Kraved by Krampus (Yule Be Mine Monster)

9. Krampus

Chapter nine

Krampus

T he fire crackles as we settle before it, Magnus helpfully pushing my favorite chair closer. Clara kneels beside me, medical supplies spread across the coffee table that’s inched itself within her reach.

“Take off your shirt.” Her clinical tone doesn’t match the blush spreading across her cheeks.

I comply, wincing as the fabric pulls away from the wounds. Her sharp intake of breath echoes in the quiet room.

“These need cleaning.” She dips a cloth in warm water, her hands steady despite her racing pulse. “I always wondered, you know. About the stories.”

Here it comes. My muscles tense, preparing for the judgment I’ve faced for centuries.

“They say you beat naughty children with birch branches.” Her voice remains carefully neutral as she begins cleaning the wounds. “That you drag them to hell. Some versions even claim you eat them.”

The fire dims, matching my darkening mood. Of course she’d heard those tales. Everyone has.

“Is that what you believe?” My voice comes out rougher than intended.

Her hands pause on my chest. “I used to. Before tonight. But I saw how you were with that boy. You put yourself between him and danger without hesitation.”

The warmth of her touch seeps into my skin, making it harder to maintain my usual distance. “The stories aren’t entirely wrong. I am a punisher.”

“Are you?” She applies antiseptic with gentle strokes. “Because what I saw was someone who protects children, even from themselves. You could have let that cursed magic go out of control. Instead, you took the hit.”

If only she knew how many I’ve failed. How many I couldn’t save. “I’m not the hero you’re trying to make me into, little mate.”

“Then what are you?”

I meet her gaze, expecting to find fear or revulsion. Instead, there’s only curiosity and something softer I don’t dare name.

“I am what winter demanded I become. A guardian who must sometimes be cruel to be kind. The darkness that keeps the light safe.”

Her fingers trace one of the ancient marks on my chest, sending sparks of heat through my body. “Maybe that’s why your story called to me. Even before I knew you were real, I wrote about someone misunderstood. Someone who carried darkness but wasn’t defined by it.”

I don’t deserve this understanding. This gentleness. Magnus creaks disapprovingly as if he can read my thoughts, the fire popping louder in agreement.

“The truth is rarely as simple as the stories make it seem.” Her hands move to another wound, but her touch feels more like a caress. “Maybe it’s time for a new story.”

Her words pierce through centuries of carefully constructed walls. The fire dims further, shadows creeping closer as my control slips.

“You want the truth?” I pull away from her gentle hands. “I’m not just some misunderstood creature of winter. I was created to maintain balance.”

She sits back on her heels, head tilted. “Balance?”

“Magic seeks out children, little mate. It’s drawn to their pure belief, their endless possibilities.” The shadows dance around us as memories surface. “But untamed magic is dangerous. What you saw tonight? That happens when there’s no one to guide them.”

“So you... teach them?”

A bitter laugh escapes me. “I find them. Protect them. And yes, sometimes I must be cruel to save them from worse fates.”

Her eyes widen as she processes my words. “The naughty list isn’t about punishment, is it?”

“It’s a way to track magical children before their power becomes unstable.” I lean forward, needing her to understand. “I take the difficult cases.”

She reaches for me, her fingers ghosting over the marks on my chest. “And what are these? Protection symbols?”

Her face is so close now, those warm brown eyes searching mine for answers I’m not sure I should give. The air grows thick with magic.

Just one taste...

I catch her hand before it can wander further. “Let me show you instead.”

She blinks, the spell broken. “Show me what?”

“The truth. There’s a town nearby where some of my charges live.” I stand, careful to put distance between us. “If you promise not to run again, I’ll take you there.”

“You’d trust me after I already tried to escape once?”

“I’m choosing to believe you’ve learned the forest isn’t as safe as you thought.” I extend my hand. “What do you say, little mate? Ready to see what I really am?”

Her fingers slide into mine, warm and sure. “Yes.”

Magnus’s floorboards groan beneath our feet, the sound distinctly disapproving. The cabin’s temperature drops a few degrees – his way of getting my attention.

I know, old friend. She needs rest.

Much as I want to show Clara everything now, the events of the night have taken their toll. Dark circles shadow her eyes, and she’s swaying slightly on her feet, though trying to hide it.

“The town can wait until tomorrow.” I squeeze her hand gently before releasing it. “You need food and rest.”

She opens her mouth to protest, but her stomach growls loudly enough to echo through the room. A blush creeps across her cheeks.

“I’m fine, really—”

Magnus’s kitchen door swings open with enough force to rattle the hinges. Subtle as ever, old friend.

“I believe the house disagrees.” I gesture toward the open door. “After you.”

Warm light spills into the hallway, carrying the scent of fresh bread and something heartier. Clara steps into the kitchen and freezes.

The oak table—which was empty minutes ago—now creaks under the weight of a feast. Steam rises from a pot of thick stew, surrounded by crusty bread, roasted vegetables, and what appears to be an entire apple pie.

“I...” She turns in a slow circle, taking in the spread. “Did you do this?”

