3. December 23
CHAPTER 3
DECEMBER 23
U sing two of his claws, the tip of a forked tongue slipping out between his lips, the horned demon male carefully peels the orange.
He’s so focused on what he’s doing, he seems to disregard me standing a few steps away from him. Part of me wonders if I should start to slowly back up, then turn and run the same way those freaky little elves did. I doubt I’ll be able to escape him if he comes after me—between this heavy gown and my stiff hip—but shouldn’t I try?
Then again…
He saved me. Whether that’s what he meant to do or not, I can’t say. I get the vibe that he only lost his temper because the elves came after me on his territory. Like, he wasn’t protecting me from them, but I got lucky since he was annoyed to find the little men there, attacking me or not.
Maybe they’re out there, waiting for me to do just that. And since I’d rather not find myself in a situation where I’m forcibly wed to some guy called the Toymaker, I think I’m gonna stick with Krampus—if he is Krampus—for as long as I can.
It might be until he finishes the orange, but at least his presence will keep those creepy gnome things away for now.
I don’t blame them. This close, I get a much better look at him—and I’m more than sure my suspicion is right and he is Krampus. There’s the horns. The forked tongue. The insanely muscular and completely bare chest with some kind of dark fur pelt resting over his shoulders. His bottom half is covered in mud-colored, loose pants, and the cloven hooves tucked under him are huge . So is he; with his height and his build, I can’t stop the perverted corners of my mind from wondering if he’s proportional everywhere .
Then there’s the stick he was holding. In the legend of Krampus, he carries a thin birch rod he used to whack misbehaving children. Attached to the waist of his pants, I see a large burlap sack, plus a length of gold chain. Krampus would put the naughtiest of kids in sacks and make off with them. As for the chain…
I’m not sure why he has that, but it’s probably a better idea not to ask. Same as what he does with those children.
But the orange… I suddenly remember something else I read. While Santa Claus is the face of Christmas who lives on milk and cookies, if you give Krampus a piece of fruit—an apple, or an orange —you can trigger his one weakness. Instead of trying to eat you, he’ll eat the fruit, settling down to have a polite conversation with you as he does so.
Just like he seems to want to do now .
He opens his mouth, showing off a sharp pair of fangs and the way his long, slender tongue is coiled inside of the dark cavern. After dropping a segment of orange onto his tongue, he makes an animalistic slurping sound, then rumbles softly before patting the flat of his massive hand against the ground..
“Sit, mortal,” he says, his heavily accented voice seemingly deeper than before. Deeper, and more than a little attractive... “Join me on the earth.”
I’m sorry, but it’s the way he says ‘mortal’ like that that rubs me wrong; any apprehension I was feeling at the appearance of my rescuer. Not only are his words a clear reminder that he has to be one of the beasts of Blackmoor, but he’s right. I am mortal. I can die, and since that’s the last thing I want to do, I fold the thick skirt of my gown beneath my ass to protect it from the frozen ground, then lower myself to the dirt.
I don’t want to test him, or give him any reason to use those claws or fangs on me. However, if he wants me to sit with him, the least I’m going to do is give him my name.
It’ll make it a lot harder for him to throw me in his sack and beat me with that stick if he knows my name right?
Probably not, but that doesn’t stop me from saying, “My name is Josie.”
His eyes are different as he peers over at me. Instead of the glowing red before, they’re a soft, warm golden color. “I am Ruprecht.”
I blink a few times even as I adjust my ass so that the skirt isn’t completely bunched beneath it.
Okay. Maybe I shouldn’t have just assumed that, because he reminds me of Krampus, and everything he has is Krampus-like, that he is Krampus. Old Christmas stories must have been messing with my head; that, and all of the whispered warnings I’ve heard about the type of monsters who lurk in the dark woods of Blackmoor.
I was expecting werewolves. Vampires. Maybe a troll or an ogre if they were really real. Rabid little elves who try to bumrush me? A horned half-man, half-beast who is going to town on my orange?
At least I found something for him to eat that isn’t me . Though, the way his unblinking gaze has slid over to me as he chews another piece of fruit, I’m not so sure that I’ve been taken off the menu.
“So,” he says conversationally, “I wasn’t expecting to find you in my corner of the forest. Especially this time of year, most of Blackmoor keeps their distance from me. Didn’t you heed my warnings?”
Warnings? What warnings? “It wasn’t on purpose,” I admit. “I’m used to following my gut. My instincts. They told me to walk this way to search for shelter.”
A stray drop of orange juice beads up in the corner of his mouth. He licks it, then ducks his chin so that he’s meeting my eyes. “Is that so? They led you toward me? And after Blackmoor welcomes you?”
If that’s how he wants to see it. “I signed up for three days in the woods.” Does he know that’s a thing the council does? Considering he mentioned Blackmoor welcoming me, I’m guessing yes. “I don’t get to leave until the day after Christmas. I just needed somewhere safe to hide out from the—never mind.”
I stop short, not wanting to offend him.
But Ruprecht doesn’t seem all that offended.
