The Snowmaiden, A Bride for Krampus - Jeanette Lynn Page 0,77

few rarely knew him outside of this realm, grumbled out gruffly.

Brushing dust off his naked body, muttering about Baumbels and Hebasneps, the beaked beast that had taken off with his head through the portal like a booby prize, his Lyddie’s beloved pets from her original homeworld, like the Baumbels were native to her once beloved land, the Elf stiffened as Klaus spoke.

“My lord, sir,” the Elf clipped out politely enough, but there was an edge to his voice.

The Elf was getting too big for his bell toed jingly shoes. “Tell me, Bels,” Klaus began casually, a hint of Krampus black creeping into his bright blue eyes, “have you been naughty or nice?” Klaus’ thick hand began to sift through his beard.

“Uhm, what, sir?” Bels spluttered. His gaze darted about but it was just them there. Relief, if fleeting, filled him.

Bels wasn’t aware of the figure coming up behind him on silent feet.

“I believe you heard me,” Klaus said with a jolly bit of belly shaking laughter he hadn’t felt in a long time. Klaus was going to enjoy this.

Anger contorted the Elf’s face. He was still angry over his fallen brethren, Dedson and Shnikel. Unbeknownst to them after their reincarnation, they’d once been of Bels’ ilk, dark Elves for their lord and master gone sour, consumed with their lack of power and greed for more. Ded and Shnik would have been fine with their new lives, content with their lot, but for Bels’ constant interference. He’d turned his own Krampus with his ignorance and thirst for more. And then Elf’d brought a Snowmaiden into Klausen’s kingdom, threatening his dear Lyddie’s very existence on this plane. That would not do.

Klaus tapped a finger along the glass table top to mask the clink of the steaming mug set down.

Bels zeroed in on that tap-tap of Klaus’ thick finger. The loathing in his gaze was all Klaus’d needed to see and it was done.

“Naughty,” Klaus murmured, glancing away as thick fingers grasped Bels’ shoulders and he was lifted up. The chomping snap as a jaw segmented and the Elf’s head was snapped clean off, Klaus winced at the squelching crunch.

Turning away, mouth full, Lydia walked to the mantle, unearthing a large red sack neatly hidden away behind the bell wreath, to spit the Elf’s head into it. Tiptoeing over his body, she walked the sack to the blue flame tipped fire and chucked it into it. “I love this part,” she whispered as her jaw slid back into place and her cheeks were once more round and pink, leaving him to take care of the headless corpse.

Hefting up the remains of the Elf, he concentrated, squeezing those slight shoulders until the telltale magical pop sounded and gold dust sparkled down towards the ground. Before the dust could hit it lifted up and floated towards the tall male, sprinkling him with the very magicks that made this world possible. Feeling fortified, he picked up his mug of cocoa and downed it. Walking to the grate, he fished out the treasures the Krampus heads had left behind, and stuffed them into his coat pockets.

Joining Lydia by the fire, he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close.

“What should we call this one?” she asked, practically wriggling in place as she waited. Her childlike enthusiasm had him ho-ho-ing with laughter.

“Whatever you wish, my heart.” His lips found hers as sparkling blue eyes met his.

And then they heard it.

That first squall had her jumping, then giggling. Breaking their lip lock, she reached right into the fire, the flames caressing her. Pulling the sack free, she unraveled the tie at the top. “Runt of the litter,” she stated proudly, picking up the little Elkfen deerling, swaddling the infant in its red sack, to hold him out for her mate to see.

Peering down at the babe, he smiled at the innocent look on that once angry face. Reaching into his pocket, Klaus wrapped a fist around one of the black coals and pulled it free. Squeezing the coal as hard as he could, he could feel it shift as it threatened to burst.

“His little nose is pink,” she said with delight at her newest child. Lyddie loved all her little Elkfen and treated them like the children she could never bear herself. “What shall we call him, dearest?” Her voice was but a whisper as she stroked her finger down a fuzzy brown cheek.

“Rudolfus,” Klaus said firmly. As if to agree, the coal gave, cracking, silvery strings in