Chapter 13
Chapter thirteen
Krampus
I leaned back in the creaking office chair, my horns nearly scraping the low ceiling.
The scent of her lingered here too fainter than when I'd had her pressed against the greenhouse glass, but unmistakable to my heightened senses.
The memory of her surrender made my blood heat.
But there was something else too, something beyond the physical claiming that nagged at me like a splinter beneath the skin.
The flash of vulnerability in her eyes when she'd whispered about losing herself.
The weight of resignation in her shoulders when I'd announced the holiday party.
The practiced way she'd rebuilt her facade after falling apart in my arms. I needed to understand her better.
And for that, I needed insight from those who'd known her longer than I had.
Three short knocks sounded on the door, yanking me from my thoughts.
"Enter," I commanded, shuffling the ledgers into a neat stack.
Silas pushed the door open with unnecessary force, a habit that spoke of his demonic heritage despite his slight frame. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his flour-dusted black apron, eyes narrowed with suspicion.
"You wanted to see me?" he asked, voice flat with barely disguised hostility.
"Performance check-in," I replied smoothly, gesturing to the chair opposite my desk. "I'm evaluating all staff before the holiday party."
Silas's tail twitched once but he entered fully, though he ignored the offered seat. The chains on his horns jingled softly as he took up position directly across from me, feet planted in a stance that suggested he was prepared for confrontation rather than conversation.
"Fine," he said, lifting his chin. "Check in on my performance. I'm an excellent baker. My pastries sell out daily. I've increased our goth clientele by forty percent. My skull-shaped scones are social media famous. Anything else?"
I steepled my claws under my chin, studying him.
The demon's hostility was professional suicide in most contexts, but his confidence suggested he knew exactly how valuable his skills were.
More interesting was his obvious protectiveness toward Simone, which had been on full display during his outburst in the café.
"Tell me about Simone," I said, abandoning pretense.
His eyes flashed. "I knew it. This isn't about me at all."
"Consider it part of her evaluation," I replied. "I want honest assessments from those who work with her daily."
Silas scoffed. "As if you don't have your own assessment after bending her over every flat surface in the café."
I kept my expression neutral, though I allowed a hint of power to darken the air between us, just enough to remind him who he was addressing. "Your opinion of my personal interactions with your manager is irrelevant. I want your professional assessment."
He rolled his eyes but seemed to sense he'd reached the limit of my patience.
"Fine. Professionally speaking, she's the reason this place hasn't burned down.
She works herself stupid, fourteen-hour days sometimes.
Comes in early, stays late, covers shifts when the others quit without notice.
" He uncrossed his arms, flour drifting to the floor as he gestured emphatically.
"She cares too much about everyone and everything.
Doesn't ask for help even when she's drowning. Puts herself last every fucking time."
His assessment aligned precisely with what I'd observed, but hearing it confirmed by someone who'd witnessed it daily only strengthened my resolve.
"And personally?" I prompted.
Silas narrowed his eyes. "Personally, she deserves everything and expects nothing. She thinks she has to earn basic kindness. She pretends everything's fine even when it's clearly not because she doesn't want to burden anyone." His voice dropped slightly. "She's lonely but won't admit it."
The picture he painted matched the woman I'd glimpsed in those unguarded moments.
"Why?" Silas demanded suddenly, his tail lashing behind him. "You planning to take her away or string her along? Because I swear on my demonic heritage, if you're just playing with her—"
"Neither," I interrupted, my voice dropping to the rumble that made most creatures instinctively back down. Silas, to his credit, held his ground. "I'm planning to give her the life she doesn't believe she can have."
The declaration hung between us, more revealing than I'd intended.
Silas blinked, clearly surprised by both my answer and the sincerity behind it.
Before he could respond, the door swung open again.
Bramble zipped in, her wings folded slightly to accommodate the cramped office space.
"If this is about Simone, I'm here to weigh in," she announced without preamble.
I raised an eyebrow but gestured for her to continue. The pixie didn't waste time.
"Everyone adores her because she makes them feel seen." Bramble crossed her arms. "Don't fuck with her. There is a whole supernatural community behind that human. We protect our own."
My claws tapped rhythmically against the wooden desk as I absorbed their fierce loyalty.
Such devotion couldn't be commanded or purchased, it had to be earned through consistent care and genuine connection.
That Simone had cultivated such loyalty from creatures not known for their attachments spoke volumes.
"Noted," I said simply, though inwardly, my resolve hardened. Friday's party would be more than an announcement about the café's management. It would be the beginning of showing Simone exactly what she'd earned, what she deserved, not just professionally, but personally.
And I intended to be extremely thorough with that lesson.
The mid-day rush transformed the café into an exercise in controlled chaos through it all moved Simone, a splash of cheer amid the supernatural throng, her curls piled messily atop her head, stray wisps escaping to frame her face.
She hadn't noticed me watching from the back hallway, too absorbed in her endless tasks.
