While You Were Creeping

by Poppy Rhys

“Do you live in Tinsel, Kye?” Holly’s sibling, Lonnie, asked. Think Holly said she had three siblings, all of which were male but only one lived here. His wife sat next to him, a dark-haired woman, and their two younglings. The ones who’d screamed in the foyer.

  “He doesn’t,” Holly was quick to respond. She’d explained Meredith knew every family in Tinsel and would spot the lie in a nanosecond. “He’s from Wilk’o Wyn.”

  Another cold city, like Tinsel. A few hours away, according to Holly. Close enough to seem legitimate, but not so close that my imaginary family and hers could run into each other.

  “That’s a little far, don’t you think?” Meredith asked, her left eye squinting.

  Holly’d warned me about that. Her bullshit eye. I put on my best, reassuring smile. “It is. But I’m here on business a few times a month. I figure that’s why Love Is Holo set me up with Holly.”

  “What business are you in?” Holly’s father—James—asked. It was the first time he’d uttered a word.

  Holly piped up, “Toys!”

  She hadn’t been exaggerating. Her family grilled me. During the prep work, Holly stressed her family could be ‘a bit much’ but they ‘mean well’ and it’s ‘nothing personal.’

  Lying my tail off this time of year felt like grimy business. Admittedly, some of it held truth, but Holly didn’t know that. Back home, I used to run a toy company. The winter solstice was our busiest time of year.

  So when Lonnie asked me about upcoming models, undoubtedly curious if he could get early info for his younglings, I hinted at a toy concept I’d had long ago, before my imprisonment.

  By the end of the meal, Holly was tipsy, and her family was eating out of the palm of my hand.

  The plan was working. Better than either of us had imagined it would.

  So, why do I feel like shit?

  ****

  HOLLY

  The room tilted.

  Woops, no it didn’t. That was me. I tilted.

  A never-ending giggle bubbled out of me when I swayed into the wall before Kye caught me and kept me upright.

  “I can walk by myself, thank you! I’ve been doing it since I was one and a half.”

  “Really?” Kye’s tone was irritatingly dubious. “Because you nearly kissed the wall just now.”

  “That wall should keep his hands to himself.”

  Kye let go of me and I tilted again before he caught me.

  “Okay, maybe I came onto the wall, not the other way around,” I admitted and gave the wall a pat. “Sorry fella.”

  Kye’s taunting chuckle was annoying. Annoying. Everything about him was annoying tonight.

  The perfect way he teased me was annoying. The expert way he handled my family, annoying. His goofy smile, annoying. His big, warm, supportive hands around my hips right now, annoying!

  The most annoying part about all of it was that, deep down, I wasn’t annoyed at all. And no, the ‘deep down’ wasn’t my vagina talking.

  Mostly.

  Maybe a little.

  She could stop tingling and reminding me she was alive whenever Kye looked at me, touched me, or said my name. Any moment now.

  I should’ve wined more drunk.

  I mean, drunk more wine.

  Kye unlocked my door and I stumbled through, kicking off my flats and yanking on my bun. My happy sigh filled the room. There was little better than unbuttoning one’s jeans, unhooking the bra, and letting the pinned-up hair down after a nerve-racking dinner with the fam.

  Skully slid himself off the couch and bumped against me, wagging his tail, and wanting affection.

  “Hello, love of my life,” I crooned to him. “Did I bring you leftovers? Why yes, I did!”

  When I reached down to fluff his scruff, I’d determined it was a bad idea too late. The floor was hurtling toward my face at a rapid rate before Kye scooped me around the middle and stopped me from kissing the floor.

  This house was extremely touchy feely tonight.

  He grunted and I felt it vibrate all the way down my back. My back that was still pressed up against his obscenely muscled chest. I mean, sweet snickering Santa, under all that fur, this guy was stacked.

  “How many glasses of wine did you have?”

  I shrugged, noticing he had yet to let me go. “One, two, skip a few... ten. No. Three. I think four. Yeah. Three.”

