Chapter 15
By five, the world outside had disappeared into a wall of white.
I stood at the front window, watching the blizzard build with a sinking feeling in my stomach. Snow in December was normal. Charming, even, when it dusted the streets and made everything look like a postcard.
This wasn’t charming. This was the kind of storm that made meteorologists use words like “historic” and “unprecedented” and “please stay indoors.”
“The weather report did not mention this,” Bastian said from behind me.
“Because it wasn’t supposed to happen.” I pressed closer to the glass, trying to make out the street beyond. Nothing but white. “This came out of nowhere.”
Through the window, I could barely see the outline of the lamppost across the street. Everything else had been swallowed by the blizzard.
“Does it snow like this where you live?” I asked without thinking.
“I do not have a home as such.”
“Where were you? Before?”
“In the spaces between.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is the only answer I have.” His footsteps moved closer. “Where winter is cold and judgment is needed, I exist. Where it is not, I do not. This is the nature of what I am.”
I turned to look at him.
“So you just… exist in winter? What happens the rest of the year?”
“I sleep. Wait. Prepare for the next season.” He tilted his head, studying me. “Why do you ask?”
“Because you’re stuck here with me, and I’m trying to figure out if that’s weird for you.”
“Everything about this situation is ‘weird’ for me.”
Fair point.
The lights flickered.
I glanced up at the ceiling fixture, watching it strobe once, twice, then settle back to steady brightness. “That’s not good.”
“Your electrical infrastructure is failing?”
“The storm’s probably taking down power lines.” I moved away from the window, checking my phone. No service. The blizzard was already disrupting the cell towers. “I should check the backup supplies.”
I kept emergency provisions in the stockroom.
Candles, matches, flashlights, batteries—basic disaster prep that my grandmother had insisted on maintaining.
Always be ready, Gran used to say. Weather can turn in minutes.
I was halfway to the stockroom when the lights flickered again. This time, they didn’t come back on.
Darkness swallowed the shop in an instant, complete and absolute. The kind of dark that only happened when every light source in a building died at once.
“Shit.”
“Stay still.” Bastian’s voice came from my left, calm and unbothered. “Let your eyes adjust.”
“I can’t see anything.”
“I can.”
Of course he could. Because ancient winter beings probably had perfect night vision along with all their other inconvenient advantages.
I heard him move, felt the displacement of air as he passed close by.
Then a soft glow filled the space—not bright, but enough to see by.
He’d conjured a small flame in his palm.
Cold fire, blue-white and dancing, casting strange shadows across his features.
“Show-off,” I muttered, but relief flooded through me.
“Merely practical.”
I grabbed the emergency box from the stockroom, hauling it back to the main shop. There were two dozen pillar candles, two flashlights, and a battery-powered radio that was probably older than me inside.
“This is sufficient?” he asked.
“It’ll have to be.” I wrapped my cardigan tighter around myself, already feeling the temperature drop. “The heating’s electric, so we’ve got no warmth either. I have a generator, but I didn’t have the money to buy fuel for it.”
“How long will the power remain out?”
“No idea. Could be hours. Could be days if the lines are really damaged.” I checked my phone again. Still no service. “I can’t even call to find out.”
The shop was already getting cold. Not freezing—yet—but the kind of creeping chill that promised worse to come. I could see my breath starting to mist in the candlelight.
This is fine. Everything is fine. You’ve survived a winter night without power before. But never with a seven-foot-tall Krampus watching my every move.
“We should return to your living quarters,” he said. “This building will become inhospitable quickly.”
He picked up the box and led the way upstairs, the flame still flickering in his palm.
My apartment was no longer warm and cozy.
Everything was dark and cold, the heating just as dead as downstairs.
I distributed candles around the room, lighting them one by one.
The flames cast warm, flickering light, pushing back the darkness into corners and shadows.
The light helped, but the temperature was still dropping. My breath puffed out in visible plumes.
“I have blankets,” I said, already shivering. “Lots of blankets.”
I went to the linen closet and grabbed every blanket I could find—a thick down comforter, several wool throws, and the pile of fuzzy fleece blankets I usually kept for movie nights. I piled them on the couch.
“That should be sufficient for the night,” he observed, picking up the down comforter and inspecting it.
