Something dangerous flashed in his rheumy eyes. "Grug not done."
He lunged with surprising speed, one massive hand shooting across the counter toward Bramble. Without thinking, I threw myself between them, arms outstretched as if my smaller body could possibly shield anyone from this mountain of muscle and rage.
"ENOUGH!" I shouted, facing him directly.
His response was immediate and brutal. One meaty palm connected with my sternum, shoving me backward with such force that my feet left the ground. The world tilted sickeningly as I flew, the café blurring around me until my back slammed into something solid.
The pastry case.
Glass rattled beneath me as I slumped against it, the air knocked from my lungs in one painful whoosh. Silas's morning creations wobbled precariously inside as the case absorbed the impact of my body.
For one terrifying moment, I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think or process anything beyond the bright burst of pain across my shoulder blades and the hollowness in my chest where air should be. Silas shouted, voice laced with fear I'd never heard from him. Then, like a switch had been flipped, the café erupted. Chairs scraped across wooden floors. Tables slid aside. Bodies rose as one protective unit.
"Touch her again and we'll end you," growled a deep voice I recognized as belonging to Mr. Howlson, a werewolf accountant who came in every Tuesday for lavender chai and blueberry scones. His upper lip curled back to reveal teeth designed for tearing flesh.
"The pink one is under our protection," hissed a trio of goblins from their corner table, their jewelry jingling as they raised tiny but lethal-looking daggers.
A witch, Mrs. Moonshadow, who graded papers here every Thursday, crouched near me whispering a spell that immediately took my pain away. I gave her a grateful smile as Bramble rushed to me, eyes filled with angry tears, sparks of magic came from her finger tips.
The ogre swiveled, suddenly realizing he was surrounded by increasingly hostile café patrons. My vision cleared enough to see uncertainty flicker across his brutish features. He was drunk and strong, but not stupid enough to take on a dozen supernatural beings at once.
"Grug was just—"
The door slammed open so hard it cracked against the wall, making everyone jump. Krampus filled the doorway, his body somehow larger than I remembered. His eyes locked on me first, taking in my position slumped against the pastry case. Then, with glacial slowness, he turned toward the ogre.
His form seemed to pulse outward, growing before my eyes. Horns that had seemed ornamental suddenly curved sharper, longer, stretching toward the ceiling like obsidian blades. His golden eyes burned red like banked coals suddenly stoked to inferno. The sophisticated businessman persona burned away like morning fog under brutal sun, revealing the ancient power beneath.
"You touched what's mine."
Several customers unconsciously stepped back. The ogre swallowed audibly, Adam's apple bobbing in his thick throat.
"Krampus, sir. Grug didn't know she was—"
Krampus moved with supernatural speed. One moment he stood in the doorway; the next, his clawed hand wrapped around the ogre's stained shirt front, lifting him until his boots dangled inches from the floor.
"She wears my marks," Krampus snarled, voice so changed it was almost painful to hear. "She carries my scent. And you dared lay hands on her?"
The ogre's eyes widened with belated understanding and dawning terror. "Grug sorry! Grug didn't smell—"
"Get out."
With a casual flick of his wrist that belied the enormous strength required, Krampus physically threw the ogre through the café doors. His body hurtled through air, crashing through the doorway with a splintering of wood and tinkling of the glass pane. He landed in a heap on the snowy sidewalk outside, sliding several feet before coming to rest against a lamppost.
In the sudden silence, I became aware of the destruction around us. Mugs lay shattered across the floor, spilling the remnants of drinks in dark puddles. Holiday garlands drooped from their hooks like wounded things, magical sparks still sputtering weakly where enchantments had been disrupted. The café door hung from one hinge, winter air whistling through the broken glass.
Every pair of eyes, fixed on Krampus's towering form. His chest heaved with each breath, claws still extended, eyes still burning with that terrifying crimson glow.
And all I could think was: He came for me. Without hesitation. I pushed myself upright, ignoring the protest of bruised muscles, and took an unsteady step toward him.
I surveyed the damage with a quick sweep, already cataloging what we'd need to fix. The faces of my customers, my community, ranged from shocked to impressed to vaguely terrified. And at the center of it all, Krampus, still radiating ancient power. My back ached where I'd hit the pastry case despite the magic to ease it, but that pain was nothing compared to the emotions building in my chest. Without thinking, I grabbed his massive arm, fingers barely spanning his bicep, and tugged.
"Kitchen. Now." My voice came out in a hiss barely louder than a whisper, but he heard me. Those burning eyes flickered down to meet mine, the red glow slowly retreating back to gold. For a heartbeat, I thought he might refuse, might stand immovable as stone while I pulled ineffectually at his arm like a child trying to drag a mountain. Instead, he inclined his head slightly. A concession.
I turned to the stunned room, summoning my best customer service smile. "So sorry for the interruption, everyone. The next round is on the house. Bramble, could you please start brewing fresh pots of the winter spice blend? And maybe see if the broom closet survived that little display?"
Bramble’s wings fluttered nervously, but she nodded, already moving toward the equipment. Several patrons began righting chairs and collecting broken pieces, falling into the easy rhythm of a community accustomed to magical mishaps, if not ogre-tossing. Mr. Howlson's wife was already sweeping with her wand, broken ceramic flying into a neat pile.
I maintained a smile until we reached the swinging door to the pastry kitchen, then dropped it like the heavy, useless thing it was. My fingers still clutched Krampus's arm, probably leaving moon-shaped indentations that would heal before I could blink.