“That’s smart, Josie. The forest is full of monsters. Beasts. Legends, even… but rarely mortal beauties. And with Christmas so close…” Like before, he says something in that other language. It sounds like German but not quite, and I have no idea what he’s saying to me.
“Huh?”
“My apologies. I’m often hibernating through the rest of the year now that I’ve done my part. But something woke me earlier this morn. It takes effort to use the mortal tongue instead of that from my creation. But I was remarking that it’s been a long time since I’ve seen one as you, Josie. It would have been a shame if Nicklaus got his claws on you first.”
I don’t want to ask who Nicklaus is. If he’s anything like the Toymaker who sicced those elves on me, I don’t want to meet him, either.
Does that mean I trust that this Ruprecht guy is a better choice? Not even a little. But so long as he’s segmenting the orange and not threatening me, I’d rather stay by him.
And, maybe, he can help me?—
“Thank you. For before. I appreciate it.”
“Think nothing of it. If there’s one thing you can be sure of, I will always protect what is mine.”
Whoa. That solemn promise he just made should not have sounded as sexy as it just did. And while I know he’s talking about chasing the elves off because they came onto his land, forgive me for my imagination running away with me a little bit.
“You didn’t have to help me, but that was nice of you. And, um, if you can point me in the opposite direction of where they usually stay so I can find a spot to hunker down for the rest of my three days, that would be even nicer.”
Ruprecht finishes his orange, letting the spiral-cut peel fall to the ground. Before he can answer me, his nostrils flare. That, added to the horns, makes him seem more bull-like to me. The fur pelt shifting on his shoulders as he leans toward me doesn’t help my permission.
“I smell blood,” Ruprecht says after a moment. “There.”
Following the point of his claw, I look down at my hand. Even through the gloom of the dark forest, I can see the puncture wounds piercing my skin. “Damn it. One of those gnome things must have bitten me.”
“Nicklaus’s elves,” he corrects.
Right. The infamous Nicklaus that I’d rather avoid if I can.
On instinct, I wipe the top of my hand against the sequined skirt, wincing when the rough edges irritate the injury.
Ruprecht tsks . “Allow me.”
Allow him to do what?
I never get the chance to ask before he’s taken my hand gently between his claws. Lifting it up about chin-high on me, he bows his head and let’s loose his tongue. It’s at least eight inches long, and he’s able to swipe the length of it over my cuts before I can yank my hand back.
One touch. That’s all it takes. One touch of his hot tongue on my skin and my stomach goes tight.
Not from disgust or anything, though. Nope. That’s pure arousal .
Ruprecht hums as he settles my hand against my skirt again. “There,” he rumbles. “All better.”
He’s not wrong. Looking down at my hand now, it’s slick with the remnants of his saliva, but the puncture wounds… they’re gone .
I marvel at the unbroken skin. “You can heal injuries?”
“Minor ones, yes,” he answers. “I don’t often get the chance because, to be fair, I’m usually the cause of them. But that’s not all I can do with my tongue.”
Again, my mind goes straight to the gutter. Ridiculous, I know, considering he just came out and admitted he’s a dangerous beast, but he hasn’t hurt me . He healed me, and now all I keep thinking about is what it would be like to have that long tongue somewhere other than my hand.
I cock my head just so. “What else can you do?”
Ruprecht gives me a small grin that makes his strong features turn less demonic and a whole lot more intriguing. “I can tell if you’ve been naughty and nice. And you, Josephine Butler, have been a very good girl.”
Okay. The deep rumble of his voice went straight to my pussy that time. Thank God for the big fluffy skirt because I’m squeezing my legs together right now. If his sniffer can smell blood on my hand, how much you want to bet he can smell the way he’s affecting me.
I never thought I’d be attracted to a monster, but maybe it shouldn’t come as such a surprise. He’s tall, strong, and saved me when I was struggling to get rid of the elves myself. Survivalists do what they can to get out alive. Something tells me that, if I want to get through the rest of my three days in one piece, clinging to Ruprecht here might not be such a bad idea.
And if I start thinking about the birth control pill I swallowed this morning… the same pill that Sandra insisted would work immediately and last for the next thirty days at least… well, if he was interested in showing me what else he can do with his tongue, I have some protection.
Josie, Josie, Josie… you’re not really thinking about fucking a demon, are you?
Three days, I tell myself. I agreed to do whatever I had to to survive the beasts of Blackmoor. Sure, I guess I thought that meant I’d run and dodge and hide out until it was the twenty-sixth, but this could work, too.
Besides, some of the stories I read about the forest made it clear that it’s like Las Vegas in a way: whatever happens in Blackmoor, stays in Blackmoor?—
Ruprecht’s nostrils suddenly twitch flare again, eyes blazing brighter, the tip of his forked tongue lashing out to taste the corner of his mouth. His chest puffs out as he leans closer, using a claw to tuck a stray piece of my hair behind my ear.
“Come home with me, Josie. Where I can keep you safe from Nicklaus and his elves.”
Oh. Okay.
The beast might be more interested than I first gave him credit for. Because while I’m sure part of his offer has something to do with sticking it to the creepy elves that attacked, the other part? Yeah… he’s not looking at me and thinking I’m some puny mortal not worth his time.
