And now he just waltzes in to what? Judge if I was worthy? The unfairness of it burned in my throat like badly brewed coffee.
My gaze drifted to Bramble, who was carefully arranging her dried herbs in glass jars along the tea shelf; she'd shrunk down to her smaller size. Her tiny wings twitched occasionally, a sure sign she was worried despite her calm exterior. What wouldhappen to her greenhouse if Krampus brought in someone new? Would they understand the delicate balance of magical flora she'd cultivated? Would they appreciate the healing properties of her specialty blends?
And Silas, currently terrorizing the pastry kitchen with his creative genius, would a new manager tolerate his dramatic entrances and occasional temperamental outbursts? Or recognize that beneath the attitude beat the heart of the most talented supernatural baker in the city?
My chest tightened. They weren't just my coworkers. They were my family, the only real one I had. This café wasn't just my workplace, it was my home. The thought of losing it, of losing them, made my eyes sting with tears I refused to shed.
A shadow fell across the counter, and I didn't need to look up to know who it belonged to. The air around me warmed instantly, like someone had cranked up the thermostat to "inferno." Krampus moved with surprising silence for someone so large, appearing beside me without warning. He didn't speak. Just watched as I nervously rearranged the already perfect row of clean mugs. His presence was overwhelming, not just his physical size, though that was considerable, but the aura he projected. Power rolled off him in waves, ancient and primal and utterly confident. It filled the space around us, pressing against my skin.
I reached for a cloth to wipe down the already spotless espresso machine, desperate for something to do with my hands. My body betrayed me with every passing second he stood there. Heat crawled up my neck to bloom in my cheeks. My skin prickled with awareness, tiny hairs standing on end like I'd been zapped with static electricity. Each breath made something low in my belly tighten with want.
Want. For him. For the creature who might destroy everything I'd worked for.
I hated my body for its traitorous response. Hated that his proximity made my thighs press together of their own accord. I wondered what those clawed hands would feel like against my skin, whether his fangs would scrape my neck if he—
No. Stop it. This was beyond inappropriate. Beyond foolish. I forced my thoughts back to safer territory.
"Can I get you anything?" I asked, my voice embarrassingly breathy. "Coffee? Tea? A customer to terrorize?"
He didn't answer immediately. His gaze, heavy as it traveled slowly from my face down to my hands, which were twisting the cleaning cloth into a knot.
"You care for this place," he finally said. Not a question. An observation, delivered in that rumbling voice that seemed to vibrate directly against my spine.
"I do." The simple truth, inadequate to express the depth of my attachment.
He moved closer, just a half-step, but enough to bring the heat of him washing over me in a dizzying wave. "Why?"
Such a small word for such a complicated answer. How could I explain that The Hearth was the first place that had ever felt like mine? That the mismatched chairs and decorations and even the temperamental espresso machine were pieces of me now.
"It's more than a café," I said, struggling to put feelings into words. "It's a sanctuary. For them—" I gestured to the customers scattered around the room, "—and for me."
I thought of my empty apartment. Herbert the fern, my only roommate.
"I don't have much outside these walls," I admitted, the honesty surprising me. "But in here, I've built something, a safe place for all." My fingers tightened on the counter again. "And I've done a damn good job of it."
He made a sound, not quite a laugh that sent a shiver racing down my spine. "We'll see."
With that cryptic response, he turned away, moving toward a different vantage point where he could continue his silent observation. I watched him go, my heart hammering against my ribs.
I drew in a deep breath, then another, until my pulse settled to something approaching normal. The anxiety still twisted in my stomach, but something else burned alongside it now. Determination. I'd negotiated peace between rival witch covens over the last slice of pumpkin bread. I could handle one horned holiday demon with a body that made my knees weak.
Even if he did own the place and could fire me with a word. I wasn't giving up without a fight.
Chapter four
Simone
Ipushed through the swinging door to the pastry kitchen with the desperation of someone escaping a burning building. The heavy door whooshed shut behind me, momentarily blocking out the café sounds, and more importantly, blocking out Krampus. I sagged against the wall, letting out the breath I'd been holding for what felt like hours. Sweet, blessed privacy. Or so I thought, until I realized I'd jumped from the frying pan directly into a hell fire of a different sort.
Silas stood at the center island, his focus laser-sharp as he piped intricate frosting onto a tray of skull-shaped cupcakes. Each sweet death's head featured impossibly detailed features, hollow eyes with tiny sugar crystal tears, teeth individually rendered in white chocolate, delicate frosting filigree like tattoos across their fondant foreheads. His hands moved with ease despite his long black nails, each squeeze of the piping bag creating art that was equal parts macabre and mouthwatering.
He didn't look up from his work, but his pointed ears twitched in my direction.
"So," he drawled, voice dripping with unholy amusement, "how long until Daddy Krampus drags you into the stockroom for a performance review?"
The mixing spoon I'd absently picked up clattered to the floor, the sound embarrassingly loud in the tiled kitchen. I scrambled to retrieve it, grateful for the chance to hide my flaming face.
A snort of laughter came from above the refrigerator, where Bramble perched cross-legged on top of the massive industrial appliance. Her tiny body was surrounded by jars of dried herbs, which she was organizing into some system only she understood.
