6. Christmas Day
CHAPTER 6
CHRISTMAS DAY
I t’s cold. So cold, and wet, and hard —and I’m not talking about Krampus cock.
Ruprecht’s body is hard, but warm. His cottage was dry and cozy. Sleeping in his harms, I was safe and sound and more at peace than I’ve been in years… but the second my skin touches something that’s fucking cold, wet, and immoveable, I’m wide awake.
For a split second, I’m so disoriented that I’m sure the last two days have been one super-immersive dream. That it couldn’t have been real, that there isn’t a Christmas demon who saved me from elves, brought me to his home, and we pleasured each other within twenty-four hours of our first meeting.
But then I see the snowy ground—cold, and wet, and hard —beneath me, see the sequined gold bodice and massive skirt of the gown flattened out, and the heels that Sandra insisted I swap my boots out for… and I know that it is real. I spent Christmas Eve with Krampus, but whatever happened since, I’m not with him anymore.
First, because I’m obviously outside. Second, because Ruprecht is obviously not here.
And third?
The massive building I’m standing outside isn’t the cozy wooden cottage with the thatched roof where Ruprecht brought me on the twenty-third. Nope. it’s about ten times the size, with three large smokestacks that billow grey smoke into Blackmoor’s shadows. The roof is so hot, the snow isn’t sticking to it, while the frame itself is a mockery of the sort of building you see on a Christmas card.
Snowy trim, red garland, Christmas lights… and a hand-painted sign that proclaims this is the Toymaker’s Workshop.
Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no.
How did I get here? Did Ruprecht want out of fucking me so bad that he picked me up, dropped me off in front of the Toymaker, and washed his claws of me? I thought… I thought we had a connection. He wanted me to believe I was his ‘mate’, and he certainly seemed to enjoy my mouth on him and his on mine… so what the hell is going on here?
And then, as though he was getting tired of waiting for me to notice him, a male’s voice says, “Merry Christmas,” and I nearly shit myself.
There’s a tall, lean man standing on the other side of me. How long he’s been there? No clue. I didn’t notice him, but now that I see him, I can’t look away.
Something about his face is so familiar. He has thick white hair that’s cut short, and a perfectly manicured beard that’s the same color; it’s cropped to his jaw, showing off the chiseled planes of his features. Despite the hair color, his handsome face is ageless. He doesn’t look old at all, and when you add that to the toned body, you’d put him at forty, tops.
Like Krampus, he’s shirtless. His hairless chest is not as muscular, his belly trim, and there’s a white happy trail that disappears into his blood-red pants. His feet are covered in shiny black boots, but there aren’t any footprints breaking up the pristine white snow around my fallen body.
Not mine. Not his. Not even the cloven hooves that would’ve meant that Ruprecht was here before he ditched me.
But, if there aren’t any, how the hell did I get here?
“Who are you?” I demand, even though I know the answer. “How did I get here? Where’s Ruprecht.”
Lifting his unusually slender fingers, the Toymaker ticks off his answers one by one. “I’m the Toymaker. During Christmas, I rule the forest. How did you get here? My magic. Without the chains tethering you to him, and his eyes closed, Krampus couldn’t keep you any longer. As for him, he’s probably just noticing that I stole his mortal out from his nose.”
Okay. On the one hand, I feel a whole lot better knowing that Ruprecht didn’t have his fun and then pass me off to another one of the beasts of Blackmoor. On the other?
As I push myself up and off the ground, grateful that this guy’s magic at least managed to summon me in my gown and my heels so I don’t have to tromp around in the snow barefoot, I have one more question.
“Why did you bring me here?”
“Don’t you know? After the busy night I had, it’s only fair that I got a Christmas wish, too. You’ve stayed away from me long enough.” Moving toward the front door, the toymaker shoves it open. “Come into my workshop. I’ve been dying to get to know you.”
Oof. I really don’t like the way he says ‘dying’ like that…
Now, I knew something was off with this Toymaker when he sicced his vicious little elves on me. That they were so insistent on dragging me away to be his damn bride that they pulled my hair and bit me… I knew then and there that I didn’t want to meet their master.
