cheeks. I’m too euphoric to feel the bite as the little sled leaps off of the ground. Clinging to the rope for dear life with my mittens, I face the upcoming drop without a touch of dread. In this eternal winter wonderland, I can’t tell where the ground begins until I’ve already hit it.

The sled skids, the runners weaving me back and forth as I race down the slope. On an outcropping above me, a family of deer watches the human-turned-sausage in all the winter gear Krampus could find. I give another whoop and they scatter. The sled hits a flat point across the field and begins to slow. Blinking away the frost, I gaze at the rare blue sky. Peaks of white tear apart the few fluffy clouds as the mountain air echoes with my cries.

The runners reach the end of the plane and tip to nearly forty-five degrees. I lift a hand to cheer, but the sled shoots down. Tucking in, I lock onto the only means of steering and try to dodge around the snow packs. At first, it’s not too hard, but as the hill keeps going, I struggle to anticipate—then I can’t even see them shooting past.

How do I stop?

I don’t ever want to stop! This is the greatest—!

“Op!” The sled leaps then is no longer under me. One minute I’m on the sled, the next I’m rolling in the snow. Wood and metal flash before my eyes before the sled goes one way, and I keep bounding the other. “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” I cry out. My first instinct is to reach out to catch myself, but my arms are bundled in so much fleece and wool I can barely move them.

Snow flies up, freezing my cheeks. I shut my eyes and let the momentum take me until I finally come to a stop face down. I wiggle my legs, trying to right myself, but the suit’s too heavy. Like a turtle, I try rocking back and forth. I get in a deep breath, the air turning to frost up my nose, when I’m suddenly lifted off the ground.

“Amaya!” he grunts, flipping me around. With care, he brushes away the snow as best as he can. A handful finds its way through my cinched hood. I gaze at him, his gray face darkened by the bright blues of the sky. His long chin beard waggles as he fixates on getting me dry.

“That was fun,” I say.

“You scared me half to death.” Krampus pulls me tighter into his arms. As my face brushes against his chest, the heat causes my cheeks to ignite. I start to lean back before another cruel wind sends me racing for his warmth.

“It isn’t sledding if there isn’t a wipeout or two,” I say, then risk the cold to look around. “Where is my trusty steed?”

He spins us around. Bright red runners are bent and the wood is splintered on a boulder jutting up from the ground.

“Oh, no. I’m sorry.”

“That can be fixed. You, however…”

I laugh at his sudden henpecking. “Since when do you not enjoy bruising my thighs?”

Hot air bursts from his nostrils. “There is a difference in breaking bones and…” Despite there being no one on the mountain but us, that scary goat-man blushes bright pink. Shaking his head, he hefts me up. “You should head inside. You’ve been out enough already.”

“What? Come on. Just a few more minutes.”

The storm ended. We have all day with nothing else to do. What’s the rush?

I fly through the air and my belly lands on his shoulder. He pins my ankles to his chest leaving me to stare out at the snowy mountain. “No,” he says.

“But we’ve—”

A slap strikes my ass. It’s padded by denim, fleece, wool, and waterproof polyester, but the point is made. I fall silent as he trudges us back to his castle up the scooped path.

With a weary sigh, he says, “You can come back tomorrow.”

“Yes!”

He brought home so much more than the warm gear. There were boots for hiking, socks thick as Christmas stockings, sunglasses, hats, jeans, heavy shirts, and the like. But there were also the strawberry seeds he found because I missed them. A trunkful of books had spilled across the floor. Oh, and he even picked up a little gift basket of bath salts and body oils.

Turns out the Krampus loves being rubbed down with peony and suede oil. Especially when I work it into his muscles as he’s resting in the bath.

Time passed quicker than before. I delighted in the sprouting strawberries while also building a sled for myself when the weather finally broke.

And, after enjoying the endless snow day at last, my body’s not happy. Holding a mug of soup to my chest, I crumble into his huge leather armchair. My back cries out, muscles twisted from the fall.