  To be honest, I couldn’t remember. Fairly sure it was only a few. A few wonderfully filled-to-the-brim glasses of wine.

  Kye’s large hands shifted, sliding around to my front, flattening on my belly. It dipped in response, parts long dormant flaring to life. My skin felt too warm under my sweater.

  Strands of my hair moved, and I could swear Kye just sniffed it.

  No. He hated me, and I hated him.

  We hated each other. That was made clear tonight.

  People who hate each other don’t sniff each other’s hair or bump their ass into the other’s groin.

  Which I just did.

  On accident.

  I wouldn’t do that on purpose.

  His groan touched on my ears like a physical caress, as if his lips had nipped me there.

  My ass bumped into him again.

  Another accident.

  This time there was something large, hard, and straining against his fitted pants.

  So, I did what any red-blooded woman would do. I accidentally pressed my ass against it once more. In a very deliberate manner.

  Because I hated him.

  Because I think I hated him.

  His hands dipped under my sweater, the clawed tips dragging against my skin before he cupped my breasts. Access fully granted since my bra was loose, just asking for alien hands to push it aside.

  Bare nipples to warm palms.

  Fuck. Me.

  I whimpered. A real whimper. Mewled, more like.

  Kye’s rough hands were gripping my tits, gently squeezing them, and my nipples were hard enough to cut glass.

  Kye invaded every space inside my head. Kye’s scent of mint and oranges filled my lungs. Kye’s touch twisted my insides in the most pleasurable way.

  Kye, Kye, Kye.

  He spun me around, lifted me, and all I could do was hang on, wind my legs around his middle and resist the urge to lick his fucking horns.

  I gripped them instead, stroking the left one like I’d stroke his cock, given the chance.

  “Holly!” He spit my name like a curse and pressed me against the wall, grinding his hips into me like animalistic lust had taken over.

  I’d never, in my entire life, wanted anyone to rip my damned jeans off but, right now? I needed Kye to shred those fuckers with his claws.

  My thighs gripped him, pulling him in, needing the friction he could provide.

  He pushed us away from the wall, hooves clip-clipping against the wood floors before he kicked my door in. It bounced off the wall with his force.

  We tumbled onto the bed, lost. I clawed at his sweater, and he clawed at mine. I had this incessant need to feel his furred chest against me and nothing would stand in my way.

  What was this?

  What were we doing?

  None of it mattered as he tasted his way down the length of my neck, his tusks gently scraping my sensitive skin. My thoughts disintegrated like dust in a flame when his forked tongue slid across my nipple.

  “Kye,” I moaned, unsure if the stars I saw were alcohol induced or brought on by that sinful mouth of his.

  He looked up at me, his dashed pupils shrinking by the second, as if whatever had taken hold of him was slowly ebbing out of his system.

  “What?” I huffed, my hands stilling on his horns. “What is it?”

  “We can’t do this.”

  “We’re already doing this.”

  He extricated himself from my grip and I leaned up, the room momentarily spinning.

  Whoa, girl.

  Fuck, how much wine did I have?

  Kye snatched his sweater off the floor and I glanced at his pa
nts that were pitching a tent, which had my thighs squeezing together. “Where are you going?”

  “Goodnight, Holly.”

  With that, he left, closing the door behind him.

  I lay sprawled on the bed, topless and flushed.

  Yep.

  I hate him.

  THIRTEEN

  HOLLY

  I couldn’t begin to describe the embarrassment I felt the next morning after I’d sobered up and had an hour, lying in bed, to simmer in my bad choices.

  It was even more embarrassing that Kye had been the one to stop at least one of those bad choices from happening. If he hadn’t, I’m sure I would’ve made many more bad choices.

  Ones that ended up with my tongue on Kye’s horns and other... things... in my mouth.

  I rolled over, burying my face in the pillow.

  To make matters worse, I remembered the whole episode in vivid detail. Wasn’t that the point of alcohol—to make you forget?

  I want a refund.

  My liver had been abused for nothing.

  Skully rooted his nose under the pillow, as if he were ashamed of my actions too.