That I can see at least ten of them currently poking their pinched faces and their pointy ears and their sharp teeth at me as the Toymaker holds open the door, inviting me inside… yup. Still don’t want anything to do with this guy.
But what can I do? I don’t have Krampus to back me up. No weapons handy, except for maybe the heel of my shoe, and even if I had another orange, that’s a Krampus thing. Not?—
I swallow, and because I can’t think about any other alternative, I trudge me and my gown inside of his workshop.
Just survive, Josie. Do what you have to to wind down the clock. You were warned the monsters were dangerous, but if he was so hellbent on grabbing you that he used some kind of Christmas magic to steal you from Ruprecht’s bed, I highly doubt that he’s going to kill me outright.
He might make me wish I was dead, but so long as I’m breathing, I can get out of this.
Right?
The workshop smells of burnt chocolate and curdled milk, and the Christmas elves scamper around like roaches as the Toymaker puts his hand on the small of my back and gives me a tiny shove inside.
He kicks the door closed behind him with his booted foot, then strides past me so that he’s in the center of the first room.
There is shit everywhere. Wooden craft tables and wrapping paper stations, boxed and boxed of who-knows-what, and handmade old-fashioned toys—wooden soldiers and dolls, jack-in-the-boxes and tops—fucking everywhere . I see teddy bears, stuffed and unstuffed, a pile of fluff in the corner that’s as high as a small mountain; it’s tempting to dive into it, and if I wasn’t so terrified of the dark look on the Toymaker’s face, I might’ve.
Along the wall, there’s this massive paper towel roll holder at least four feet wide. Parchment is wrapped around it tightly, with a tail of the yellowed paper stretching across the floor. Names scrawled in dark red ink cover it.
I don’t even want to know what that’s about.
Honestly? I don’t really care, either. This is like a twisted version of Santa’s workshop, down to the cookie crumbs under my heels, and it seems almost sacrilegious to be here on Christmas Day itself. Besides, as a survivor, I’m already plotting my escape.
There are no windows. In the large room, I can only make out a single exit: the door behind me. There’s a fireplace, with a roaring fire that’s adding to the burnt scent; it’s nothing as warm and inviting as Ruprecht’s cottage. I’m sure there are more, considering there are multiple smokestacks on the rooftop, but I can ‘t tell where. At the end of the hall leading off the far side of the workshop, maybe?
Is there another way out back there?
Possibly. If I can’t get past the Toymaker, it might be worth it to try busting out that way.
I will. No way am I being stuck here with a guy who sent his elves after me?—
“Look around. This is my workshop. From now on, it’ll be your home.”
You have got to be fucking kidding me.
Whirling around, nearly tripping over this damn gown, I get my first good look at the Toymaker. Inside, his features are still somewhat handsome-ish, if not exaggerated. His lips are thin and curved just a touch mockingly, his nose a little more bulbous and decidedly red in the middle.
It’s his eyes that weird me out the most. Almost as pale as his white hair, he’s staring at me with such a lust expression, I feel naked even in this twenty-pound dress.
A nervous lump lodges itself in my throat. I force it down, then tilt my chin up at him.
“Um. No. Sorry.”
His voice is part-genial, and even more mocking as he says, “No, no, no. I should apologize. I didn’t realize I made that sound like a request. Let me fix that. You will be staying.”
That’s what he thinks.
“It’s Christmas day, I get to leave once it’s over.”
“Then it’s a good thing I have you now. I’ll get to work convincing you to stay with me.”
Wait… staying is an option?
“Of course, you won’t be leaving at all. I have no intention of losing my Mrs. Claus. But the rest of Christmas will be a lot more pleasant if you don’t fight me on this.”
If there’s one thing for sure, I’m a damn fighter. However, the second he mentions Mrs. Claus, I can’t keep myself from barking out a laugh.
The workshop.
The ominous nickname.
These freaky elves…
“Oh, come on. Are you fucking serious? You want me to believe you’re Santa?”
“To the mortals, I am. To my elves, I’m the Toymaker. But that’s not my real name. That’s?—”
“Let me guess. Nicholas?”
“Close,” he says. “It’s Nicklaus. But only my family calls me that.”
Okay. Hard stop.
