Business was brisk after she assumed her usual position in the corner behind the tavern. Perhaps emboldened by the festive season, several of her customers even lingered to chat. But as the afternoon wore on, the conversations ceased. Instead, they cast frequent glances at the heavy clouds looming over the town and hurried about their business.
“Snow’s a-comin’,” old Christoph muttered to her when he stopped by to pick up some cream to help with his rheumatism.
“Looks like it,” she agreed. “Do you have enough firewood to keep you warm if you get snowed in?”
“Aye, don’t you worry about me.” He peered at her through rheumy eyes. “What about you? I worry about you up on that mountain by yourself.”
“I’m fine. I have everything I need up there.”
“You should be living here in town.”
It was a familiar argument and she smiled at him. “You know you’re the only one who thinks that.”
“Nonsense. You got a lot of friends here.”
Even though he’d said it many times before, it always made her heart ache a little. She knew it wasn’t true. The most she could hope for from the villagers was to be tolerated. But this was the path that her family had chosen and there was no point feeling sorry for herself. She forced a smile.
“I like my mountain. Besides, I have a new friend up there.” She pointed at Robin who was perched on the overhanging eave of the tavern. “He’s been keeping me company lately.”
Christoph frowned up at the bird. “Thought they were all gone for the season.”
“He seems to have decided to stick around. And I’ve seen a few others as well. Maybe they don’t migrate as much as we thought, or maybe it’s going to be a mild winter.”
As if in rebuttal to her words, an icy wind swirled around them.
“Doesn’t feel that mild to me.” Christoph shook his head. “But if you insist on staying by yourself, you better get going before the storm hits.”
“I will, I promise.” She smiled at him, for once not hiding her true smile, and he very reluctantly smiled back before he hobbled off. Her search of the records had revealed that he was her grandfather, and while she could never tell him, she liked the fact that they had become friends.
Despite her agreement with his warning to be on her way, it took her longer than she had expected to purchase her supplies. It didn’t help that she spent a few extra minutes searching in vain for the two orphaned children she had befriended, and the early winter sunlight was already fading as she headed for the edge of the village.
“Hey, you old witch.”
The rough voice accosting her made her look around and her heart sank. It was Knut and from the way he was staggering towards her, he had spent the afternoon drinking.
“What is it, Knut?” she asked, keeping her voice cool.
“It’s your fault, isn’t it?”
“What’s my fault?”
“The reason that no good wife of mine can’t get pregnant.”
The belligerence in his voice set off warning bells and she took a quick look around. Her pulse raced when she realized that they were alone. The combination of the early darkness and increasing cold had sent people scurrying home. Knut took a step closer, looming over her as the fumes of stale beer assaulted her senses. She shifted her grip on her cane.
“It hasn’t even been a year since she had little Hans,” she said soothingly. “Sometimes it just takes a while.”
“Shouldn’t take this long. It’s your fault,” he repeated stubbornly. “You stay away from her.”
“Just give her time-”
“She’s had time. I want another son.”
“More than you want a healthy wife?” She couldn’t keep the sharp note out of her voice and his heavy brows lowered.
“Ain’t none of your business. She’s my wife and I want her bred.”
A flare of anger overruled her common sense and she stepped closer. “She’s not a farm animal. Let her decide when she’s ready.”
He swore and raised a meaty fist. She lifted her cane to intercept the blow but although she managed to stop it from landing, he moved more quickly than she had expected given his drunken condition and grabbed hold of the cane.
“Don’t you raise your hand to me, woman. About time somebody taught you a lesson.”
He tried to pull the cane away from her and she clung to it desperately, afraid of what he would do if he managed to seize control. Her grip started to slip and he grinned triumphantly. But before he could pull it away completely, there was an outraged squawk and then Robin flew at his face. Knut swore and let go of the cane in his haste to bat him away.
“Don’t hurt him!” she cried as a big hand came dangerously close to the small bird.
Knut paid no attention to her as he tried again to grab Robin. Determined to stop him, she swung the cane, striking him behind the knee and throwing him off balance. His leg gave out and he fell to the ground. He roared again and reached for her but she danced back away from him. Maintaining her disguise was less important than escaping.
Before he could struggle to his feet, she grabbed her discarded basket and took off at a run, Robin flying ahead of her. Two other birds joined them as she dashed out of the village and raced for the tree line. She didn’t hear any sound of pursuit but she didn’t stop running until she was out of breath. As she bent over, gasping, she noticed the new birds circling, almost as if they were checking the path behind her. She cast an anxious look back over her shoulder but the woods were silent and no one appeared on the trail.
As she resumed the trip up the mountains, she realized her hands were shaking. The villagers might treat her with suspicion, but no one had ever physically threatened her before. She had promised her grandmother that she would continue to help them, but what would be the cost?
Chapter Three
Krampasarian roared with frustration. His fingertips tingled as his claws emerged and this time he didn’t feel shame. He only wished that he was in the village so that he could slash them across the neck of the imbecilic primitive male who had attempted to lay his hands on Krampasarian’s female.
His female?