Oh, no. I’m a good girl… and Ruprecht only punishes the bad ones.
What does he do with the good ones?
No clue, but the way his hand lands on mine, dwarfing it yet building a connection between us that is as inexplicable as it is enticing… his single touch tells me that, whatever he does, we’re both going to like it.
Should I be surprised that the male demon is propositioning me? As far as I know, I’m the only human woman that’s been allowed to enter the woods in a while. Whenever the Blackmoor council opens its gates to petitioners, there’s one chosen one. This time it was me. And unless some of the ninety-six who didn’t make it out after their three days are still wandering around in here—or there are female Ruprechts hanging around—he probably hasn’t been laid in a while.
I guess I’m just a little taken aback by how forward he is. I’ve had guys at the bar who at least offer me a drink first before they insist on taking me home with them, but after he ate my entire orange, he thinks he can just lick my hand and offer to take me home with him and I’ll go.
And, shit, I will, won’t I?
I haven’t shaken my suspicion that Ruprecht is Krampus, and because of that, I keep thinking that he’s going to bring me to a cave to get me out of the cold. That it starts flurrying before I agree only cements my decision. Sleeping outdoors while it’s snowing doesn’t sound all that fun, and that’s assuming the elves don’t come looking for me again.
I’m prepared to sleep in a cave if I have to—but after a twenty-minute walk through the woods, it’s not the cave of legend up in the Alps where Krampus is supposed to leave that Ruprecht leads me to. Instead, moving gracefully forward on his cloven hooved-feet, he keeps going until we’re standing in front of a high wooden cottage with a thatched roof. A wreath woven out of greenery hangs over the closed door.
It’s not locked, though, and with a firm push, Ruprecht opens it for me.
Inside the cottage, there’s the strangest smell. One part barbecue—like burnt coal—and something cinnamon and spicy, I don’t hate it. Thanks to the roaring fire on the far side of the room, everything seems tinged with orange, and it’s so warm, I have to swallow my moan as I step inside.
Ruprecht follows me, pulling the door closed behind him.
As tall as the cottage is, it’s not very wide. It’s split into two halves: there’s a huge bed with a stuffed mattress and an old-fashioned, handmade quilt on it taking up one side, with a cozy kitchen on the other. A wooden-hewn table and a pair of tables take over the kitchen area, and as I glance around, I see just why the cottage is so tall.
A tree stands in the corner of the kitchen.
I want to call it a Christmas tree, and maybe that’s what it’s supposed to be. Instead of the seven-foot-tall Douglas fir I’m used to, this sucker is tall enough that the point barely clears the high-arched ceiling. It doesn’t have a star or any angel on top. No colorful ornaments, either. It’s full of flickering candles, instead, tucked into nearly every bough on the tree, with glimmering garland wrapped around it.
Talk about a fire hazard. If that thing topples over, this cabin will go up before anyone can stop it.
It’s nice, though. A lot nicer than I was expecting. And if he felt confident leaving the candles and the fireplace burning, it’s probably safe.
Well, safe- ish … right?
I glance around, the skirt whooshing with the slight motion. “I’ll be safe in here?”
I don’t just mean the fire, either. In the light, I see details about Ruprecht that I didn’t notice before. Like how the fur pelt on his shoulders… yeah. Those are actually patches of fur on his body. His jaw is sharp, his cheekbones chiseled, and there’s a look in his gold-colored eyes that has me wishing I could cover up my cleavage.
This… whatever he is… is basically eye-fucking me, and I’m not sure how to react to it. My pussy saying ‘yes, please’ as if she’s lost her damn mind definitely doesn’t help, but as my gaze roves over his black horns, shoulder-length dark hair, and his sculpted muscles…
Okay. So I’m attracted to a demon. Sue me.
Ruprecht lifts his hand, using the edge of his claw to stroke the curve of his horn. “Yes. Nicklaus won’t have you while I do.”
Weird way to say that. Unless…
Huh. So I was right. Demon, monster, or guy I met at the bar, he’s no different from any other man I’ve met. He obviously expects me to sleep with him in exchange for his protection.
Okay. I’ve been suspecting something like that. And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little curious?—
“You can take the bed,” he says, gesturing at the only other piece of furniture in the decorated cottage apart from the table and chairs. “I will watch you from the hearth.”
Um… what ?
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I told you, Josie. You are a good girl. You need not fear my rod. I won’t punish you.”
With that, Ruprecht takes one of the wooden chairs, scooting it toward the roaring fire. It gives him the perfect angle to do just that: watch me sleep.
But what about him? I mean, I’m trying not to be too annoyed that he’s shut me down as easily as that, but is he really going to stay up all night so I can sleep in his bed—without him?
“Don’t you need to sleep?” I ask. He mentioned something about hibernating… “Aren’t you tired?”
“I assure you, liebling, that I have the rest of the solstice to sleep. I only have your company for three days. Now, rest. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. If there is a single night of the year that you won’t have to fear the Toymaker, it’s then.”
I’m not really worried about the Toymaker anymore.
And, weirdly enough, I’m not all that worried about being alone with Ruprecht in his cozy cottage, either…