Chapter 1
I’d rather not test my immortality by getting torn apart by wolves
TWYLA
Krampus will need to make a whole new naughty list for me this time.
I shiver as I shuffle my snowshoes through the snow-laden wooded path. Under different circumstances, it would seem like a winter wonderland, ethereal and crystalline. My breath escapes into the night like a white gossamer ghost. Now and then, the moonlight splinters through the thick canopy of trees, turning the snow into silver glitter.
It would be beautiful…if I wasn’t so damn lost.
My arms scream from the walking poles, and I know I’ll be sore tomorrow. The wind howls through the trees, forming a symphony of creaking branches and the echoes of snow falling to the ground. Frost crystals bite my face since Jack Frost has apparently upgraded from nipping tonight.
Hmm…I probably shouldn’t insult Jack Frost. I wonder if Krampus knows him. There’s still so much I don’t know about my husband’s magical world.
My muscles protest as I struggle through the knee-high snow, digging my poles into the stuff I’m convinced should be called another four-letter word. Ice coats my curls, soaking them into cold, gnarled strands. Somehow, I keep going through the exhaustion, pressing on. But to where?
The squall of a snowstorm limits my vision, mottling the trees to ominous silhouettes with their claw-like branches. Everything else is sheer whiteout—what would normally be a dreamscape of white and gray. Now, it’s a nightmare of bitter cold gnawing my flesh through my thick, wintry layers like icy fingers. I’d rather have my husband tearing them off me with his teeth. Krampus would also turn my cheeks rosy for a whole other reason. Both kinds.
Go with your friends, Twyla. You’ll have more fun, Twyla. The Board of Directors meeting will be so boring, Twyla. Gigantic eye roll.
To think, I could be warm and cozy, wrapped in layers of his fur, falling asleep to the droning of those boring directors while dreaming of Krampus’s all-natural eggnog and getting tangled up in twinkle lights.
But I’m here in these god-forsaken woods that go on without end.
I guess that serves me right for splitting off from my group. And for following the little fawn. In my defense, I didn’t know he was running back to his doe mother. In my defense, my friends didn’t wait for me.
Not that I blame them.
After all, I married Krampus.
To them, he is just Mr. Krampus, CEO of Krampus and Christmas World. Well, former CEO since he gave that dutyto Mephisto shortly before we married. Now, Krampus the Chairman of the Board. To all others, he wears a costume. Other than the creatures of his realm, I am the only one who knows that costume does not come with a zipper.
As far as my friends are concerned, I’ve spent the past year on an extended tour in Germany since the majority of people stereotype my husband as German when he’s the son of Hel, the Norse Goddess of the Underworld, and the grandson of Loki. Sure, Germany still made him famous.
But he spends all his time punishing me. Never naughty children. He leaves the fear of naughtiness to Santa Clause and coal vs. presents.
Krampus is my biggest Christmas present.
If my friends knew I’d spent the past year on an extended honeymoon at Krampus’s castle in the ‘Between’ as it’s called, they’d laugh and tell me I’d had too much eggnog.
Not enough today, I grumble to myself and trudge onward.
I swallow the lump in my throat, blaming my tears on the wind, but the truth is…I’m homesick. And not for here.
Krampus said I could stay at the castle, but I didn’t want to be separated from him the week before Christmas. And since Mephisto decided to fall in love with a demon, it was his turn for a honeymoon with his husband.
So, Krampus offered to take the latest meeting with the Board instead of his most trusted advisor.
Crossing my arms over my chest and huddling into my fur-lined coat, I protect my heart and consider how different things are now.
A year ago, I was just Twyla, an intern at Colton Industries—a relatively normal, red-blooded girl of twenty-six with a penchant for cosplay, sewing, a degree in investigative journalism, and a love of monster smut.
I smile, feeling a little glow inside my chest.
Now, I am the Queen of Yuletide, her Amorous Majesty, the Lady of the Winter Star, and Monstrous Mistress of the Solstice. Happy tears prick my eyes as I recite the title. I think of all the demons and monsters of the castle, of Krampus Haven, and my husband himself.
While I may be immortal, as Hel proclaimed, I am still human. Utterly and relatively, a red-blooded human. It was the stipulation of my choice. The first immortal human who could still get sick, bleed, and feel human emotion. The kind of emotion monsters love to feed upon—none more than my beloved Christmas monster.
