Chapter 15
Chapter
Fifteen
Iraise a shaky hand to wipe away my tears and see something impossible: Krampus’s fiery eyes locked on me.
Alive. My gaze darts down to the fatal wound on his chest, but it’s no longer as gruesome as it was before.
As I watch, it slowly seals itself up, fresh skin covering the gaping hole as though it never existed.
Krampus sits up, his hand still gripping my wrist. “You thought such a weapon could kill me?”
I choke out a half sob, half laugh. “Well, you looked real fucking dead for a minute there.”
He cocks his head. “Yet still you tried to fight them.”
I open my mouth and shut it again. It’s true; there was no real reason for me to tackle Theodora after she had already shot Krampus. There was nothing to gain and everything to lose. I could’ve forced out some crocodile tears and followed them into the safe room.
The thought didn’t even occur to me, when I thought Krampus was gone.
“I told you I’m all in,” I say. “I meant it. I want…” I almost say revenge, but I’m not sure it feels right anymore. “Justice.”
Krampus rises to his feet, lifting me with him before releasing his hold on me. “Where did the Kohlers go?”
I turn toward the bookshelf, which looks like a normal wall now that it’s closed. “The panic room.”
We wordlessly go to work, trying to find a way in.
The tears on my face slowly dry, and so does the blood on the floor.
That goddamn Christmas music is still playing, but I leave it on because it’s better than having silence between us.
I feel awkward, and vulnerable, after he saw how I cried for him. Something has shifted between us.
But there’s no time to figure it out. We have bigger concerns. Like this goddamn panic room.
Now that it’s shut, there’s no sign of a way in.
Even after Krampus and I tear all of the books off the shelf, there’s no hidden button or lever that we can find, not even a raised groove that we can pry open.
It’s easy to find the button that opened the passageway on the underside of the desk, but nothing happens when I press it. It must be locked from inside now.
I straighten up from where I kneel under the desk, look at Krampus, and shake my head.
“I don’t know how to get in. I’m sorry.”
Krampus slams a fist against the desk. I jump back, startled by the noise and the violence of it. He’s never lost his temper like this before—always seemed cool and collected even when he was wringing the life out of Adrian—but now his ears are pinned back, his red eyes radiating fury.
“I was so close,” he says through gritted teeth.
He slams his fist again, and a cup of pens topples off the edge and spills across the floor.
I press my back against the wall, eyeing him warily.
“Closer than I’d ever been. They were here.
They were right here. And I lost my opportunity, all because… all because of…”
Because of me? I wonder when he doesn’t finish. But no, that’s not right. I didn’t do anything wrong. If anything, it was because…
Because he wouldn’t let me help like I wanted to.
If he had let me separate them before he stepped into the room, they wouldn’t have had a chance to do this.
There’s no way in hell that I’m going to say that out loud, though, when he’s in this mood.
But when I raise my gaze to his face and find him staring at me, I suspect he’s thinking the same thing already.
With a bellow that shakes the walls, Krampus swipes an arm across the desk and sends everything clattering to the floor.
I flinch at the sound—shockingly loud, shockingly animal as it tears free from his throat.
One hand covering my mouth, I watch in shock as he stomps around the room, flinging books and crushing broken glass beneath his hooves.
He grabs the record player—still spewing Christmas music—and heaves it across the room, sending it crashing against the wall.
“O Holy Night” dies off mid-song, and leaves behind a vast and echoing silence.
Krampus stops in the middle of the room, shoulders slumped and chest heaving. Frustration is written in every tense muscle.
I’ve never seen him like this. But I still don’t feel afraid of him.
Instead, I feel sympathetic. I’m frustrated too.
It must be a thousand times worse for him, after the years he’s waited for this, only to be foiled at the last moment.
Every breath must bring with it the smell of sin, reminding him of how close he was.
Instead of an urge to run, I feel an urge to try to lift his burden. But how can I help? Unless…
I take a hesitant step toward him, and then another, slowly crossing the room to reach his side. He doesn’t move as I stand on my tiptoes and reach with trembling hands to clasp his face. Only then does he raise his head to look at me.
“You need to clear your head,” I say.
He huffs, as if to suggest easier said than done.
“Take the edge off.”
His expression remains stony, but his ears perk.
“Use me,” I whisper. I lick my lips, still holding his gaze. “Punish me… please.”
His gaze. “You don’t know what you’re asking for. After what we did to Adrian…”
“I don’t mean the full punishment,” I say. My mouth is dry. “Just a little. To take the edge off, like I said.”
His eyes widen, pupils growing. He goes very still.
“Would that help?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper.
He slowly removes my hand from his face. He doesn’t need to answer; I can see the need written plainly on his monstrous features.
There must be something seriously wrong with me, because part of me thrills at his response. I shouldn’t be excited at the thought that he wants to punish me. I certainly shouldn’t be turned on at the idea of being punished.
But as Krampus lifts his birch rod and slaps it against one of his palms, the shiver that goes through me is not entirely fear.
I slowly sink to my knees and bow my head, surrendering myself to him.
My breath quickens as he circles around behind me, even more so when the sound of his hooves stops.
I brace with my hands on my knees, fingers digging into the fabric, and shut my eyes.
Crack.
The first strike of the rod across my shoulders brings more shock than pain. I gasp, eyes flying open again. Before I can fully process the feeling, the rod comes down again.
Crack.
This one hurts. Tears spring to my eyes, and I dig my teeth into my lower lip to keep quiet.
Crack.
A muffled groan comes from my lips as this blow lands on stinging, already-tender flesh. But there is another feeling beneath the pain, something surging and growing that I can’t name.
Crack.
I cry out as my sore flesh throbs. But there is an answering ache between my thighs. I spread them, sinking lower on the floorboards.
Crack.
There is pain, yes. But on the other side of pain is relief. Sweet surrender. A part of me craves the next blow even as the hurt deepens.
Crack.
“Yes,” I cry out, shocking myself—and him, judging from the way he pauses.
I freeze, shame heating my chest. A moment later, Krampus steps up beside me.
A rough hand grabs my face from behind and lifts it, forcing me to look up at him towering above me.
Tears blur my vision, so it is impossible to read his expression.
“We should move on,” he says. His voice sounds rougher than normal, deep and gravelly in a way that goes straight to the damp heat between my legs. “Before I lose control.”
I release a shaky breath. “I… I can take more.”
He chuckles darkly. “And you will, little sinner. Later.” His other hand grabs me around the waist, and he lifts me to my feet. His grip lingers for a moment longer as my trembling legs steady beneath me. Then he releases me and walks away without looking back.
I wipe my eyes and take a moment to gather myself. What the hell was that? I’m a mess, tears streaming down my face and back aching. But when I reach back to assess the damage, I find raised welts but no blood.
He was holding back. I’m sure he was. This really was just a taste of the justice he intends to deal.
I should not be excited at the prospect of more. I swallow back my emotions, ignore the lingering ache between my thighs, and follow Krampus to continue seeking our revenge.