But that had changed something in Jasper. And it had created a rift between them.

  Although Leo would head over to the Christmas markets soon, it didn’t look like he was about to leave. In fact, none of them looked like they were about to leave the bakery.

  He strode down the alley, straight past the stairs leading up to the family apartment. Kali trotted along beside him, familiar with their daily routine. If anyone had come out into the back alley, he’d have gone upstairs, waited for them to leave, then headed to the forest.

  His breath came faster. His heart beat rapidly. How could walking fast be so taxing on him?

  Once he left the alley, he slowed and got his breath back. It was best if his family didn’t know he went to the forest almost every day. They’d just worry and ask questions he didn’t know how to answer. They particularly wouldn’t want him going out there in winter.

  Thankfully, no one tended to check on him throughout the day. They all worked. But if they did come to his room, he’d just say he’d been out walking. Not in the forest. Just in the city. That way they wouldn’t worry so much. Still, the more questions he could avoid, the better.

  Jasper turned down a main street. The snow fell heavier. He pulled his coat tighter around himself. He pressed his lips together. His body and head ached. But he had to push through. He had to go to the forest. If he didn’t, he’d just lie in bed, feeling that unending need to return to the forest and search.

  He’d be back before Trent came with his tea. Leo always stopped by sometime after to check in on him and stare at Jasper with worry in his eyes. He sighed.

  He reached the city’s edge. Bare trees and shrubs replaced buildings. Slush-covered cobblestone paths turned to pristine snow.

  He paused as he stared at the forest. Already he could feel the headache becoming soothed somewhat. His body felt lighter. Breathing came easier. He didn’t magically recover when he returned to the forest. But for some reason, he always felt better here.

  He could manage walking a few hours before exhaustion took its toll on him. He leaned down to pat Kali. “Maybe today I’ll find what I’m looking for.”

  Kali blinked up at him.

  “I doubt it though. After all, I haven’t found it any other day. But I can always hope.” Then he and Kali stepped forward into the forest.

  Chapter

  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 fox Kali. 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 her little 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.

  But he knew from personal experience that was not possible for krampuses. Maybe because he and his kind were monsters to the core. They fed off striking dread into the hearts of others. They delighted in it. Their purpose in life was to remind people to avoid the darkness. To behave and be good or face the krampuses that lurked in the shadows.

  Kraghol despised all of it. Still, he didn’t have a choice. This was who he was. He was a krampus. That could not be changed.

  He’d tried to enter Anorra though. When he was about sixteen, he’d wandered to the edge of the city, looking up at the buildings. He’d wanted a new life, away from the krampuses. He’d thought that if other monstrous beings could make lives for themselves in Anorra, then maybe he could too.

  He’d hesitated before walking down a cobblestone lane. His whole body had trembled.

  He thought if he came to Anorra nowhere near Krampus Night, they would not fear him. They might instead accept him or at the very least tolerate him. He didn’t know how he’d try to make a life in the city. But he just knew he was sick of the life of a krampus. He had to at least try to get away.

  Then a lady spotted him. She pointed, eyes widening. Her scream echoed around the street, piercing Kraghol’s soul. He flinched. Several children spotted him. Crying out in fear, they ran away.

  A man grabbed a rock and hurled it at Kraghol. It hit his shoulder. Kraghol groaned in pain.

  “Leave us be, krampus!” the man yelled. He threw another rock.

  Others followed suit, throwing bottles, rubbish, and more rocks at him. Others spat and shouted.

  “We have enough of your kind on Krampus Night!” a dwarf bellowed. “Just fuck off!”

  Kraghol had stumbled away, fleeing to the forest, back to his dank cave.

  Now he only ever returned to Anorra on Krampus Night. He’d not considered leaving the krampuses since. After all, he had nowhere else to go. No one else would accept him.

  Kraghol was a krampus. He would always be a krampus.

  And even if he could, he would not bring anyone else into this wretched life he lived. So Kraghol would always remain in the dark. Alone. Never knowing a gentle touch. He would definitely never be known by his half-mate.

  The sky started to darken. As usual, Jasper and Kali began to head back in the direction of the city. Jasper’s shoulders drooped with every step.

  Kraghol’s chest ached with the need to go forward and try to soothe his almost mate. But he knew he could not. So he just watched them safely enter Anorra.

  After several moments, Kraghol turned. He walked reluctantly deeper and deeper into the forest, further from the city. The snow continued to fall. Wind whisked through the branches.

  After walking a while, he heard screams and cries in the distance. They grew louder and louder.

  The muscles in his neck tensed. He walked slower. He wished he could return to his cave. That would be preferrable to where he was heading. But he had to be at this gathering tonight. His absence would not be tolerated.

  The shrieks and screeches grew louder still. He saw the glowing light of a fire. With each step, it grew bigger and brighter. The jangle of bells echoed in the air.

  The trees grew sparser. He approached a clearing with a towering bonfire in the middle. Orange-and-red flames licked at the night sky. The blazing heat from the fire cast the cold from his bones. Soon sweat would dampen his fur. Fire crackled.

  And surrounding the golden fire, about a hundred krampuses danced. They threw back their heads, extending their long, lashing tongues. They bellowed. They howled.

  Bonfire Night. Kraghol hated Bonfire Night.

  Chapter

  Seven

  Kraghol paused at the edge of the clearing, watching the bonfire rage. It stood over three times his height. Smoke and ash choked the air. Around the clearing, broken branches and ripped-up trees lay scattered around. The fire would burn until dawn.

  Bonfire Night. A night in early December when the krampuses came together. It marked the beginning of the celebrations leading up to Krampus Night.