Family? Hang on… didn’t Ruprecht use that name when he was talking about the Toymaker and his elves?
No.
Despite all evidence to the contrary, there’s no way this guy is fucking Santa Claus— or that he is somehow related to Krampus.
To Ruprecht.
No.
“Where’s the red suit, huh? The cap?” I’ve never been one to shame anyone based on their size—especially when I’ve been judged due to my disability—but come on. “Where’s the big belly like a bowl full of jelly?”
He rubs his obviously flat belly. “It takes a lot of calories to make my Christmas run. But don’t you worry. You’ll spend the next year as my bride making enough cooks to fatten me back up like the kiddies expect.” His eyes glitter, turning black as he gazes at me. “And you’ll make sure to give me just enough exercise to keep up my stamina.”
Ew. Perv.
I can only just imagine what kind of exercise he has in mind.
Hang on?—
Bride , again? He was serious about this Mrs. Claus bullshit?
“I’m not your bride,” I scoff.
“Yes, but, you see… you are , Josephine.”
“Don’t call me ‘Josephine’,” I snap. I was named after my asshole dead, and while I never minded us being Joseph and Josephine before the accident, once he was dead to me, I insisted that everyone use my childhood nickname. “I’m Josie.”
His grin widens, as if he’s found something amusing .
It hits me a second later. “Wait. How did you know my name at all?”
Did Ruprecht tell him?
I don’t get the chance to voice my suspicious before the Toymaker says in a sing-song voice, “‘He sees you when you’re sleeping, he knows when you’re awake’... With powers like that, it’s a snap to know the names of every boy and girl who believes in me.”
And that’s because this buff, leering man with the white beard and the darkening eyes who goes by the Toymaker really is Santa Claus.
Oh, hell no.
“I have to go.” My survival instincts are kicking in. This is edging toward fight or flight. “This is crazy… I’m going and you can’t stop me.”
The Toymaker—Nicklaus—sighs. He flicks his fingers at the door. I turn just in time to see a flood of elves scampering toward the door, blocking me from going.
As on, they bare their little piranha-like teeth at me.
I glare over at Nicklaus.
He shrugs easily. “I told you, Josephine. I need a new missus.”
Mrs. Claus.
Behind me, I hear something odd. Something strange.
Something that has the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
It starts out as a chittering noise, like mice. It gets louder. Rougher . A dark edge to what might possibly pass as laughter.
And then high-pitched voices ring out through the workshop.
“He plays,” says one of the elves.
“Too hard.”
“It was fun.”
“So much fun!”
“But she’s gone.”
“Broken.”
“Hehe. Bye bye.”
Oh God. Oh God.
Nicklaus has a put-upon expression on his face, but pure pleasure—and pride—in his eyes.
“Mortals can be breakable. If they don’t choose to stay… it wasn’t my fault. And, see, I’ve been blessed with a new bride.”
Oh, no, the fuck he hasn’t .
I don’t care if they try to stop me. If I stay, I’m dead. If I try to push my way through the elves, I might die, but I at least have to try.
Two steps. I make it two steps before his powerful hand lashes around my upper arm.
Another jolt. It’s way more painful then when Ruprecht touched me, but the way he squeezes then throws me away from him hurts me even more.
I rock on my heels, trying to catch myself before I fall.
By the time I have, the elves have vanished, leaving Nicklaus and me alone as he circles me with a vicious expression.
“Ho,” he bites out. “Ho.” His eyes are impossibly black. “ Hoe .”
Uh-oh.
Nicklaus stabs a finger at me. “You let him touch you.”
He must be talking about Ruprecht, but I’m not going to be the one to confirm that.
“He had to have known you were meant for me.” Nicklaus takes a deep breath before cupping his mouth and shouting. “Ruprecht! Explain yourself!”
Seconds. That’s how long it takes. Mere seconds before the door comes flying in. Good things the elves already scampered because, with the force of his hit, the door would’ve either sent them flying or squashed them.
His gleaming red eyes are only for me. Disregarding Nicklaus entirely, he grabs my arm, tucking me against his chest, holding me close.
“Josie. As soon as I saw you were gone, I was already coming for you. But Nicklaus threw up a ward?—”
“And I dropped it so that you can explain why you’ve claimed my bride.”
