Kraved by Krampus (Yule Be Mine Monster)

26. Clara

Chapter twenty-six

Clara

T he aftermath of the battle leaves my fingers tingling with residual magic. I trace the frost patterns on a nearby windowpane, watching as they shift and dance under my touch.

Mrs. Redmond settles into her chair at the library, sliding an ancient leather-bound book across the table. “Your mother knew what you would become. She left this for you.”

My hands shake as I open the grimoire. The pages smell of ink and winter pine, and the handwriting... Mom’s handwriting .

“A Winter grimoire witch?” The words feel foreign to my tongue. “But I write romance novels.”

“You write magic.” Mrs. Redmond’s eyes twinkle.

I flip through the pages, recognizing symbols I’ve absent-mindedly doodled in my manuscripts for years. “The ink stains that never wash off...”

“The mark of a grimoire witch. Your pen is your wand, your words are your spells.”

My teacup on the table starts to frost over, responding to my emotions. “That’s why my tea never gets cold. And why my manuscripts sometimes...” I pause, remembering all the times pages had fluttered without wind.

“Your mother was powerful, but she knew you would be more so. The combination of Winter Court magic and grimoire craft is rare.”

“The winter court has always needed its chroniclers.” Mrs. Redmond continued, voice soft. “Those who can capture magic in words, preserve it, share it. Your mother knew you would be stronger than she was.”

I trace one of the symbols in the book. Frost spreads from my fingertip, forming the same pattern on the table. “All those romance novels I wrote... they were actually...”

“Spells of protection and love, yes. Every story you’ve created has been a spell, woven with words and sealed with ink. That’s why your readers feel such a strong connection—you’ve been enchanting them all along. Though Victoria tried to twist them into something else.” Mrs. Redmond reaches over, closing her warm hand over mine. “But now you can write your true story.”

The revelation settles over me like fresh snow—quiet, transformative, and somehow right. “That’s why Krampus’s magic feels so familiar. We’re both of winter.”

“Indeed. Though his is ancient darkness and yours is written light, they complement each other perfectly.” Mrs. Redmond slides another book toward me, this one bound in midnight blue leather. “This is blank. It’s time for you to write your own grimoire.”

I open it, running my fingers over the pristine pages. Frost patterns swirl in their wake, forming words I’m not yet ready to read. My story is just beginning .

The Academy materializes before us as Krampus guides me through a veil of shadows. My breath catches at the sight of the sprawling Victorian building, its spires reaching toward the winter sky like crystalline fingers.

“This is where they come to learn?” I clutch my new grimoire closer to my chest.

“Those society labels as troubled or misbehaving.” Krampus’s hand rests warm against my lower back. “Their magic manifests in ways the modern world doesn’t understand.”

A group of children races past us in the courtyard, their laughter echoing off ancient stones. Small bursts of magical energy trail behind them like sparklers. One boy levitates slightly off the ground with each step.

“So when parents say their child is acting out...”

“Often, it’s untrained magic seeking release.” Krampus waves his hand, and a doorway appears in what was previously solid wall. “Some set fires without matches. Others make objects move when upset. A few speak to beings no one else can see.”

Inside, the halls glow with warm amber light. A young girl sits cross-legged in an alcove, her hands cupped around a dancing flame. Just like the fires I used to accidentally start in my wastebasket while writing .

“You don’t punish them at all, do you?” My voice comes out soft with wonder.

“I protect them.” His red eyes soften as he watches the children. “For many, we just give them a place to understand their gifts before returning them to their families with better control.”

We pass a classroom where students practice levitating feathers. Another where they learn to channel their energy into crystals. Each room reveals more of the truth—this isn’t a place of punishment, but of nurturing and growth.

“The chains and bells in the stories...”

“Training tools for energy control. The legends twisted everything into something dark.” His jaw tightens. “It was easier for humans to fear what they didn’t understand.”

A small boy runs up to Krampus, tugging on his coat. Frost patterns spread from the child’s fingers across the fabric.

“Look what I can do!”

Krampus kneels down, examining the intricate ice designs. “Excellent control, Thomas. Your parents will be proud when you return home.”

Return home . The words echo in my mind. “You don’t keep them?”

“Most stay only until they can safely control their abilities. Then they go back to their families, carrying the secret of magic into the modern world.” He straightens, watching Thomas run back to his friends. “Some will become powerful practitioners. Others will simply live quietly with their gifts. But all of them will know they aren’t alone.”

My gaze drifts to the upper floors of the academy, where ornate windows peek through the swirling snow. “And the others? The ones who don’t go home?”

Krampus’s shadow ripples across the courtyard. “Follow me.”

We ascend a grand staircase, each step illuminated by floating orbs of blue flame. The temperature drops as we climb higher, but I barely notice the chill anymore. My magic has changed me more than I realized.

The upper level opens into a different world entirely. Older students, teenagers mostly, practice more complex magic. In one room, a girl weaves shadows into intricate patterns. In another, a boy conducts what looks like an orchestra of ice crystals.

“These are my foundlings.” Pride resonates in Krampus’s voice. “Children whose gifts were too strong to hide, whose families couldn’t—or wouldn’t—understand.”

A knot forms in my throat. Like me, if I’d known what I was sooner.

“They become the guardians of winter magic.” He gestures to a young woman teaching younger students. Frost patterns dance around her hands as she demonstrates a spell. “Many join the Winter Court as advisors or teachers. Others become protectors of magical children in the modern world.”

“Like Mrs. Redmond?” The pieces click into place.

“Precisely. She was one of my first foundlings.” His lips curve into a rare smile. “Now she identifies children with magical potential, guides them—and their parents—through the transition.”

