Chapter 2
Eira launched herself at him, knives poised for the kill, but the Santa swung his pack faster than a man that size should be able to.
Her blades sliced through the velvet bag and embedded in a gift box with a thud.
She tried to yank the knives free, but the Santa drove his significant weight against her smaller form.
The force flung her across the room and into the tree, its needles biting into her back with sharp stings as they crashed to the ground.
Ornaments popped as she rolled over their delicate glass.
Branches cracked, their sharpened ends piercing her shirt to scrape her skin, and a few of the colorful lights shattered.
She smelled her own blood among the bruised pine needles, and she snarled as the Santa strode for her.
From the new angle on the floor, she realized just how big he was.
At least six foot seven inches, the man’s biceps and waistline were every bit as massive, and fear flickered through her.
Eira was strong, taller than most human women, but she hadn’t expected a man of this magnitude.
She’d only known one other person that tall, but he was—
She shut the thought down, fingers searching the damaged tree as the Santa loomed above her, and they brushed a glass ornament shaped like an elongated icicle.
The tip had shattered upon impact, jagged and sharp, and while it wasn’t nearly as strong as her blades with handles carved of her ancestors’ horns, it would certainly cut that self-righteous look off his face.
Coiling her legs beneath her, Eira waited for the giant man to step close to the fallen tree, and with battle-trained muscles, she leaped for him.
The Santa grunted in surprise as she flew for him with alarming speed.
He threw out his arms to catch her, and her already bruised ribs burned in agony as his fists closed around her ribcage.
With a roar of vengeance, Eira leaned into the pain and slashed at the man’s bearded face.
Blood the color of his garish suit exploded as the jagged tip sliced through his cheek, and she smirked in amusement.
How long had she dreamed of this moment?
She wanted to revel in this fight, to enjoy the fruits of her labor.
The Santa tried to throw her off, but her legs wrapped around his thick waist. Her fingers coiled in his white hair, and she yanked his head back so hard she heard his bones pop in their sockets.
“This is for my family,” she growled as she pressed the sharp ornament against his throat. “This is for my people.” She increased the pressure until a trickle of blood dripped down his neck. “For your crimes against my race, I punish you, Santa Claus.”
The man grunted at the pain, but before she could slice him open, he lunged forward and slammed her against the wall.
Her back hit so hard that a family photo fell off its nail to shatter on the floor.
Her vision blurred as her head bounced off the wall, and the Santa seized her wrist, pinning it above her.
Her teeth bared in a snarl as he bent her wrist backward, and the broken ornament slipped from her fingers and smashed to shards at his feet.
Eira braced for death, for pain, but instead of killing her, the Santa slid her down the wall.
His size loomed large, engulfing her in its shadow, and for a second, her spirit longed for the comfort it brought.
That was how they were supposed to be, a Krampus and a Santa.
The bearer of gifts leading the way, and the punisher hovering in his shadow as they graced each home on December 24th.
The man growled as if he read her thoughts and stepped away, letting the damaged light from the Christmas tree steal his shadow from her. All her rage and despair and hatred came flooding back, and she tensed as he reached for his pack… and her knives.
“If you don’t kill me, I’ll keep coming for you,” she screamed at his broad back. “I will hunt the earth until I find another home containing good and evil. A house where we’re both welcomed, and I will kill you.”
The Santa silently pulled her blades from the bag and threw them with deadly precision against the far wall.
She wouldn’t be able to retrieve them before he disappeared up the chimney, and her weight shifted as she considered her options.
She needed those knives to defeat him. This Santa was the largest reincarnation she’d ever seen, and he’d already proved how much stronger than her he was.
“That’s it?” she taunted as she stepped sideways, hoping to distract him long enough to get to the blades. If he escaped her clutches, who knew when she would next be able to trap him? “You’re not going to say anything? You won’t fight back?”
The Santa turned, meeting her gaze in the darkness, and she read a strange sorrow in his eyes.
It froze her in place, her boots growing roots to anchor her to the expensive floor, and an eerie sense of déjà vu washed over her.
Those eyes? Had she seen them before? She couldn’t have.
She’d never seen this reincarnation of Santa before, but something in his sorrow spoke of regret and apology.
