Page 89 of Never Kiss a Krampus

He caught my wrist, bringing it to his mouth. His lips—still capable of remarkable softness despite the sharp canines that gleamed behind them—brushed across my pulse point. “You have frosting in your hair.”

“I’m aware.”

“And wrapping paper stuck to your sweater.”

“Also aware.”

“You organized an event for over two hundred people, baked approximately one thousand cookies, prevented at least four arguments between Mrs. Allen and Mr. Rodriguez about proper ornament placement, and somehow convinced the mayor todonate another three months of funding to the community center.” His thumb stroked over my racing pulse. “You must be exhausted.”

“Getting there.”

“And yet you’re standing here demanding I shift forms so you can admire my horns.”

“Among other things.”

His grin was all teeth and wicked promise. “Naughty little light.”

“Very naughty.” I pressed closer, reveling in the solid warmth of him. The familiar scent of frost and spice that clung to his fur. “I think I’ve earned a punishment.”

“Oh?” One clawed hand settled on my hip, burning through the fabric of my skirt. “And what makes you think you’ve been naughty enough to warrant my attention?”

“I ate the last gingerbread cookie. The one you were saving.”

“Scandalous.”

“And I may have told Mrs. Henderson that you’d be happy to help move her piano after New Year’s.”

He growled. “That piano weighs more than a small car.”

“You can lift it with one hand.”

“That’s beside the point.”

“And—” I traced a finger down his chest, following the line of fur to where it disappeared beneath his leather vest. “—I’ve been thinking about you all day. About this. About what happens after everyone leaves and it’s just us.”

His pupils dilated, the amber of his eyes nearly consumed by black. “Have you now.”

“Mmm. Very impure thoughts. Definitely naughty-list material.”

“I see.” His other hand joined the first, spanning my waist and lifting me effortlessly off the ground. “Then I suppose I have no choice but to deliver appropriate punishment.”

I wrapped my legs around him, linking my ankles at the small of his back. His tail curved around my calf, a familiar weight. “I accept my fate.”

“You’re not even slightly sorry, are you?”

“Not one bit.”

He carried me out of the nursery, pausing only to dim the star-lights to their lowest setting. Jingle Bells cracked an eye open again, saw us leaving, and gave what could only be described as a feline eye-roll before settling back to his guard duties.

Our bedroom was smaller than the nursery, dominated by a bed that had required custom construction to accommodate a being of Bastian’s considerable size. Fairy lights twinkled around the window frame—I couldn’t help myself—and my collection of snow globes lined the dresser, each one a small world of captured winter magic.

He set me down on the edge of the bed, then stepped back.

I made a sound of protest.

“Patience.” The command in his voice sent shivers down my spine. “I’ve been waiting all day. You can wait a few more minutes.”

He moved to the window, looking out over the snow-covered street below. The shop’s lights still glowed, casting colored patterns across the pristine white. A few last stragglers made their way home, bundled against the cold, carrying bags of gifts and memories.