The thought interrupted his rage. When had he developed such a possessive instinct towards her? Yes, he watched her each day but that was only because he was conducting a scientific inquiry into the life forms on this planet. But that excuse rang hollow in his own ears.
Putting the uncomfortable question aside to consider later, he verified that thanks to his intervention, the female was unhurt. As soon as she was safely back in her cottage, he considered the problem in greater detail. The male needed to be taught a lesson. If they were back on Tandrok, there would be a number of subtle, but effective, ways he could discourage the male without outright confrontation. As his temper cooled, he discarded his original, embarrassingly primitive desire to cause physical harm to the male. But perhaps there were other ways to make him pay…
He waited until most of the lights in the village had disappeared, then set out on his journey. This time he was prepared, although no less disapproving, for the scattering of snowflakes drifting down from the sky. His dark thermal suit kept him dry and warm as he made his way down the mountain. His path led him past Jaelle’s cottage. A small light still flickered in one of her windows. Was she awake? Should he stop and introduce himself? Explain that he was taking action on her behalf?
He had a sudden, intoxicating vision of her smiling at him, her tantalizing pink lips curling up as she placed her hand on his. His body stirred at the image, taking it further, imagining that he was touching her, pulling her body against his, ripping away the dull gown that concealed her from him so that he could explore –
By Moroz’s horns, what was he thinking? His people had long abandoned such primitive mating rituals. Physical contact was to be avoided. Alliances were arranged for mutual benefit, and if a child was desired, a carefully selected egg would be quickly and efficiently fertilized.
&
nbsp; He forced himself to turn away from the lure of the cottage and resume his trip. The village lay in silence as he slipped past the first buildings, but as he made his way into town, he realized that a few small lights still shone here and there. In his impatience, he had failed to wait until everyone was asleep. No matter. The suit would conceal him. And if it did not? His claws tingled again.
As he reached Knut’s dwelling, he heard a raised voice from a small building at the rear and recognized the obnoxious blustering. He silently approached the outbuilding.
“Goddamnit, boy! Do I have to do everything myself?” The sharp crack of flesh against flesh sounded. “I am paying you to make my life easier!”
The muttered reply was too quiet for him to make out most of the words but he heard a fragment.
“… bad man…”
“You’ll see how bad I am if you don’t get those harnesses cleaned. Now get back to work - and do it right this time.”
Krampasarian faded back into the shadows as the male came striding past. He was tempted to carry out his original impulse and force a physical confrontation, but really such primitive methods were beneath him. Instead an idea - a wonderful, terrible idea - had come to him as he listened to the male rant. Whoever was in the shed made the male’s life easier. Therefore, he would remove him.
The fragments of the tales he had overheard came back to him. This was the time of year when one’s actions were judged. The male would understand that this was a punishment inflicted on him for his offenses.
Mind made up, he peered around the open door. The only occupant was a young male, his shoulders shaking as he bent over a cleaning instrument. This was the object of the male’s rage? His own anger threatened to reappear, and for a moment, he wished he had given into his primitive instincts. But no, this would be better. The male would suffer the child’s loss and Krampasarian would make sure that the boy was protected.
Approaching on silent feet, he puffed a small dose of a sleeping potion into the air in front of the boy, catching him as he sagged to the ground. The slight body weighed almost nothing, but he needed to keep his hands free in case he encountered anyone on the return journey. He pulled a utility sack from his belt and carefully placed the child inside. Made from the same material as his suit, it would keep him dry and warm as they went up the mountain.
With the sack over his shoulder, he slipped back through town and began to climb.
When he reached Jaelle’s cottage, the light had been extinguished. Giving in to temptation, he strode silently through the garden to the window that opened to her bedroom, well aware of its location due to his frequent observations. The curtains were ajar and enough moonlight made its way through the clouds that he could see her.
She was curled in a small bed, dark hair in a glorious disarray across her pillow. As he watched, she tossed restlessly, her covers slipping down to reveal a thin, white gown that revealed a tantalizing glimpse of the upper swell of her breasts. A desperate desire to see more consumed him, but even as he stared, her eyes opened, midnight blue and mysterious in the moonlight, as she looked back at him, unafraid. Then a warm smile curved those tempting pink lips before her eyes fluttered closed once more.
She had seen him, he was sure of it. And she hadn’t screamed or cowered. Perhaps his earlier, wishful thoughts weren’t so impossible after all.
But then a slight shift in the body tucked against his back reminded him of his mission. He would consider the possibility of an introduction another time. Right now, he had a child for whom he was responsible.
The rest of the trip was accomplished without difficulty, but he breathed a sigh of relief when he was safe aboard his ship once more. The episode had been entirely too stimulating. As soon as he took care of the child, he would practice some calming meditations.
As he removed the child from the sack and placed him carefully on a small bunk, it occurred to him that he might have made a mistake. Now that he had him, what was he going to do with him? He was almost tempted to keep the child unconscious, but he couldn’t quite convince his conscience that it would be for the best. With a sigh, he puffed the antidote into the boy’s face.