“Magnus has strong opinions about hospitality.” I lean against the doorframe, watching her expression shift from confusion to wonder. “He’s rather protective of his guests.”

As if to prove my point, a chair scrapes across the floor, positioning itself perfectly behind her. The table settings rearrange themselves—plates and cutlery sliding into place with military precision.

“The cabin...” She sinks into the offered chair. “It’s understands everything, doesn’t it?”

“In his own way.” I take the seat across from her as a ladle rises from the stew pot, filling her bowl. “He’s been alone for a long time. Having someone new to fuss over makes him happy.”

The bread basket inches closer to her hand. A warm roll practically leaps onto her plate.

You’re laying it on rather thick , I think toward the ceiling. A light fixture flickers in what I swear is a wink.

Clara picks up her spoon, then hesitates. “Will you eat too?”

“I don’t need—” The temperature plummets, and a second bowl fills itself pointedly. “Apparently, I will.”

Her laugh, soft and genuine, makes something in my chest tighten. She takes a bite of stew, and her eyes widen.

“This is incredible.” She tears into the roll. “How did Magnus even...?”

“Best not to question his methods. He gets smug enough as it is.”

The cabin’s walls vibrate with what might be laughter.

I watch Clara stifle another yawn behind her hand as she finishes the last bite of apple pie. Her eyelids droop despite her obvious fight to keep them open.

“Come.” I stand, offering my hand. “You need rest.”

She takes it without hesitation this time, her smaller fingers fitting perfectly against my palm. The contact sends sparks of magic dancing across my skin.

Magnus dims the kitchen lights behind us as we climb the stairs, casting everything in soft shadows. Clara leans slightly against me, exhaustion finally catching up with her.

“I should check those wounds again first,” she murmurs, stumbling slightly on the top step.

I steady her with a hand at her waist. “Tomorrow, little mate. You can barely stand.”

The hallway stretches before us, moonlight spilling through arched windows. Her bedroom door swings open as we approach, warm light beckoning from within.

She pauses in the doorway, turning to face me. The golden glow from her room catches in her hair, creating a halo effect that steals my breath. Her scent—vanilla and old books—wraps around me, testing my control.

“Thank you.” Her voice is soft, intimate in the quiet hallway. “For saving that boy. For showing me there’s more to the stories.”

My thumb traces circles on her waist where I still hold her. She shivers, pupils dilating. The air grows thick with possibility.

So easy to close this distance. To taste those lips again...

But the shadows under her eyes remind me why we’re here. She needs rest, not my selfish desires. More importantly, she needs to trust that I won’t take advantage of her vulnerable state.

I lean down, pressing my lips to her forehead instead. “Sweet dreams, sugarplum.”

Her sharp intake of breath sends another wave of her scent washing over me. I force myself to step back, dropping my hands to my sides.

“Sleep well.” I turn away before I can change my mind, striding down the hallway as Magnus softly closes her door behind me.

I pause at the bottom of the stairs, running a hand over my face. Clara’s scent lingers on my clothes, making it difficult to focus.

Get it together. She needs time.

I shake off the lingering desire and stride toward the kitchen. Focus on something productive.

Magnus adjusts the lighting as I enter, casting a warm glow over the copper pots hanging above the island. The kettle slides forward on the counter, a gentle reminder that Clara enjoys her morning tea.

“No, old friend. Something more special than tea.” I open the pantry, searching for the ancient spice rack. “She deserves a proper winter welcome drink.”

The old cabinet doors swing open, revealing my collection of magical ingredients. Crystal bottles filled with morning dew collected from frost flowers. Vials of liquid starlight. Powdered aurora borealis.

“What do you think? Something to ease her awakening?”

The spice rack rotates, stopping at a jar of crystallized honey from the Winter Court’s sacred bees. A good start.

I gather ingredients, setting them on the counter. The honey, dried snowberries, and a pinch of ground moonstone for pleasant dreams. A shelf shifts, presenting a bottle of cream from Arctic reindeer.

“Perfect choice.”

Magnus dims the lights further as I work, creating the optimal environment for brewing magical beverages. The kettle fills itself with spring water from the deepest mountain caves.

I measure each ingredient with precision, stirring three times clockwise with a silver spoon. The mixture glows softly, tiny sparkles dancing through the cream-colored liquid like the season’s first snowfall.

“This should help her wake feeling refreshed and...” The temperature in the room drops slightly. “Yes, yes, I know. No enchantments to influence her feelings. Just something to ensure sweet dreams and a gentle awakening.”

The pantry door rattles in what I choose to interpret as approval. I pour the mixture into a crystal goblet etched with protective runes. When Clara drinks this in the morning, she’ll experience the peaceful sensation of waking up to the winter’s first snow—that moment of quiet wonder before the world fully stirs.

I place the goblet in a stasis bubble to keep it perfectly warm, then set it on her bedside table. Magic ripples through the air as I slip into her room, careful not to wake her.

Clara lies curled on her side, one hand tucked under her cheek. Her golden hair spills across the pillow, and her face holds such peace in sleep that my chest tightens.

My mate. My miracle.

I resist the urge to brush a strand of hair from her face. Instead, I withdraw silently, leaving her to her dreams.