“The night? Bastian, this blizzard could last for days.”
He paused, the comforter still in his hands, and looked at me. “I am aware.”
The implications of that statement settled over me. Alone. Trapped. For days. With a creature I was deeply, dangerously attracted to.
This is not fine.
“We need to stay warm,” I said, focusing on the practical. “I should get dressed. Properly dressed.”
I fled to my bedroom, changed out of my jeans and sweater into a pair of thick flannel pajama pants, a thermal shirt, a wool sweater, and a pair of ridiculously fluffy socks.
I even considered putting on my hat, but decided that might be overkill.
Jingle opened an eye as I rushed around, but remained buried under the pillows.
I decided to leave him there. He’d join us if he wanted to.
When I came out, Bastian had arranged the blankets on the couch, creating a surprisingly inviting-looking nest. He’d also lit a few more candles, their combined light making the living room feel almost cozy. Almost.
The fire in the fake fireplace was, of course, useless.
“We need real heat,” I said.
“The candles provide some.”
“Not enough.” I went to the kitchen, returning with the largest pot I owned. “I can boil water. The steam will help warm up the room.”
“That is… surprisingly resourceful.”
“I watch a lot of survival shows.” I filled the pot at the sink. “We can also make hot cider.”
“Another one of your sentimental culinary rituals?”
“Hot cider is not sentimental. It’s a necessity for survival in extreme situations.”
“If you say so.”
I set the pot on the stove, which thankfully was a gas range, not electric. A small mercy. The burner whooshed to life with a familiar, comforting blue flame.
“There,” I said. “Progress.”
“Minimal, but progress nonetheless.”
We stood there for a moment, watching the pot start to steam.
The awkwardness from the previous night was back, tenfold now that we were trapped.
We hadn’t really talked after we returned from the meeting.
I’d made canned soup for dinner—he clearly hadn’t approved but he’d let it go—and then retreated to bed with a book I couldn’t concentrate on.
The memory of our kiss had continued to haunt me.
I suspected it haunted him as well. He’d been more than usually silent in the shop, although it had been another successfully busy day until the storm began.
He’d helped me restock and rearranged things according to his perfectionist standards, but he’d been careful not to touch me.
It didn’t make me any less conscious of his presence and every time I looked up, he was watching me.
“So,” I said, breaking the silence. “Seven more days.”
“Approximately, depending on how the blizzard affects your temporal perception.”
“You talk about it like it’s a prison sentence.”
“For me, it is a dereliction of duty. For you, it is an opportunity to avoid the consequences of your actions.”
I sighed, leaning against the counter. “We’re back to my transgressions, are we?”
“We never left.”
The water started boiling, and I turned my attention to making hot cider. I used the good stuff—the mix my grandmother swore by—and added an orange slice studded with cloves and a cinnamon stick. The ritual of it helped calm my nerves.
I poured the cider into two mugs—a reindeer one for me and the usual black for Bastian.
“I do not require—”
“Just shut up and drink it, okay?” I pushed the mug towards him, then carried mine over to the window, looking out at the blizzard.
Even worse than before. The snow fell so thickly I couldn’t see the building across the street.
If the blizzard continued, not only would I be trapped in my apartment, but the store would remain closed and any faint hope that I might be able to save the shop would disappear.
This is bad. This is really bad.
“Noelle.” He appeared behind me, his reflection ghostly in the dark window.
“What?”
“You are shivering.”
“Yes, that’s what happens when humans get cold. We shiver. It’s a biological response to cold.” Although I wasn’t sure it was entirely from the cold.
I heard him sigh, and a second later I was in his arms. He’d picked me up so smoothly that the cider in the mug didn’t even ripple. God, he was warm. I resisted the temptation to nestle closer and frowned up at him.
“What are you doing?”
“I am being practical.” He carried me to the couch and nest of blankets he’d prepared. “Body heat is more effective than blankets alone.”
My brain short-circuited somewhere between “body” and “heat.”
“I don’t need—”
“Yes, you do.”
He sat down just as smoothly, and carefully pulled the blankets around us.
“This is purely practical,” I said.
“Absolutely.”
“Just until the power comes back.”
“Of course.”