  “Sorry you had to witness that, boy,” I mumbled, stroking his soft fur. “Your human’s a mess.”

  I got up, flushed the toilet a couple times to calm my nerves, showered, did my hair, and even put on decent clothes instead of sweats. If I had to face Kye, I didn’t want to look like the crypt keeper.

  “Morning,” I greeted, sweeping into the kitchen, and grabbing my favorite reindeer mug.

  Wait. No.

  I put the mug back and got a boring one. The reindeer used to be my favorite mug. I scowled at the Christmas tree in my living room, fully decorated now, before promptly ignoring it.

  My tone was sharp when I asked, “Sleep well?”

  If I acted like nothing happened, maybe he’d think I couldn’t remember and wouldn’t bring it up.

  Kye stood on the other side of the island, already sipping on a mug of joe. The ceramic occasionally clinked against his tusks whenever he pressed it to his lips.

  “About last night,” he hedged, his voice throaty, like he’d just woken up himself.

  Well. Fuck.

  There went my plan!

  I exhaled after pouring coffee and put the mug to my lips to have a tiny taste. Too hot. Needed at least a few gulps before I could answer Kye, but it seemed the universe wasn’t working in my favor this morning.

  I turned, relaxing my face into a blank expression. “Hmm? Third meal, you mean?”

  Just... play it off, Holly. You got this.

  Kye took another sip of coffee, his eyes narrowing over the mug like he could see right through my bullshit.

  “The part where we dry-humped like horny teenagers.”

  Goddamn, he’s good.

  “Oh. That,” I replied lamely.

  “Yeah. That.”

  We stood there in uncomfortable silence, the tension stretching like a smothering force. I slurped some of my coffee, trying to buy myself some time but it only made the silence more awkward.

  What was I supposed to say? Sorry, I’m a mess and wine makes me want to lick your horns.

  Well, made me want to lick his horns more.

  Ughhh, why was I thinking about licking his horns? Who did that? That wasn’t a thing, was it? If it wasn’t already a thing, my vagina was making it one.

  “We could not talk about it. We could try that,” I suggested, hopeful that he’d let it go.

  And then my eyes—because they were willful creatures that didn’t give a damn about what I wanted—darted over his exposed chest, triggering the memory of how firm his muscles felt against my back last night.

  I squeezed my eyelids shut and took a scalding gulp to shift gears to something less Kye.

  “Mm,” he rumbled, “we could try that.”

  The breath I didn’t know I’d been holding slowly deflated my chest.

  “Thank you.”

  He grunted when I opened my eyes again, then walked out of the kitchen, taking his mug with him.

  I leaned against the counter, mulling over the exchange. Did he want to talk about it? What was there to talk about?

  We had a deal. This was just a strange arrangement we’d found ourselves in. A temporary one.

  Once I figured out how to free him, he’d fly the coop. Or, if I failed, he’d be sucked back into his prison.

  Either way, Kye was leaving.

  This would never work. Not that I was considering it, but if I were...

  It...

  It just wouldn’t work.

  ****

  A week slid by. Slid by in an agonizingly slow, uncomfortable, frustrating affair.

  My apartment was decked to the nines with Christmas everything. My eyelid twitched, no matter where I looked. Pine swag draped every window with jolly red bows and soft, twinkling white lights.

  My little ceramic village lay tastefully placed across my entryway table on a fluffy snow blanket. And every time the front door opened, bells jingled, driving me up the wall.

  Two stockings hung over the fireplace, and holiday cards littered the mantle. Cards I’d received this year and swiftly threw in the trash. All for naught, as Kye’d fished them out and put them on display.

  A massive wreath hung on the overmantel, lording over the living room with the giant green letters JOY pinned beneath it.

  Oh my fucking god, I’d thought when I saw it, this is a nightmare.

  A pot of ugly white poinsettias sat on my kitchen table, taunting me. The ball ornaments and pinecones and more fluffy pine branches surrounded its base.

  Christmas had truly thrown up in my apartment.

  All because of Kye.

