Kraved by Krampus (Yule Be Mine Monster)

15. Clara

Chapter fifteen

Clara

I wake to warm sunlight filtering through the windows, casting golden patterns across my rumpled bedsheets. My body feels heavy with sleep, and I blink a few times, trying to orient myself in the gentle morning light.

Did last night really happen?

I might try to deny it, except that my body is delightfully sore from last night’s activities. The memories flood back, heating my cheeks and sending tingles through my body.

After a long stretch, I throw on my favorite cozy sweater and comfy pants, and pad down to the kitchen, drawn by the scent of something delicious.

The sight that greets me stops me in my tracks. Krampus stands at the stove, his massive frame somehow making the domestic scene even more appealing. He’s traded his usual old-fashioned attire for a simple black sweater that clings to his broad shoulders, and his sleeves are rolled up, revealing corded forearms as holding a spatula. The morning light catches his obsidian horns, making them gleam.

“Good morning, little mate.” His deep voice wraps around me like warm honey. “I had to argue with Magnus for the right to cook for you. The cabin was quite insistent on preparing your breakfast itself.”

I lean against the doorframe, taking in the surreal scene. “You cook?”

A rich chuckle escapes him as he flips what looks like the perfect golden-brown French toast. “I’ve had centuries to perfect many skills.”

The kitchen seems to glow with contentment, warm and inviting in a way that feels different from Magnus’s usual magic. Steam rises from a mug of tea on the counter—my favorite blend, I notice—and the table is already set for two.

My bare feet make no sound on the warm floor as I move closer, drawn by both curiosity and the domestic intimacy of the moment. “I didn’t expect...”

“That the fearsome Krampus would know his way around a kitchen?” His red eyes spark with amusement as he plates the French toast. “There’s much you don’t know about me yet, little mate.”

The way he says ‘yet’ ripples through me with tantalizing promise.

The French toast melts in my mouth, perfectly crispy on the outside and custardy within. Each bite carries hints of vanilla and cinnamon that dance on my tongue.

“This is incredible.” I take another eager bite, forgetting my usual careful manners. “Where did you learn to cook like this?”

His massive frame shifts in the chair across from me, which somehow adjusts to accommodate his size. “I spent time in Paris during the Belle époque. The pastry chefs there were quite... accommodating after I helped out during a particularly harsh winter.”

The casual mention of his immortality throws me off balance. I focus on spreading more maple syrup across my plate, watching as it pools in golden streams.

“The storm has left quite a spectacle outside.” Krampus gestures toward the window with his fork. Beyond the glass, sunlight sparkles off fresh snow that blankets everything in sight. Ice crystals catch the light like scattered diamonds.

My fingers itch to write about this scene—the way the morning sun transforms the winter landscape into something magical. More magical than usual , I correct myself, thinking of all I’ve witnessed lately.

“Perhaps after breakfast, you’d join me for a walk?” His deep voice holds a note of uncertainty that seems at odds with his imposing presence. “The woods are particularly beautiful after a fresh snow.”

Noelle would have hesitated, would have worried about being alone with him. But Clara.. and after last night... Heat creeps up my neck at the memory.

“I’d like that.” I drain the last of my perfectly-warmed tea. “Though I should probably change into something more suitable for trudging through snow than my pajama pants and sweater.”

His crimson eyes darken as they sweep over my cozy ensemble. “Indeed. Though you look quite... charming as you are.”

I nearly knock over my empty teacup as I stand, flustered by the intensity of his gaze. “I’ll just... go get ready then.”

The stairs creak helpfully under my feet as I retreat, Magnus’s way of steadying my suddenly wobbly knees. Behind me, I hear Krampus’s low chuckle, and the dishes begin washing themselves in the sink.

I bundle up in my warmest sweater, boots, and a thick wool coat I find hanging by the door. The coat seems to adjust itself perfectly to my measurements as I slip it on. I should probably be much more unsettled by all this supernatural strangeness in my life, but these magical perks are surprisingly easy to embrace.

The crisp morning air hits my face as I step outside and meet Krampus on the porch. Fresh snow blankets everything in pristine white, untouched except for a few animal tracks. The trees sparkle with frost, their branches heavy with snow.

“The winter silence is my favorite part after a storm.” Krampus walks beside me, his massive frame somehow not leaving footprints in the snow. “It’s the moment when nature holds its breath.”

I pause to admire an ice-covered branch, where the morning sun transforms ordinary frost into rainbow prisms. “It’s like being inside a snow globe.”

His large hand comes into view, gesturing at the branch. The ice crystals rearrange themselves into delicate patterns, forming what looks like tiny frozen flowers.

“How do you do that?”

“Winter magic responds to intent.” His crimson eyes meet mine. “The cold has always been more than just an absence of heat. It’s a force of its own.”

We continue walking, the snow crunching beneath my boots while Krampus glides silently beside me. The path seems to clear itself ahead of us, though I notice we’re moving deeper into the woods than I ventured before.

“Where are we going?”

“There’s something I want to show you.”

