Page 61 of Kraved By Krampus
“You’re weaving protection spells into a children’s story.” Pride rumbles in his voice.
“Is that what I’m doing?” The realization makes me smile. “I suppose I am.”
The words continue to flow as naturally as breathing. My pen dances across the page, creating two distinct manuscripts side by side. On my left, a children’s story about a young witch discovering her first spark of magic takes shape. The illustrations seem to draw themselves—simple yet enchanting drawings of protection symbols disguised as snowflakes and stars.
Mother would be proud. She always said stories had power beyond just entertainment.
On my right, my latest holiday romance novel evolves into something deeper. Gone are the cookie-cutter plots and one-dimensional characters. Instead, I weave a tale of a mortal woman who discovers the ancient magic running through her veins during the darkest night of winter. Her journey mirrors my own, though the readers won’t know that part.
Krampus leans closer, his warmth seeping into my shoulder as he reads. “Your magic grows stronger by the day, little mate.”
“These feel more real.” I tap my pen against the children’s story. “Teaching them about their gifts through stories. It’s what they need. What I needed.” I gesture to my romance novel. “And this one... it’s not just about finding love anymore. It’s about finding balance.”
The shadows in the room dance as he chuckles, and I watch them with newfound appreciation. They’re not threatening anymore. They’re just another part of the whole, like the light streaming through my window or the snow falling outside.
“Children around the world will benefit from your wisdom and protection.” His fingers trace one of the protection runes I’ve drawn. “And your adult readers might find more truth in your fiction than they expect.”
The town square bustles with activity as we step outside. Children dart between market stalls, their laughter carrying on the crisp winter air. My heart swells seeing them free to be themselves, not hiding their magic.
Mrs. Redmond waves from her position near the newly restored fountain. Above us, magic shimmers—ribbons of shadow and light twining together with leaves to form an arch of mistletoe.
Krampus pulls me close, his massive form gentle despite his fearsome appearance. “Your magic calls to mine, little mate.”
“As yours calls to mine.” The words come naturally now, an ancient truth I’ve always known.
Our combined power surges as our lips meet. Shadow and light dance around us, making the mistletoe above pulse with golden light. The children gasp in delight, and I hear several of the townspeople clapping.
I don’t pull away or try to hide. This is who we are—creatures of balance, keepers of ancient magic. My fingers trace the runes now permanently etched on his chest. It pulses with warmth, a reminder of our eternal bond.
Breaking the kiss, I rest my forehead against his chest. “I think I finally understand what my mother meant about true holiday magic.”
Chapter twenty-nine
Krampus
Adeep sense of satisfaction fills me as I watch Clara arrange her books on the shelf of our shared study.
The leather-bound first edition of “Shadow’s Kiss: A Winter’s Tale” takes pride of place in the center. Her fingers trace the embossed runes hidden in the cover design—protective sigils woven into what appears to be decorative snowflakes to mortal eyes.
My little mate’s creative power has grown exponentially since our binding. The shadows dance around her now, as natural as breathing, while her light still burns bright enough to warm even my ancient heart.
“The reviews are incredible.” She adjusts her reading glasses, a habit she’s kept despite no longer needing them.“They’re calling it a ‘groundbreaking reimagining of holiday fiction.’”
“Because it is.” My claws gently comb through her hair as I stand behind her. “You’ve created something entirely new, precious one. A bridge between worlds.”
She leans back against my chest, and I wrap my arms around her waist. Through our bond, I feel her contentment mingled with excitement.
“The best part is the letters from the children about my other book.” She reaches for a stack of envelopes on her writing desk. “They understand the hidden messages. Look at this one: ‘Dear Ms. Goodheart, When the main character’s hot chocolate started floating, I realized I wasn’t alone. My mom found me crying in the kitchen because I finally felt understood.’”
Pride swells in my chest. Her illustrated stories are doing exactly what we’d hoped—reaching young magic users who feel isolated and afraid, showing them they’re not alone. The perfect complement to my work at the academy.
“Speaking of which...” Clara turns in my arms, her eyes sparkling. “Your newest student arrives today, doesn’t she? The one who kept accidentally freezing her school’s water fountains?”
I nod, already anticipating the girl’s arrival. “Young Alice. Her powers manifest strongest when she’s trying to help others—she was attempting to provide cold water during a heat wave.”
“A natural protector.” Her smile brightens the room. “I’ll start working on her story tomorrow. Something about a young girl who discovers she can talk to winter itself...”
My mate’s imagination is already spinning tales, her magic humming beneath her skin.The shadows in the corner of the study writhe in response to her energy, and the eternal winter beyond our windows softens with hints of spring light.