Page 10 of The Krampus's First Christmas Gift

Six

The krampus stalked forward, careful to crouch, slink, and move silently through the shadows. His hooves pressed into the snow without making a noise as he followed Jasper and the little fox.

Jasper pushed past branches, trudging loudly. He swivelled his head from side to side, searching the forest as he walked.

He is looking for me. He wants me.

The krampus swallowed. He wished he could step forward and show himself. He wanted to introduce himself to his half-mate. He longed to claim Jasper.

For a moment, he imagined stepping forward. Jasper’s eyes would meet his. A smile would stretch his cheeks. Then Jasper would dash forward and throw himself into Kraghol’s arms. Jasper would hold Kraghol close, in a way Kraghol had never been held before.

The krampus closed his eyes, and for a second, he could almost feel the gentle touch of his almost mate’s hands.

He didn’t remember ever being hugged before, not even by his family. Krampuses were not affectionate. They did not casually hug or touch one another. Only mates did that. And only in private.

What would it be like to be hugged by Jasper? What would it like to be loved by him?

He opened his eyes.

But that would never happen. I am a monster. Those sort of things are not for me and my kind.

He looked down at his furry hands. He stretched his fingers, claws extending. He let out a breath. How could he ever touch someone as beautiful as Jasper with such hideous hands?

If he stepped forward, Jasper’s eyes would widen in terror. His mouth would gape. He’d take in Kraghol’s horns, tail, hoofed feet, and fangs. Jasper would scream and run, fleeing from the krampus.

As he should. After all, that was the correct response to sighting someone like Kraghol.

It was the response Kraghol knew well. Most of the time, he and his kind kept to themselves in the forest. They were nocturnal and skilled at creeping and hiding. They lived in caves, hidden away from the light of day. Those who wandered the forests rarely spotted a krampus.

But there was one night every year, where those in Anorra saw krampuses. Krampus Night. Ten days before Christmas, the krampuses left the forest and descended on the city. The streets of Anorra mostly emptied before the krampuses emerged. Then they would chase any foolish enough to still be outside.

Kraghol remembered his first Krampus Night. He’d been ten. He’d run through the streets, trailing after his grandmother, parents, and older sister. They’d screamed and yelled and given chase at any opportunity. Bells had jangled from their belts. Their whips and switches swung, slicing the air.

Kraghol had clutched a switch in his hand until it hurt. But the idea of using it on anyone had made him want to vomit. He’d hung back. He’d not chased a soul. Still, he’d seen and heard the cries of those hounded by the krampuses.

And he’d seen the terror in the eyes of those peeking through the windows, looking at him. When his gaze met theirs, the city folk would shudder, gasp, or duck away, as if the mere sight of Kraghol was too much to bear.

He’d seen a child, tears streaming down her cheeks as she stared at Kraghol. He’d wanted to apologise for scaring her. He’d been but a child himself that first night.

He’d hunched his shoulders, blinking rapidly, wishing he could cry too for being so ugly, scary, and horrific. But of course, his grandmother would not have tolerated his tears. So he’d bitten his bottom lip hard to stop himself from crying.

That first Krampus Night, Kraghol had truly understood what he was. A krampus. A monster. A creature that caused only terror.

He’d known it beforehand, of course. His family and the other krampuses relished being feared. He’d grown up on stories of Krampus Night and how the city folk would flee before them.

Kraghol could not stand the idea of Jasper looking at him as those in the city had. No. Better to stay hidden from his half-mate and watch from a distance instead.

Jasper stopped at the edge of the lake, staring out over the flat surface. He squatted and patted the little fox. He spoke, but he was too far away for Kraghol to hear. But one time, Kraghol had heard Jasper call the foxKali. Such a pretty name.

Strange. Kraghol had never thought to name the fox despite raising it. He’d found the poor, starving creature in his cave the winter before, taking shelter from the snow. He’d searched nearby but found no parents or other kits from the litter.

The krampus had taken the fox in and raised it by hand. But he’d not thought to name it. That hadn’t even crossed his mind. He’d just called herlittle fox.

Now she belonged to Jasper. Kraghol was glad of that. She would have a better life with Jasper than with him.

Kraghol knew there were other races like his, monsters with terrifying visages. Orcs, ogres, trolls, minotaurs, and the like. But despite their appearances, for some reason they could live in Anorra. They could build a life amongst the city folk. They could be civilised and accepted in a way he could not.

He did not fully understand how they managed that.