It worked immediately. The child’s eyes opened, then widened, and he scrabbled back across the bunk until he hit the wall. Krampasarian spread his empty hands wide in what he hoped was a universal indication that he meant no harm.
“What the fuck are you?” the boy asked, his eyes still wide.
Krampasarian frowned. “Aren’t you too young to be using such vulgarities?”
“You’ve got horns!”
“Yes, I do.” He nodded complacently, pleased with the boy’s observation. Carefully oiled and trimmed, his horns were a source of great pride. He had the largest set in his squad.
The child did not appear to be listening. Instead, he was scanning the cabin, his gaze coming to rest on the door behind Krampasarian. “Where am I? Why’d you bring me here?”
That was rather a difficult question. In the light of day and now that his anger had cooled, he rather regretted his impulsive decision.
“I wished to punish your… employer. Your legend speaks of a dark spirit that takes valuable things away from those of evil intent.”
“Dark spirit? You mean Krampus?” The child snorted, his disgust overcoming his fear. “Well, you got it all wrong. Knut doesn’t value me.”
“But you work for him.”
“Not hard enough, according to him.” A calculating look came into the boy’s eyes. “But maybe if I’m not there, he’ll realize what he’s missing.” He hopped down from the bunk. “You got anything to eat around here?”
Taken aback, Krampasarian stared at the boy until the child made an impatient noise.
“You understand food, right? If you’re gonna kidnap someone, you gotta feed them.”
Shaking off his shock, he nodded. The bonds of hospitality did require the offering of food. “Of course. Come this way.”
An hour later, he was beginning to wonder if his food replicator could keep up. The boy, after identifying himself as Whit, had consumed three full-sized portions, the remnants of which now covered his face and hands as he grinned cheerfully at Krampasarian.
“It might’ve looked funny but that sure tasted good.”
“You are full now?”
Whit rubbed his stomach thoughtfully, then nodded. “Yeah, I guess so. I could always have a snack later, right?”
“If you wish.” He studied the boy and tried to hide his disapproval. Whit was far too thin, his clothes were little more than rags, and he was in desperate need of a bathing facility. His caretakers were not doing an adequate job. “Who looks after you?”
“I take care of myself,” Whit said belligerently.
“You are not doing an adequate job.”
“I’m doing the best I can. Knut don’t pay nothing, and I have to give old Linnea most of it to take care of-”
“Take care of?” he asked, when the boy came to an abrupt halt.
“Nothin’.” Whit averted his gaze, obviously lying, but Krampasarian decided not to press the matter. “Now what?”
“Now, you will take a bath.”
“No, hell, I won’t.”
“Yes, hell, you will.” Krampasarian grabbed Whit as the boy tried to dart past him and lifted him into the air, his claws twisted in the boy’s shirt to hold him at arm’s length as he kicked wildly. “Bath. Now.”
By the time the bath was accomplished, he was as wet as his young victim. Wrapped in a large towel, Whit glared at him as he programmed his replicator to produce clothing for the child. Even clean, he was not a particularly attractive child. His ears were too large, his face was too thin, and he was covered with odd little specks of pigment. But there was something appealing about his brave defiance and his engaging grin. A grin that was sadly missing at the moment.
“I do not believe the experience was as unpleasant as you maintain,” Krampasarian said firmly.
“A little
dirt is good for you. Protects the skin.”
“That wasn’t a little dirt. It was a lot of dirt.” Thank goodness the filtration system hadn’t been damaged in the crash. “And clothing is used to protect the skin. Here.”
“What’s that?”
“A thermal suit.” He kept his hand extended, but Whit only scowled suspiciously at the garment.
“That ain’t clothing. Where’s my pants and shirt?”
“In the disposal unit.”
“Well, get ‘em back.”
“It’s too late. They were filthy.” And inhabited by small insects. He shuddered at the memory.
“You got no right to take my clothes!”
“This is much better. It will protect you from both heat and cold, and it resists dirt.”
“Looks like some kinda underwear,” the boy muttered, but he finally took the suit.
“I assume you can dress yourself?” Taking the outraged glare as assent, he continued, “Once you are dressed, you can continue your studies. I have… observations to make.”
The sun had risen during the bathing struggle, and he wished to check on Jaelle and make sure she had recovered from the previous day’s experiences. He was halfway out the door before Whit responded.
“What studies?”
With a sigh, he turned back around. “You have no set course of learning?”
“Don’t need it. I already got a job, don’t I?”
“Don’t you want an education?” From the lack of response, apparently not. “Or a better job?”
Whit shrugged, but Krampasarian saw a flash of eagerness cross his face. “That might be okay. If I made a little more, I could get Cinna some nicer things.”
“Cinna?”
The boy’s face closed down and for a moment, Krampasarian thought he would refuse to answer.
“My sister,” Whit said finally. “She lives with old lady Linnea. She’s nice enough and she treats Cinna good, but she ain’t got much money.” He hummed thoughtfully. “If I could figure better, maybe I could get a job helping out Magnus. He’s got that big shop on the main street.”
Krampus and the Crone: A SciFi Alien Warrior Holiday Romance Page 2