Kraved by Krampus (Yule Be Mine Monster)

3. Noelle

Chapter three

Noelle

T he darkness wraps around me like a cloak, but the fireplace provides enough light to see. My hands tremble as I grip the manuscript tighter, my dark little secret ready to become nothing but ash.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper to the pages. “But you were never meant to exist.”

One by one, I drop the sheets into the flames. The fire devours them eagerly, orange tongues licking up the edges of my careful handwriting. The ink sparkles one last time before disappearing forever.

My chest tightens with each page I destroy. It feels wrong, like I’m burning pieces of myself, but I force myself to continue. Better to kill this story now than let it destroy everything I’ve built.

The fire crackles and spits, flames turning an unnatural shade of purple as they consume my words about Krampus and his dark winter magic. I tell myself it’s just a trick of the light, the result of too many sleepless nights and too much stress.

As the last page catches fire, a deep groan echoes through the cabin. The wooden beams overhead creak and shift, a sound like bones breaking. The floorboards beneath my feet seem to vibrate with disapproval.

“Stop it,” I say to the empty room. “It’s just an old house settling.”

Another creak, louder this time, and the window shutters slam closed. The temperature drops so fast I can see my breath. The remaining flames in the fireplace flutter and dance, casting strange shadows on the walls.

The cabin seems to contract around me, wood groaning in protest at what I’ve done. Even the previously cozy reading nook feels hostile now, its cushions rigid and uninviting.

“It’s done,” I announce to the room, trying to sound firm despite feeling crazy for doing so. “I’m going back to writing what I should have been writing all along.”

The cabin responds with a series of sharp cracks, like gunshots in the silence. A door slams somewhere upstairs, though I know I closed them all earlier.

The ashes swirl in the fireplace, defying gravity as they spiral upward instead of settling. My heart pounds against my ribs as the purple flames twist into impossible shapes. This can’t be happening.

A dark form materializes within the fire itself, growing larger and larger until it towers over me. The temperature plummets further, frost crystallizing on the windows. I stumble backward, my hip hitting the arm of the couch.

Red eyes gleam in the darkness, and obsidian horns catch the firelight. The figure steps out of the flames, bringing shadows with him that curl around his massive frame like living smoke. He’s exactly as I wrote him—but that’s impossible because I just burned those pages.

“You.” The word escapes my lips in a shaky whisper.

“Did you think destroying the pages would make me disappear?” His voice is deep, resonant, exactly like the voice that’s been in my head these past weeks. “You called me forth with every word you wrote.”

I shake my head, backing up and putting the couch between us. “You’re not real. You can’t be.”

“I’m as real as the blood in your veins, little mate.” He moves closer, and despite his intimidating size, his steps are silent on the wooden floor. “Your words awakened what was already there, waiting.”

“Mate?” The word comes out strangled. “What are you talking about?”

“The ancient magic of Yuletide chose you for me.” His clawed hand reaches out, not quite touching my face. “Why do you think these stories poured out of you? Why do you think you couldn’t stop writing about me?”

The air between us crackles with electricity. Every hair on my body stands on end, and my skin tingles where his shadow-cloak brushes against me.

“We’re bound, Clara. Have been since the moment you first put pen to paper.”

“Clara?” Ice floods my veins. No one knows that name—not my readers, not my publisher. I’ve buried it deep beneath layers of Noelle Goodheart, Queen of Christmas Cheer.

“Stay back.” I grab the fireplace poker, brandishing it between us. “This isn’t happening. You’ll destroy everything I’ve built.”

His expression shifts, shadows dancing across his face. “You fear your own truth more than me.”

“My truth? I write wholesome holiday romances. I inspire people. I give them hope.” The poker trembles in my grip. “Not... whatever dark fantasy this is.”

“Dark fantasy?” A low growl rumbles through his chest. “Is that what you think this is?”

“My career would be over. Do you know how hard I’ve worked to build this image? To be someone people can trust?” The words spill out, frantic. “I can’t be associated with… with demons and darkness and—”

“And passion?” He steps closer, and the metal in my hands grows cold. “The very things you pour onto those secret pages of yours?”

“Stop it.” I back away until I hit the wall. “I won’t let you ruin everything. I’m Noelle Goodheart. I write about Christmas miracles and sweet kisses under mistletoe. Not... not...”

“Not ancient winter gods who claim their mates?” His eyes flash. “Not the primal magic that is coursing through you?”

“I reject this. I reject you.” My voice cracks. “Go back to whatever dark place you came from and leave me alone.”

The temperature drops further, frost creeping across the floorboards. His massive form seems to fill the entire room, shadows writhing around him like living things.

“You can reject me, little mate, but you cannot reject what you are.” His words cut through the air. “And you are so much more than the cage you’ve built for yourself.”

