Chapter 14
“Questions?” I asked when I finished my presentation.
Gordon raised his hand. “What’s your shop offering?”
“Free gift wrapping for any purchase. And I’ll have hot cocoa and cookies for everyone who stops by.”
“That’s generous.”
“That’s the point.”
We discussed logistics for another thirty minutes. By the end, the committee had voted unanimously to support the extravaganza. Relief flooded through me so intensely I felt light-headed.
“Excellent work, Noelle,” Mr. Peterson said warmly. “This is exactly what our community needs.”
I gathered my materials, accepting congratulations from the other members. Even Brenda seemed impressed. Then Tammy cornered me near the door.
“So,” she said, glancing at Bastian. “Is he single?”
I choked. “What?”
“Your very tall, very mysterious European friend. Is he single?”
No, I thought immediately, then hesitated. What right did I have to claim him?
“I… He’s not…” I floundered, aware of Bastian’s presence behind me. Could he hear this conversation? Of course he could. His hearing was supernaturally acute.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Tammy winked. “If you’re not interested, maybe introduce us?”
“Tammy—”
“I am not available,” Bastian said, his voice cutting through the chatter.
Everyone went quiet.
He stepped forward, his presence commanding attention despite making no obvious threatening gestures. “I am here on business with Miss Green. Personal entanglements would be… inappropriate.”
“Oh.” Tammy deflated slightly. “That’s a shame. But if you change your mind—”
“I will not.”
The finality in his tone left no room for argument. Tammy retreated, and I found myself ushered out of the community center with his hand at the small of my back—the heat of his palm searing through my coat.
“You didn’t have to be so harsh,” I said once we were outside.
“She was inappropriate.”
“She was just being friendly.”
“She was propositioning me.”
“She was expressing interest. There’s a difference.”
He stopped and pinned those glowing eyes, no longer even remotely human, on me. “Did you want me to consider her offer?”
“No.” The answer was immediate and instinctive. The thought of him with anyone else sent a hot, possessive surge through me. I didn’t even try to hide it, and I saw something flare in his eyes—satisfaction? Or maybe relief? “No. I just… it was a bit dramatic.”
“I am a dramatic entity.”
“I’m learning that.” We walked in silence for a block, the streetlights casting long shadows that seemed to dance around us. “So. That happened.”
“You were successful. They approved your plan.”
“I didn’t think they would. Not until you…”
“I spoke the truth.”
“You did. You were… amazing.” The word felt small, inadequate. “You saw what was wrong with the town. You weren’t afraid to say it.”
“One does not become a Krampus by being afraid of harsh truths.”
“Still. Thank you.”
“You did most of the work. The proposal was yours. I merely… clarified the stakes.” He stopped again, right in front of the darkened display window of Grinchly’s real estate office.
For Sale signs were plastered across the glass, looking like cruel red scars.
“Your antagonist is a more direct threat than I initially assessed.”
“He’s greedy,” I said, staring at the signs. “He doesn’t care about community or history. He only sees profit margins.”
“Greed is a sickness. It devours everything it touches. And I suspect in this case it has been amplified by something unnatural.” He turned to me, the glamour flickering around the edges of his form.
I saw, just for a second, the curl of a horn, the dark shadow of fur, before they vanished again.
“Your plan. The Good Deeds Extravaganza. It is a start. But it is not enough to simply offer kindness. You must create an experience. Something so compelling that it rekindles the town’s spirit. ”
“What kind of experience?”
“That is for you to discover.” He began walking again, and I hurried to catch up, my boots crunching on the salted pavement. “Your creativity is one of your few redeeming qualities. You will need to use it.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“A clinical observation.”
“Right.” I stuffed my cold hands into my pockets. “Well, I guess I’ll add ‘create a soul-changing experience’ to my to-do list, right between ‘reconcile accounts payable’ and ‘figure out what to do with my inconveniently attractive Krampus.’”
He actually stumbled. Just a little, a misstep on the uneven sidewalk, but it was enough. He shot me a look of pure annoyance, but I could have sworn there was something else there too. Shock, maybe. Or amusement.
“You are dangerously impulsive.”