  Some krampuses lived scattered throughout the forest near Anorra. Others lived further away. But they all came together for Bonfire Night, stayed until Krampus Night, and remained around for the celebrations that lasted days afterwards.

  Kraghol despised Bonfire Night. But truthfully, Kraghol despised all krampus gatherings.

  “Brother!” Freya, his older sister, strode towards him. A wide smile stretched her lips. “We haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  Throughout the year, krampuses who lived near one another gathered once or twice a month. Always at night, since krampuses were nocturnal. Kraghol only went around during the day because that was when Jasper came to the forest.

  Kraghol avoided the gatherings. He wished he could avoid tonight, but he knew his sister and grandmother would notice and not tolerate that. So here he was.

  Her eyes flicked over him. “You’re looking a little off.” Beads, bones, and stones hung on cords around her neck. They marked her as a krampus spiritual guide.

  It was an honour to have such a role, especially in someone as young as his sister. The elders, those who led the krampuses, had all been spiritual guides earlier in their lives. In fact, being a spiritual guide meant you were on the path to one day being an elder.

  “I am fine.” Could his sister sense that Kraghol had partially mated someone? Did spiritual guides have that ability? A lot of their skills remained a mystery to Kraghol.

  Thankfully she turned away from him and looked towards the bonfire. “Bonfire Night is going well.” Freya placed her hands on her hips. “And it will be a glorious Krampus Night. The people of the city will know we are the harbingers of fear.” She bared her teeth.

  Unlike himself, his sister was a true krampus at heart. She embraced their purpose. She loved Krampus Night and being a krampus.

  A screech wrenched the air, louder than the other yells and cries and ringing of bells. He turned towards the source of the sound.

  Of course. My grandmother.

  She stood on a platform that had been erected overlooking the fire. On the platform were chairs of woven branches where the half a dozen elders sat. But right now all the elders, including his grandmother, stood.

  His grandmother held her head high. Her black horns curled. Her eyes glowed red. A krampus’s eyes tended to only glow red when they were experiencing heightened emotions, like anger or fear. But his grandmother was a powerful krampus. As a result, she could make her eyes glow red at will.

  The crowd grew quiet as they faced his grandmother. She did not speak for several long moments. But no one made a sound, out of either respect or fear. Either of those reasons would be satisfactory to her.

  “Soon it will be Krampus Night.” Her voice rang over the crowd. “We will descend on Anorra. We will scream and howl and whip.” Her eyes glowed brighter. “The city folk will know they need to behave and keep away from evil or suffer the consequences!” Her voice rose.

  Applause and yells filled the air. She lifted her hands. Immediately everyone fell silent.

  “Last year, the snowstorm ruined Krampus Night!” she shouted. “They could not see or hear us as we made our way through the city.”

  The snow had been so thick. Kraghol and the others had struggled to move through the streets. The wind had howled, drowning out their voices and bells. No one had been out. Those inside had seemed not to even notice their presence.

  He’d barely seen anyone watching or peering out through the windows. Unlike the other krampuses, he’d been relieved.

  “But this year, we will make up for the last. This year, we will be better than any year previously!” his grandmother yelled. “They will know us! They will fear us! They will respect us!” She threw back her head and screamed.

  The clearing erupted with cries and howls. Then the krampuses resumed dancing. His grandmother looked out over them all.

  “Go, Kraghol. Pay your respects to Grandmother.” Freya clapped him on the shoulder. “Then join us.” She walked over to her mate, Thorsten, and their parents, who were all already dancing and swinging switches and whips through the air.

  Reluctantly, Kraghol walked towards the platform on the other side of the fire. His grandmother watched the dancers.

  “Grandmother.” He bowed low to the woman who’d raised him.

  His parents had often taken off for long periods of time when Freya and Kraghol were growing up. They’d never been attentive parents. This meant their grandmother had been the main one to raise them. She’d relished the role, since she wanted to shape her grandchildren into proper krampuses.

  Clearly, she’d failed with Kraghol.

  His grandmother turned slowly and stared down at him. “Kraghol, I worried you would not come tonight. Your absence from recent gatherings has been noted.”

  “I’m sorry, Grandmother.”

  “But Freya was certain you’d not let us down. Not tonight, at least.” She lifted her chin. “I am glad she is correct there.”

  Kraghol swallowed, uncertain how to respond.

  His grandmother studied him for several long seconds. “You do not take your duty as a krampus seriously, Grandson. I know you are not enthusiastic about Krampus Night.”

  “That’s not true, Grandmother,” he said, although he knew it was.

  His throat tightened at just the thought of running through Anorra whilst horrified children watched him from their windows. He wondered what it would be like to make a child smile instead of cry. Or laugh.

  Kraghol just wasn’t a very good krampus. Nor did he want the life of a krampus.

  For a second, he thought of Jasper. He wondered what his partial mate’s life was like. Kraghol had never been inside an actual building before. But when he’d run through the streets, lanes, and alleys of Anorra on Krampus Night, he caught glimpses of the insides of the homes through the windows. He saw comfy chairs, beds, fireplaces, decorated trees, and glittering baubles.

  Did Jasper have all those things in his home? In winter did he sit by a pretty tree in front of a fireplace, on a cosy-looking chair?

  Kraghol’s heart swelled in his chest. I hope he has all that. And so much more. He wished Jasper had happiness and joy and beauty and warmth for all his days for the rest of his life.

  And he hoped with all his might that Jasper would not look out his window on Krampus Night and see the monster that was Kraghol. Kraghol’s stomach clenched as he stared at his grandmother’s hooves.

  “Everyone must pull together this year, especially after last Krampus Night.”