The shadows coil around him like living smoke as he takes another step forward. My back presses harder against the wall, but there’s nowhere left to retreat.

“By winter’s end, you’ll be mine, embracing both me and your true nature.” His voice drops lower, sending shivers through my body that have nothing to do with fear. “Fight it all you want, but you know I speak truth.”

My heart pounds so hard I swear he must hear it. The air between us feels electric, charged with something ancient and wild that calls to a part of me I’ve tried so hard to bury.

“I won’t.” But my voice wavers, betraying me. In the fireplace, the ashes of my manuscript still spiral upward in defiance of gravity, dancing in time with my racing pulse.

He reaches out, one clawed finger tracing the air inches from my cheek. Heat blooms beneath my skin where his shadow touches me. “Your magic responds to mine, little mate. Can you feel it?”

I can. God help me, I can feel magic. It pulses between us like a living thing, and the walls of the cabin seem to close in, subtle shifts that push us closer together. The scent of winter pine and wood smoke fills my lungs.

“This isn’t happening.” But even as I say it, my traitorous body leans toward him, drawn by some primal force I can’t explain. “I’m not what you think I am. This isn’t real. I don’t have magic.”

“No?” His massive frame cages me against the wall, and that crackling energy intensifies. “Then why do your ashes dance when you’re near me? Why does your pulse race? Why do you dream of darkness and winter nights? Of me?”

The ashes whirl faster, catching purple flames that shouldn’t exist. My manuscript, burning again with impossible fire, yet I can’t look away from those burning red eyes.

“I’m not yours.” But the words come out breathless, unconvincing, even to my own ears.

His low chuckle reverberates through my chest. “We shall see, little mate. We shall see.”

The shadows recede as he steps back, but his presence still dominates the room. I suck in a shaky breath, my lungs burning from holding it for so long. The cabin walls seem to expand again, no longer pushing us together, but the air remains charged with that strange, electric energy.

He turns away, moving toward the window with a fluid grace that belies his size. Outside, the snow swirls faster, the wind howling like a living thing. The glass frosts over, intricate patterns spreading across the panes.

I push away from the wall, my legs unsteady. “What’s happening?”

“A storm is coming.” His voice is calm, almost amused. “Looks like we’ll be spending some quality time together, little mate.”

Quality time. His words send a chill through me that isn’t caused by the cold. I hug myself, attempting to steady my shaking hands.

“I don’t want to spend any time with you.” But even as I say it, I know it’s a lie. Some traitorous part of me wants to step closer, to feel that crackling energy again.

He glances over his shoulder, red eyes glinting. “You say that now. But by the time this storm passes, you’ll be begging me to stay.”

Begging him. Heat floods my cheeks at the implication. I force myself to meet his gaze, lifting my chin. “I won’t beg for anything from you.”

“We shall see.” He turns back to the window, watching the swirling snow. “The storm will give us plenty of time to... explore our connection.”

Explore our connection. The words hang in the air, heavy with promise and threat. I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry.

“There is no connection.” But my voice wavers, betraying me.

He chuckles, the sound vibrating through my bones. “Keep telling yourself that, little mate. Maybe if you say it enough, you’ll start to believe it.”

I bristle at his condescension. “Don’t call me that. I’m not your anything.”

He turns to face me fully, shadows curling around his massive frame. “Not yet. But you will be.”

The certainty in his voice sends a jolt through me. I take a step back, needing to put some distance between us. “You’re delusional if you think I’ll ever be yours.”

“Am I?” He takes a step closer, and the air seems to thicken. “Then why do your shadows reach for mine even now?”

I glance down, my breath catching. He’s right. The darkness at my feet stretches toward him, tendrils curling around his boots. I jerk back, but the shadows follow, clinging to me like cobwebs.

“Stop it.” I try to shake them off, but they only wind tighter. “I don’t want this.”

“You do.” He closes the distance between us, towering over me. “You’re just too afraid to admit it.”

I stare up at him, my heart still thumping fast. The shadows twist around us, binding us together in a dark embrace.

“I’m not afraid of you.” But my voice shakes, betraying my lie.

“No?” He leans down, his breath hot against my ear. “Then why do you tremble, little mate?”

Trembling, my body reacts to his proximity in ways I can’t control. Heat blooms beneath my skin, and the ache between my thighs intensifies.

“It’s cold.” But we both know that’s not the reason.

He chuckles, the sound vibrating through me. “Then perhaps we should find a way to warm you up.”

The implication in his words sends a flush through my entire body. I try to step back again, but the shadows hold me in place, tethering me to him.

“I don’t need warming up.” I lift my chin, trying to project a confidence I don’t feel. “Especially not from you.”

“We have time, little mate.” His shadows release me and he glances toward the window, where the storm rages on. “And I intend to use every moment of it to show you exactly what you need.”