“You’re dangerously distracting,” I retorted, then immediately regretted it. The word hung between us in the cold night air, a fragile, stupid admission.
He stopped again. This time, he didn’t just turn to me.
He backed me up against the brick wall of the post office, caging me in with his arms. The glamour was solidly in place, but I could feel the real him pressing in on me—the predator, the ancient power, the being I’d summoned from shadow and smoke.
“Distracting.” His voice was a low growl that vibrated right through my coat and settled deep in my bones. “You believe I am the distraction?”
My breath hitched. “Aren’t you?”
“Noelle.” My name on his lips was a warning and a caress. “You have filled your home with so much light, so much relentless, defiant brightness, that you have created a beacon in the darkness. You have called to forces you cannot comprehend. You are the distraction.”
He leaned in, and I was sure he was going to kiss me again. The thought sent a thrill of pure terror and pure desire through me. I closed my eyes, bracing for the impact, for the taste of winter and want.
But it didn’t come.
I opened my eyes to find him studying me, his expression unreadable.
“A lesson,” he said, and the words were cold water on my rising flame. “We were supposed to be discussing your next lesson.”
“My next lesson,” I repeated, my mind still fuzzy from the near-kiss.
“Balance. You understand the concept for your shop displays, but not for your life. You pour all your energy into others, into this town, into saving a legacy. You leave nothing for yourself. A cup cannot pour from an empty vessel.”
“Is that what this is?” I challenged, pushing against the wall of his chest. “You’re trying to teach me about self-care?”
“I am trying to teach you about survival.” He stepped back, giving me space, and the sudden cold made me shiver. “You want to save your shop? You want to defeat Grinchly? You will need more than goodwill and festive optimism. You will need strategy.”
He started walking again, and I had no choice but to follow him, my thoughts a tangled mess of half-formed desires and business plans.
We walked the rest of the way in a charged silence, each of us lost in our own world, but connected by the invisible threads of the binding.
I could feel him next to me, a solid, reassuring presence, even when he was driving me crazy.
Back in the shop, he immediately shed the glamour, the ripple of magic washing over him like heat off pavement.
His horns reappeared, the dark fur returned, and the heavy chains settled back across his chest. Jingle Bells, who had been snoozing on the counter, took one look, meowed in betrayal, and bolted for the safety of the apartment.
“Coward,” I muttered, shrugging out of my coat.
“He is a creature of comfort,” Bastian said, examining the displays we had so painstakingly arranged that morning. “He dislikes disruption.”
“Tell me about it.”
“You are still flustered.” He was looking at me now, his amber eyes burning with an intensity that made my skin feel too tight. “The bond is… loud.”
“Sorry,” I mumbled, and was immediately annoyed at myself for apologizing. “It’s not like I can control it.”
“Nor can I,” he admitted, and the raw honesty in his tone was more disconcerting than any of his threats. “But what I want makes no difference.”
“Why?”
“Because I am not mortal. Because I do not experience—” He stopped, his jaw tightening. “Because it is not possible.”
“Not possible, or not allowed?”
“Both. Neither. It does not matter.”
But something in his expression suggested it did matter. That this was a wound, not just a statement of fact.
“Have you ever tried?” I asked softly.
“Tried what?”
“Having a relationship. Letting yourself care about—”
“No.” The word came out sharp. Final. “And I do not intend to start. My purpose is judgment, not… not whatever you are suggesting.”
“I’m not suggesting anything. I’m just—”
“We should return to your apartment.” He turned away, dismissing the conversation. “You have plans to make. I have observations to catalog.”
I stared at his back, at the rigid set of his shoulders, and realized I’d struck a nerve. Not the fun kind that made him almost-smile. The painful kind that made him retreat.
I should let it go. I should respect his boundaries and accept that whatever had passed between us in the shop was nothing more than adrenaline and proximity. But I’d never been particularly good at leaving well enough alone.
“Fine,” I said, heading for the stairs. “But for the record, I think you’re wrong.”
“About what?”
“About relationships being impossible.” I glanced at him. “There was a connection when we kissed.”
“You are imagining things.”
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
But his voice had gone rough again. We walked up the stairs in silence.
Eight more days to go. They suddenly felt both too long and not long enough.