A group of older students passes us, their uniforms adorned with silver symbols that remind me of the ones in my grimoire. They bow slightly to Krampus before continuing down the hall.

“And some,” he continues, “become chroniclers of our world. Grimoire witches, like yourself, though none as powerful.”

My hand instinctively touches my book. “Is that why Victoria targeted me? Because of what I could become?”

“The Light Court has always feared the power of true stories.” His expression darkens. “They prefer their sanitized versions, where everything is black and white.”

Where Krampus is just a monster, and children need to be frightened into being good. The thought makes my blood boil.

I open my grimoire, watching as frost patterns form across the blank pages. “All those years, thinking I was just imaginative...”

“You were never alone.” His fingers brush mine, sending sparks of winter magic dancing between us. “You were always meant to find your way here.”

I close my grimoire, tracing the frost patterns with my finger. “I should probably start writing down everything I’ve learned.”

“Later.” Krampus’s hand settles on my lower back, guiding me toward the academy’s entrance. “First, I think we could both use something warm to drink.”

My stomach growls at the thought. When was the last time I actually ate? “The Frost & Flame? Hank’s been asking about you.”

The walk through Winterhaven feels different now. Every shop window, every passing face, holds new meaning. How many others are like me? Hidden in plain sight?

The cafe’s weathervane spins as we approach, though there’s no wind. The door stretches wider, accommodating Krampus’s height without him having to duck. I still can’t get over that.

“There’s my favorite author!” Hank’s booming voice fills the space. He’s already pouring something that steams and sparkles into two mugs. “Just finished brewing my special mulled wine.”

Special how? I eye the drink suspiciously as we settle into a cozy corner booth.

“It’s perfectly safe.” Krampus lifts his mug. “Unless you’re hiding something.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Hank sets down a plate of pastries between us. “Nothing dramatic—just helps people say what needs saying.” He winks at me. “Though some find it more revealing than others.”

I take a careful sip. Warmth floods through me, along with a sudden urge to giggle. “I used to draw little horns on all my book characters.” The words tumble out before I can stop them. “Even the sweet ones. Especially the sweet ones.”

Krampus chokes on his drink.

I narrow my eyes. “The cabin wasn’t actually available for rent, was it?”

“Magnus has very particular taste in tenants.”

We both drink again. The wine tastes like cinnamon and secrets.

“I was terrified of you at first.” More giggles bubble up. “But I also wanted to climb you like a tree.”

Behind the counter, Hank suddenly becomes very interested in wiping down already-clean surfaces.

Krampus leans closer, his eyes gleaming. “I’ve been collecting your darker manuscripts since you started writing them. Every single one.”

“That’s kind of creepy.” I take another sip. “I like it.”

It’s true. Drinking wine with the Winter King is nerve-wracking, but it’s also freeing—like shouting into a deep, dark cave and hearing your voice echo back.

“I was expecting the Krampus of legend—the punisher, the monster. But you were so patient with the children.” I take a fortifying sip. “You’re nothing like I imagined. And yet in some ways exactly so.” I feel my face heat.

A look of pain crosses his face, quickly replaced by a charming smile. “And here I thought my reputation would precede me.”

“It did, but...” My cheeks heat. “I think I imagined you as more... severe. It’s hard to explain.”

“Try.” He leans back, stretching his long legs under the table. “I enjoy hearing your interpretation of me.”

“Well, you’re...” How do I put this delicately? “You’re bigger than I expected. Taller.”

“Bigger?” A deep, rumbling laugh escapes him. “You sound disappointed.”

“No!” I sputter. “I just... I mean, you’re very tall and broad.”

“Go on.” His eyes glitter with amusement. “I find your assessments of me most entertaining.”

“Oh, stop.” I hide my smile behind my mug. “Fine. You wanted to know. I always pictured you with... well, a bigger nose.”

He throws back his head, laughing loudly. Hank peeks over at us, his eyes sparkling with merriment.

Taking advantage of Krampus’s momentary distraction, I down the rest of my wine. This cup is meant for truth, but it might as well be for courage. “And I never thought you’d have a sense of humor. Or that you’d let me see any vulnerability.”

His laughter fades, and he regards me with a heated gaze that makes my heart pound. “You bring out unexpected sides of me, little mate. Sides I haven’t shown to anyone in a very long time.”

I swallow, suddenly aware of how intimate our conversation has become. Did I really just talk about his nose? I reach for a pastry, only to find they’ve all been devoured.

Krampus covers my hand with his, his thumb brushing my skin. “I wanted to kiss you the moment I met you.”

I drag my gaze up to meet his. His eyes burn with an intensity that steals my breath. “I might’ve imagined that kiss a few times in my life,” I whisper. “In great detail.”

“I’d expect no less.” He leans closer, his voice a low rumble. “I wanted to taste you, to claim those lips that argued with me so fiercely. To show you exactly how that kiss would make you feel.” His thumb grazes the curve of my jaw, and my mind is flooded with images of our night together. “And I wanted to be the one to introduce you to pleasure. To teach you everything your body could experience.”

My cheeks flame. I know I should look away, but I can’t. His words cast a spell, binding me tighter than any chain. “Did you?” I whisper. “Imagine, I mean? Even before I summoned you?”

“Every detail.” His lips curl into a wicked smile. “And then some.”

I’ve spent too long worrying about my image. Too long writing what was safe and expected. My gaze falls on the notebook peeking from my bag, and I feel new stories stirring—darker, truer tales of winter’s full beauty.

Krampus’s rumbling voice breaks into my thoughts. “I have something to show you.” His eyes glitter with wicked promise. “Ready to see where I really live?”