Perfect. The element of surprise would work to my advantage, especially for what I had planned.
When she finally retreated behind the counter to restock syrup pumps, I made my move.
She didn't notice my approach, focused as she was on arranging peppermint bottles in a straight line.
I positioned myself directly beside her, close enough that my shadow fell across the bottles, announcing my presence.
She startled, nearly dropping the peppermint syrup in her hands.
"You're leaving early today," I announced without preamble.
She blinked rapidly, mouth opening and closing like a confused fish. "I—what? But we're in the middle of the lunch rush, and I still need to—"
"We're going out," I continued, enjoying the way her eyes widened, the flush that immediately climbed her cheeks.
"Out?" she repeated, the word coming out as a choked whisper.
The bottle in her hands wobbled dangerously.
I plucked it from her grasp before it could fall, setting it on the counter.
My claws brushed her fingers in the exchange, and I didn't miss the slight shiver that traveled through her at the contact.
Her body remembered mine, even if her mind was still fighting the connection.
"Yes, out," I confirmed. "Away from this café and work. Just you and me."
The sound of a pastry tray slamming down on the counter announced Silas's arrival.
The baker abandoned his knife shaped cookies to materialize at Simone's side, eyes narrowed to glowing slits.
Simultaneously, Bramble zipped down from the garland she'd been arranging, wings a blur of iridescent motion as she positioned herself protectively near Simone's shoulder.
"Excuse me?" Silas's voice dripped with acidic politeness. "Did you just commandeer our manager in the middle of our busiest shift?"
I kept my posture relaxed, though I straightened to my full height, a subtle reminder of the power dynamics at play. "I own this café. I can commandeer whoever I wish."
Bramble's tiny wings buzzed with irritation. "So what exactly is going on here? Is she the manager now? Or your girlfriend? Or your captive?"
"Guys, it's fine," Simone attempted, her hands fidgeting with her apron ties. "I can just stay and—"
"No," I interrupted, my voice quiet but allowing no argument. "You can't."
Silas crossed his arms. "You didn't answer the question. What's your endgame here? One day you're evaluating her job performance, the next you're fucking her in the greenhouse—"
Simone made a strangled noise of mortification.
"—and now you're dragging her out during peak hours? What exactly are you doing with her?"
I studied the demon baker and the protective pixie, noting the genuine concern beneath their aggression.
My conversation with them earlier had confirmed what I suspected, Simone had built a family here, whether she recognized it or not.
They weren't just colleagues; they were her protectors, her support system.
"I'm showing her that she's allowed to live," I said finally, each word measured and deliberate. "Not just work. Not just serve. Live."
The simple declaration seemed to catch everyone off guard. Silas's hostile stance faltered slightly. Bramble's wings slowed their agitated beating. Even Simone stared at me with an expression of confused wonder, as if I'd spoken in a language she barely understood.
"But the café..." she protested weakly.
"Will survive without you for one afternoon," I finished for her. I turned toward the door, my decision made and not up for debate. "Coat. Now. Unless you'd prefer to be tossed over my shoulder."
The café went completely silent at the provocative statement.
Every creature present seemed to collectively hold their breath, waiting to see how this confrontation would resolve.
I paused at the door, turning back to fix Simone with a stare that held both command and challenge, allowing my eyes to glow slightly with power.
"I don't..." she began, fingers still twisted in her apron strings. "I have inventory to—"
"Simone," I said calmly. "Don't make me come get you."
She swallowed hard. For a moment, I thought she might actually refuse and force me to make good on my threat of carrying her out before an audience of fascinated supernatural beings.
Then, with trembling fingers, she untied her apron. She folded the apron with habitual neatness, placing it on the counter beside the forgotten syrup bottles.
"I'll need my coat," she said quietly. "It's cold outside."
Silas stared between us, clearly torn between continued protest and reluctant acceptance. Finally, he sighed dramatically, threw his hands up, and stalked to the back room. He returned moments later with Simone's worn winter coat, thrusting it at her with a pointed look.
"Have her back by sunset," he told me, his tone making it clear this wasn't a request. "Or we're coming to find you."
I smiled, revealing just enough fang to remind him who he was addressing. "I'll return her when our business is concluded."
Bramble zipped up to hover directly in front of my face, fearless despite her tiny stature. "Whatever this is, she better come back happy."
I inclined my head slightly, acknowledging the warning.
Then I extended my arm toward Simone, who hesitated only briefly before slipping her hand into the crook of my elbow.
The contact, simple as it was, sent a pulse of satisfaction through me.
She was coming willingly, reluctantly, perhaps, but without requiring the more dramatic extraction I'd half-hoped to employ.
As we moved toward the door, I felt the weight of every gaze in the café following us. Good. Let them see. Let them understand that Simone Parker belonged to me now, not just as an employee, but as something far more significant.
And I intended to make sure she understood that too, before the day was through.