  Even Christmas cookies that were nauseatingly sweet—I know, because I couldn’t stop angrily eating them—took up too much space on my kitchen island. Mom, Aunt Helen, and the twins, Wendy and Willow, kept baking the damned things and sending them up for Kye.

  Because Kye loved those cookies.

  And they, apparently, already started to love Kye.

  Kye, Kye, Kye.

  By Friday morning, I was at my wit’s end and my nerves were frayed thinking about the Kringle Parade.

  I’d been on the comm nonstop confirming last minute details and traveling into town nearly every day to make sure the floats were properly decorated and in working order.

  All the teams were prepared and raring to go. I’d coordinated the Kringle Parade every year for the last eight but, for some reason, this year felt different.

  As much as my decorated apartment got under my skin, the part of me I’d shoved into a storage bin three years ago—it marveled at Kye’s holiday spirit.

  Despite his imprisonment, he still found happiness in simple stuff like the comedy vid he’d watched last night. His deep, hearty laugh echoed in my ears today.

  I’d never felt so conflicted. Which only made me more of a Scrooge.

  The fact that Kye made a great Krampus—he’d joined rehearsals a few times—just magnified my anxiety in a totally ridiculous, and unexpected, way.

  Why did I care if the women of Tinsel would be all over him at the parade party? What did it matter if he spanked every last one of them with his bundle of branches?

  Who cared? Not me. That’s who.

  I sighed, my lips flapping together as I straightened a crooked bow on the Krampus float.

  “T-minus three hours, people!” I loudly announced, moving down the line of floats in the big warehouse on the edge of town. My actors scrambled about, getting hair and makeup done and last-minute costume changes.

  Barrels of themed sweets were being loaded onto the floats. My favorites were the black taffy that mimicked coal meant for Santa and his helpers, and then the miniature oranges. Those were specifically grown and sourced from the southern territory Curra. They were easy to tote, easy to peel, and tasted like citrusy chocolate.

  Kye and his dark elves would be handling those.

  “Mi
di,” I called, waving down my electronics guru. His black-striped, white pelt strobed with excitement and his prehensile whiskers curled and uncurled as he approached.

  “Yes, Holly?”

  “Can we do another lights check on all the floats? I don’t want any missing bulbs on them this year.”

  “You got it.” He gave me four thumbs up and then shouted to the crew, “Lights check commencing!”

  The warehouse went dark and all the floats lit up. It never failed to make a few people gasp.

  This had been my favorite part, long ago. And maybe it still was. The slight warmth in my chest tried to remind me of my old love for the winter festivities.

  The Kringle Parade wasn’t just about seeing the actors in costume, but the lights. Every hovering float was lined with them. They covered nearly every piece of furniture, decoration, and even some of the crew.

  It was blindingly beautiful.

  “You’re not scowling.”

  I hadn’t noticed Kye sneak up to my left side, but now that he was here, my nose subtly sniffed, breathing in his minty, citrusy scent.

  “Why would I be?”

  “Because you hate anything Christmas.”

  “I can appreciate the hard work the crew put into this.”

  I finally gave him my full attention. He was in costume, which meant he was shirtless. His brown pants ended just above his hocks and silver chains crisscrossed his body, the extra length of chain dragging on the ground at his side.

  It was a good prop. At the afterparty, he’d carry his bundle of branches and a brown sack over his shoulder, an ode to the Earth lore. Except it would be used for toting oranges, not stealing away with bad younglings.

  “Are you nervous?” He leaned in and whispered, “Say the words and I’ll grab the transport and we can blow this popsicle stand.”

  I rolled my eyes but laughed. “You’ve been watching too many old vids.”

  “That wasn’t a no.”

  Why did my stomach feel like a fluttery mess when he stared at me like that? His eyes bore into me, as if he were trying to read my soul. Like whatever he saw was so fascinating.

  It’d been worsening all week. Since that morning in the kitchen, there was a tensity between us. We avoided the subject, which was easy to do since I focused all my energy on this parade and grumbling about the decorations taking up real estate in my apartment.