Wincing, I reach up to try to rub the knot away and catch him watching.

“Are you in pain?”

“No.” I grumble and drop my hand.

“A lie. And a terrible one at that.” He sets down his book and rises.

“You know, having a boyfriend that can sense lies is really…” Warm fingers brush down my shoulders. “…creepy.”

Thumbs dig into my knotted muscle and I groan. He stands closer, pulling me back into the chair. “Do you mean it?”

He works down, hitting the parts of my body the ground pummeled. I hiss in shock but give in as he softens his touch. “There’s nothing wrong with a little white lie,” I insist.

“No.” Krampus bends over. He kisses the top of my forehead, then whispers, “You called me your boyfriend.”

“I did?”

“Do you mean it?”

We have been together for months, at least more than nine. We fuck damn near every day. I look forward to seeing him in the morning, to being held by him at night. He may be some kind of goat demon tied to the winter solstice who lives alone on a mountain, but that still sounds like boyfriend behavior to me.

“Yeah.” I run my finger over his hand, tracing the veins. “I do.”

“Then imagine how I feel, seeing my girlfriend throw herself into mortal danger.”

“It wasn’t mortal danger. It was more like…ouch!”

“Sorry,” he whispers, slipping off of the biggest bruise to work on the small of my back.

“Like a light pummeling. No worse than what you dish out in bed.” I bat my eyes at him, a coy giggle daring him to throw me over his shoulder now.

He doesn’t give in. “I far prefer for it to be me who gives you the bruises and not the mountain.”

My ribs ache from the roll, but I can withstand every glance of his fingers over my bruises until he touches my wrists. I yank them back without a thought and start to rub the hidden welts.

“Do they still hurt?” he asks.

“Yes.” I gulp, my head dropping in shame.

He answers by running his hand through my wet hair. I lean into his palm, wanting to cry. He can do damn near anything to me and I’m game. Split me open on his cock, whip my ass with his ruten, fuck my mouth while I’m laying like a bearskin rug… But the second he touches my wrists, I’m back at that night.

Terrified.

Crying.

Shaking because I know I’m gonna die.

I don’t know why he was able to hold them that first time in the hot springs, but overnight this trauma bloomed like a nest of briars and it won’t go away. “I’m sorry,” I mutter.

“There’s no point to apologize. It’s not your fault.”

Isn’t it though? I’m the one who can’t give it up. I can’t forget that night, I can’t let DeVere get away with it again. But I’ve found nothing. All the books about the Krampus, that don’t sing his praises or warn children about him, say the same thing. Any who go through the door will forget, and there is no way for a mortal to make it down the mountain and survive.

“Your beard.” I point to his chin. The dimple is long buried in a waterfall of black fur. “It’s gotten an inch longer.”

“Has it?” He picks up the hair as if he can’t believe it’s grown at all.

I’ve never seen him shave. He just went from one day having sexy cowboy muttonchops to a full-on hermit beard that keeps growing. I swear, his fur is getting thicker too, and the nights are drawing longer. He doesn’t have to say it.

Christmas is coming.

Once again, Damien DeVere will trick another young girl into his house where he’ll drug and chain her up as a sacrifice to the monstrous Krampus.

I run my fingers over the skin of my pristine wrists. I don’t want to keep going back there. I don’t want to flinch every time he holds my hand and his thumb brushes over my wrist. I don’t want to shy away from him using all that rope to tie me up into his perfect Christmas present.

“Hon,” I whisper, my breath hard as stone.

He looks up from his book about a fisherman who solves murders.

I clench one hand around my wrist, then hold the other. “I want you to suspend me.”

“A swing wouldn’t be too difficult to fabricate.”

“By my wrists and ankles.”

His book slams shut.

“My doe, that’s…”

I close my eyes tight. “I want you to do it in front of the fireplace, like the first night we…met. I want you to come up behind me, to touch me as you had.” Tears in my eyes, I spin in the chair to face him. “And I want you to fuck me so hard I never think about that place again.”

The big, scary Krampus swallows and nods.