Wreck the Halls (Season’s Readings #1)

Chapter 1

It was the night before Christmas, and all through the house, no one stirred…

because Eira had hog-tied them in the basement.

It had been a challenge. The four men squatting in this house were massive, but she liked a challenge.

The adrenaline rush. The fear. The chaos.

Eira lived for the fight. She craved the punishment. She was a Krampus, after all.

She wasn’t completely heartless, though.

Her kind operated under a code of ethics, even if mythology painted them in a poor light.

In the days of old, Santa blessed the good with fruits and sweets, but the wicked?

Krampus was your gift. Mankind reaped what they sowed, and the two races worked together to bring peace on earth…

and screams in the night. Humans learned to be kind, fearing the dark creatures hovering in Santa’s shadows, but soon Krampuses were bound to the darkness.

People were too afraid to stoop to their baser instincts, and punishment was no longer needed.

Santas started the tradition of coal in unruly children's stockings, for there was no need for the horned nightmares.

That’s when the wars began. The Santas lashed out against the Krampus race, and Eira was one of the few left alive.

They scattered to the ends of the earth, hiding their true form, and before long history claimed they were vile beasts covered in fur and horns, ruthlessly torturing people until Santa came to save the day.

Eira touched her head, gently brushing back her dark locks.

How far that was from the truth. Look at the evil their centuries of absence had birthed.

Joy was leaking from this world. The wicked were left unpunished.

It was time for Krampus to return, and for Santa to die.

Eira twirled her knives over her knuckles and dragged a chair before the fireplace.

It was why she chose this house. The family was vacationing—due back in the morning—leaving their expensive home blessedly empty.

Eira knew she should feel guilty for her part in luring those men here, but she needed wickedness to enter a home, just as Santa required the goodness of an excited child.

The little boys who normally lived here were charming children, undoubtedly at the top of Santa’s nice list, so the old, fat man would tumble down that chimney any minute to leave them gifts.

The four she lured here had just robbed a bank, squatting in the vacant residence to avoid the police.

Too bad they couldn’t avoid her. She had swept in on the shadows and unleashed a century’s worth of rage and punishment, and now they lay downstairs, tape over their mouths, wrists and ankles bound.

She wouldn’t kill them. Despite the stories, Krampuses didn’t murder humans.

They only showed them the error of their ways, but Eira would make an exception for the man in red.

She inched the chair closer to the fireplace.

Yes, she would make an exception for her enemy.

His race had attempted to eradicate hers.

Time to return the favor. Holiday spirit and all.

Snow fell gently outside, and if her nerves weren’t so on edge, Eira might have enjoyed the peace.

An elegantly decorated tree stood in the corner of the room.

Tomorrow was Christmas. This house was extravagant, the weather gorgeous, and her adrenaline pumped from capturing those men downstairs.

It should’ve been a glorious evening, but her anxiety hung thick in the air like a blanket of snow.

After she dealt with Santa, the police would receive an anonymous tip, leading them here to find the gift-wrapped thieves, complete with a bright red bow.

Eira realized it was excessive, but she couldn’t stop herself from slapping giant bows on the men’s heads and their bags of stolen cash, minus her cut, of course.

A girl had to make a living, and life on the run was expensive and stressful.

There’d been only one year during her exile when she felt safe, wanting for nothing, but she refused to think about that time.

It hurt worse than the bruises on her ribs from the one thief’s well-aimed kick.

Eira rubbed her side, the black skin-tight fabric of her suit hugging her every curve as if to hold her together.

She had to wait but a little while longer.

Midnight was fast approaching. Christmas was coming, bringing her enemy along with it.

In minutes, she would avenge her kind. They would reclaim their rightful place in tradition, and Santa would be dead.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all, an unholy night.

The seconds ticked by too slow, the minutes too fast, but then she heard it.

Hooves on the roof. He was here. He’d fallen for her trap.

Eira tensed, leaning forward with her blades at the ready.

Awareness pricked her skin. Just a few more seconds, and she would end the war.

She would end the self-righteous men who had exiled and murdered her people.

The chimney shook, and soot bloomed in puffy smoke around her. She breathed deep, loving the smell, loving the exhilaration igniting her veins. Her scalp stung, desperate to reveal her true form, but she held back. The trap would work better if he thought her a human woman.

The chimney shuddered, and in a cloud of ash, a giant man dressed in red burst from the fireplace. Eira never understood how men so large could fit into such small places, but then again, she moved in the shadows, slipping inside locked doors to punish the wicked.

The Santa didn’t notice her at first, her dark clothes and hair blending in with the midnight blackness, but as if sensing he wasn’t alone, his eyes fell on her seated form, and he jerked in surprise. He studied her for a second, and then a strange expression passed over his face.

“Shit.”