He did what ?
Ruprecht releases me from his embrace, moving me behind him so that he can assume a protective stance.
Feeling a lot bolder now that my giant demon is here, I poke my head around him.
Claim… “Not that it’s any of your business, but we didn’t sleep together.”
Well, no. We did , and if you count oral, we definitely had sex. But we never had the chance to have penetrative sex because I was stolen right out of bed before we could.
“Not that that changes anything,” he says, a voice full of jolly. “You know how the lore works. She’s my bride, Ruprecht. You know she was meant for me. That the council chose her for me .” Nicklaus strokes his white beard. “But if you take her now, it’ll be like I did without having to touch her. I’ll touch myself instead, and then the bond will be yours. I’ll find a new bride and you… you will have the first merry Christmas you’ve ever had, brother.”
Nicklaus… he really thinks I’m supposed to be his? Forget everything else he said… how could I be ‘fated’ to him when Ruprecht said…
I poke him in the back. “You said I was meant to find you.”
Ruprecht turns to look at me, “You were. You are. But, I told you before… sometimes the tethers get crossed, even in Blackmoor. We’re both halves of the same soul. If you were meant for me?—”
My skin crawls at the thought of letting this buff version of Santa Claus touching me the same way I let my demon do it on Christmas Eve. “I’m meant for him ?”
That’s what Nicklaus said earlier. I ignored him because… ew.
“You might have been. It doesn’t matter. You are mine. And I won’t allow him to force you to do anything you don’t want to.”
Nicklaus laughs. It’s like nails scraping down a chalkboard. “Tell the truth, brother.”
Did I think I couldn’t be any more shocked? Yup. That one does it.
“Brother?” I echo. “You guys are brothers?”
“Twins,” Nicklaus confirms.
I whirl on Ruprecht. “You’re twins ?”
They definitely do things differently in Blackmoor, and I’m sure there are a hundred legends about Krampus, and even more about Santa Claus… but since when are they twins ?
I should’ve known. I should’ve guessed. Their faces… there is something about their faces that are similar. Not the same. Not identical. But I see it, and the way I’m gaping at Ruprecht now, he can’t even try to deny it.
And he wouldn’t anyway, not when he promised held tell me the truth.
“We’re two halves of the same whole,” he finally admits.
“I’m the nice one,” Nicklaus boasts.
I huff. Santa might be. But Nicklaus? Not a chance.
I ignore him. So does Ruprecht.
Oh, no. His sole focus is still on me.
But Nicklaus… it doesn’t matter that we’re both pretending the white-haired legend ones ‘t exist. He seems to like to hear the sound so his own voice because, Goddamn, he’s still yapping.
“I must say, if I had found you… I had touched you… you never would have escaped me, Josephine. But Ruprecht touched you first. He stole you from me. But, how it’s it you put it, Ruprecht? The tether gets crossed. To release my claim on her, I need to fuck her first.”
Hang on. He was serious with that crap?
“You stay the hell away from me!”
Ruprecht sidles over, blocking his twin from getting anywhere near me.
His voice rumbles, a low pitch that actually does help to soothe me as he faces me once more.
“Don’t fear, my Josie. He’s right. I did mark you. I marked you, liebling.” Ruprecht trails one of his claws down my cheek. “He won’t take you now that I have.”
“But I’ll watch him take my bride. Since I’m such a jolly old soul, I’ll even let you keep the holiday gown on. But I’ll stay in the workshop while Ruprecht makes you his for Christmas.”
I can’t even come up with a response for it. I don’t have to.
“What? Do you think you have something I’ve never seen before? Please.” Rolling his eyes—pale blue again instead of black—he adds, “You forget that I visit millions of home in a single night. Night, Josie. In between dropping off the present for good little girls and boys, don’t you think I deserve some… breaks?”
Ew. Ew. Ew.
I don’t want to think of the mythical embodiment of my childhood hopes and dreams being a peeping Tom, but if the fuzzy, red suit fits…
My nose wrinkles. “Santa is a cuck?”
Ruprecht frowns, turning away from me. Nicklaus beams crudely, as if proud of that fact.