“And we’re not going to make it weird.”
His mouth twitched. “I would not dream of it.”
I could practically feel his amusement, dark and rich, but I could also feel his warmth radiating off him in waves, calling to every cold, shivering part of me.
This is fine. This is normal. People share body heat all the time. It doesn’t mean anything.
I perched on the edge of his lap, stiff and awkward, trying to maintain some semblance of personal space. He made a sound somewhere between amusement and exasperation. “This will not work.”
“Why not?”
“Because you are barely touching me, which defeats the purpose.” His hands settled on my waist—huge and warm even through my layers of clothing. “Relax, little light.”
“I am relaxed.”
“You are rigid as a board.”
“That’s just my natural sitting posture.”
“Liar.” He pulled me fully against him, my back against his chest, his arms wrapping around me over the blanket. “Better.”
Better was an understatement.
He was furnace-hot, heat radiating through every point of contact. His chest was solid muscle beneath me, his heartbeat a steady drum against my spine. The cold that had been seeping into my bones began to retreat, chased away by his warmth.
Oh no.
This was a terrible idea. Because it felt too good, too right. Like I’d been cold my entire life and finally found the sun.
“You are still shivering,” he said, his breath stirring my hair.
“Give it a minute.”
His arms tightened fractionally. “Take your time.”
We sat in silence, the only sounds the howling wind outside and our breathing. The candles I’d lit cast flickering shadows but we were wrapped in darkness and warmth and each other. Slowly, my shivering subsided. My muscles began to unknot. My breathing evened out.
This is nice. This is actually really nice.
“Better?” he asked.
“Yeah.” The word came out drowsy. When had I gotten so tired? “Thank you.”
“You are welcome.”
I should move. Should put some distance between us before this became something it shouldn’t be. Instead, I let my head fall back against his shoulder. He made a low sound—approval, maybe—and shifted slightly, adjusting his position to support my weight more comfortably.
His tail, which had been draped over the armrest, moved. I felt it before I saw it, a gentle, careful touch around my waist. Not constricting. Just… there.
“Your tail,” I said.
“What about it?”
“It’s touching me.”
“Yes.”
“You said there were consequences for touching it without permission.”
“There are.” A pause. “I am granting permission.”
The implications were inescapable. Touching his tail was an intimate act. Allowing me to touch it required trust. He’s trusting me. The realization sent warmth through me that had nothing to do with his body heat.
“Why?” I asked.
His hand moved, smoothing the blanket more securely around my shoulders. “Because my tail provides additional warmth and stability.”
“So for practical reasons.”
“Precisely.”
We were both lying through our teeth, and we both knew it. But I didn’t pull away, and his tail remained wrapped around my waist, a warm weight that somehow felt like a promise.
Outside, the blizzard raged. Inside, wrapped in darkness and warmth and the strange comfort of his presence, I felt safer than I had in months. My eyelids grew heavy.
“You should sleep,” he said.
“Can’t. Have to stay awake in case something happens.”
“I will keep watch. You sleep.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“It is now.”
I wanted to argue, but exhaustion was pulling at me with warm, insistent hands, and his heartbeat was so steady, and I was finally, finally warm all the way through.
Just a few minutes. I’ll rest my eyes for just a few minutes.
“Noelle.”
“Mmm?”
“Sleep.”
His voice was gentle, almost tender, and I let myself drift.
At some point, his hand began moving in slow circles on my back, soothing and hypnotic.
At some point, my own hand found his other hand where it rested against my stomach, my fingers tangling with his claws.
At some point, I stopped pretending this was just practical.
His tail tightened around my waist. His other arm shifted, supporting my weight more fully. His chin rested lightly atop my head. We were a tangle of limbs and warmth and unspoken things, pressed together on a couch that was too small for him, pretending this was nothing but survival.
I should have been scared. Instead, I felt peaceful.
The blizzard howled outside, but inside, wrapped in Bastian’s arms with his tail around my waist and his heartbeat steady against my spine, I let myself fall into sleep. The last thing I registered was his voice, so quiet I might have imagined it:
“Sleep well, little light.”
And his lips, pressing briefly to the top of my head. Then darkness took me, warm and safe and entirely impractical.