Without a word, he turned, righted the tree as best he could, and unloaded the gifts.
He tucked them under snapped branches and broken ornaments, and Eira stared at him in a captivated trance.
She grew up with stories about the Santas of old.
Of the men who hunted down the Krampuses, but not one tale spoke of kindness in their eyes.
Only murder. Only rage. Was this a trap?
Or was this mountain of a man genuinely kind?
Slipping the last gift under the tree, the Santa hoisted the pack over his shoulder, and Eira snapped out of her trance.
No, she wouldn’t feel sympathy for him. He was the enemy, the reason she lived in the shadows without a place to call home.
As he made his way toward the fireplace, she launched into a run, boots pounding against the hardwood floor, and she ripped the knives from the wall.
Spinning on her heels, she hurled one at his skull.
The whistle of wind was all the warning the Santa had, but it was enough, and he sidestepped the knife with agile ease.
Eira smirked, letting the second blade fly.
She knew he would escape the first throw, and anticipating his movements, the second knife found its target.
The giant man grunted in pain as the weapon sliced through his arm, and as she stalked for him, she wondered if the Santas wore red to hide the blood. Krampuses bled black, and with her clothing as dark as midnight, no one ever saw her bleed.
She was on him in an instant, jumping onto his back and wrapping her powerful arms around his neck.
She squeezed as he clawed at her wrists, his choking a beautiful melody in the night, but when he couldn’t pry her from his throat, he flung his weight backward.
The two of them crashed to the hard floor, Eira crushed beneath his mass, and she roared as her bones threatened to crack.
His size was too heavy for her protesting ribs, and instinct forced her to release his neck.
The Santa rolled off her coughing chest and to his feet in one graceful move.
He stepped for his pack, but the wheezing Eira was already on her hands and knees, scrambling for the knives.
The second her fingers gripped the horned handle, a foot kicked her fist, sending the blade skittering across the floor.
She screamed as her knuckles instantly bruised, and with an unholy rage, Eira stood to her full height before the fireplace.
Her skull burned with an urgent purpose.
It was time. She would never win this fight in her human form.
Shadows swarmed the room. They weaved toward her from every corner, dancing and pulsating as the air vibrated with power.
For a moment, neither of them moved, and then her hands brushed over her black hair.
As her palms left her scalp, two dark and gently twisted horns surged from her head.
Delicate and almost beautiful, they rose a foot tall to deadly points, their subtle twists angled backward.
Unlike the stories, her body was not that of an animal.
She wore no fur, no bestial deformities, for she wasn’t a monster.
Not in the way history painted her kind, but she was a Krampus all the same, and how glorious was in her darkness.
With a roar, Eira lunged for the Santa and slammed her palm against his sternum.
The giant man flew backward, the force hurling him into the hallway.
He landed hard, cracking the floorboards, and she ripped the Christmas tree lights from their crooked branches.
She charged over the hardwood, but the man was fast. His foot kicked out before his prone body and caught her in the stomach.
The pain knocked the wind from her lungs, and she crashed to her tailbone across the corridor.
Her abs ached from his boot. Her lungs struggled to inhale oxygen, but the horns granted her unnatural strength.
Eira didn’t bother waiting to recover as she scrambled through the shadows, slipping in and out of the darkness like a demon in the night.
“Your kind should have made sure to kill us all,” she said as she crawled on top of him and wrapped the string of lights around his neck. “I won’t stop until all Santas are dead and my people are free.”
Then she tightened the wires. The Santa began to choke, his broad palms pushing against her.
Twice he managed to shove her off, and twice she recaptured him.
Eira refused to yield until he became as silent as the night, but the tighter she pulled, the more she noticed an oddness blurring his features.
His struggling weakened. His face turned blue, and then as he passed out, it changed, his entire body following suit.
The old man vanished. Gone was the white hair and beard.
Gone was the thick midsection, and in its place lay chiseled abs, rippling biceps, and the most handsome face she’d ever seen.
Eira scrambled off him, and the sudden rush of oxygen fluttered his eyes. Eyes she knew. Eyes she could never forget. Eyes she once loved.
“Nick?”