The trees part to reveal a small clearing. In the center stands an ancient oak tree, its massive trunk wrapped in strings of crystalline ice that catch the sunlight. The branches above form a natural dome, with icicles hanging like wind chimes.

“This is beautiful.” My breath forms little clouds in the air. “Did you create this?”

“No. This tree has been here longer than I have.” He reaches out to touch the trunk, and the ice formations shimmer in response. “It’s one of the old places, where winter magic gathers naturally.”

I step closer to the tree, drawn by something I can’t explain. The air feels different here, charged with energy that makes my skin tingle. When I reach out to touch the ice-covered bark, tiny sparks of blue light dance under my fingertips.

Krampus goes very still beside me.

“What was that?” My heart races, but not from fear.

“That, little mate, was you.” His voice carries a note of satisfaction I don’t quite understand. “The tree recognizes its own.”

I pull my hand back, watching as the sparks fade. “I don’t understand.”

“You will.” His massive hand covers mine, guiding it back to the tree trunk. This time, the blue lights spread like ripples through the ice formations, creating a spectacular light show above us.

The display leaves me breathless, but questions crowd my mind. Before I can voice them, a cold wind whips through the clearing, making me shiver despite my warm coat.

Krampus steps closer, his body radiating heat like a furnace. “Perhaps we should head back. Magnus will be upset if I let you catch cold.”

The snow crunches beneath our boots as we make our way back to the cabin. A chorus of giggles draws my attention to a group of children building what appears to be a snow fort.

“Those aren’t ordinary snowballs.” I point to the shimmering spheres floating around the children’s heads.

Krampus stiffens beside me but says nothing.

Before he can move, one of the snowballs zooms past us, barely missing my ear. The children scatter, their laughter echoing through the trees. There must be magic in the air because we are still close to the ancient tree.

“Let me try something.” I step forward, remembering how my mother used to handle difficult story time sessions at the library. “Hey kids, want to hear a tale about the Great Winter Battle?”

The giggles stop. Three small heads peek out from behind trees.

“There was once a mighty snow queen who taught her soldiers that true power comes from protecting others, not causing chaos.” My words feel weighted, almost tangible in the crisp air. The floating snowballs slowly descend as the children emerge from hiding.

A small girl with silver-streaked hair approaches. “Did the snow queen win?”

“She did, but only after learning to control her magic with wisdom and love.”

The remaining snowballs gently settle into a perfect pile at our feet. The children gather around, eyes wide and attentive as I spin the tale.

Krampus observes silently, his expression unreadable. When the children finally disperse, he turns to me. “That was... unexpected.”

“Sometimes stories work better than punishment.” I pause, noting his troubled expression. “You don’t actually enjoy disciplining them, do you?”

His jaw tightens. “The tales of me beating children with branches are greatly exaggerated. I guide those who have lost their way. But humans...” He breaks off, his massive shoulders tensing. “They turned me into a monster who delights in cruelty.”

“But that’s not who you are.”

“What I am is complicated, little mate.” His voice roughens. “The truth would—“He stops abruptly as one of the children returns, tugging at my sleeve.

“Miss, your hair glows like my sister’s when you tell stories.” The little girl reaches up, touching a strand of my hair.

Glows?

Krampus clears his throat. “Run along now, little one. Your lessons await.”

I watch the child skip away, her own hair shimmering with that same silver streak I noticed earlier. “What kind of lessons?”

“Perhaps we should head back.” Krampus offers his arm, effectively ending the conversation.

But I can’t shake the image of those floating snowballs, or the way the children responded to my story. It felt natural, like I’d done it a thousand times before.

The rest of the walk back to Magnus feels different. The earlier playful atmosphere has shifted into something heavier, like the air before a storm. Each step through the snow seems deliberate, measured.

What aren’t you telling me, Krampus?

His arm is linked with mine, steady and warm despite the chill. The contrast between his intimidating presence and gentle touch still throws me off balance.

A flicker of movement catches my eye—something dark and serpentine slithering between the trees. My heart skips. I whip my head around, but there’s nothing there except pristine snow and bare branches.

“What is it?” Krampus’s fingers tighten on my arm.

I force a laugh, but it sounds hollow even to my ears. “Just my writer’s imagination running wild. You know how it is—start thinking about monsters in the woods, and suddenly every shadow looks suspicious.”

His red eyes narrow, scanning the treeline. The temperature drops several degrees.

“It’s nothing.” I pat his arm, trying to convince myself as much as him. “Really. I spend so much time making up stories, sometimes my brain gets carried away.”

Like how it’s getting carried away about glowing hair and floating snowballs and children with silver streaks.

But Krampus doesn’t move, his massive frame completely still. For a moment, he reminds me of a predator scenting the air. Then he blinks, and the intensity fades.

“Magnus is waiting.” He guides me forward, but his stride is more purposeful now, eating up the distance between us and the cabin.

I risk one more glance over my shoulder. The woods remain still, peaceful even, but I can’t shake the feeling that something watched us from those shadows.

Something that didn’t want to be seen.