Chapter 2
Jakfros
My claws slide deliciously across the wood as I watch the human enter my home. I have caught a female this time, and a particularly luscious one that inspires hungers that I have not felt before during my hunts. She is no slight little thing that would far-too-easily suffer in the cold climate of my realm. Her curves are generous and strike a deep longing within me that has shocking little to do with my long-held anticipation of the feast to come.
Normally I do not care for female prey. They are far too troublesome, and my personal struggle with delaying my feeding until the right time makes them even more challenging. And yet, I cannot help but to feel fortunate that I managed to lure in such perfection with nothing more than a bit of weather magic while shaking the string of bells like a fisherman drawing in his prey. I had no conception of her before this moment. I had not set eyes upon her or breathed in her scent until now. I had merely been attracted to her warmth and vitality as would any powerful frost demon. It was those two things that I required and nothing more: a need to feast and feed. But now that I see her with my own eyes, a new, powerful hunger surges through me.
It takes every ounce of effort to remain invisible as I watch her walk through my home—and my carefully baited trap. My eagerness is not wholly unexpected. I have always beenimpatient with the hunt, even in my youth, though I had not understood why we could not just simply keep one.
My mother’s voice echoes in my ears from the past. “It is just not how it is done, Jak. They are meant to be enjoyed fleetingly, like etchings of ice upon glass.”
I shake my head, chasing the memory away as my eyes narrow with interest on the female as she heads toward the back room with the nightgown I provided her.
“Patience, Jak,” my mother hisses from my memory. “You need her warm and happy, and at the pinnacle of merriment, before you feast. Let her drink and eat and be merry now. Then you will be even merrier by far when you take your first taste upon her sweet essence.”
My black tongue strokes over my lips hungrily, but I am no longer a youth requiring the oversight of my mother. I have discipline honed by centuries, and so I wait and watch.
As depraved as I may be, I do not follow her back to the room. I can picture her there in my mind almost perfectly. What would she think of my bedroom? Would she think that the stitched red and green quilt too simple, or the carefully carved furnishing too crude? Although there are many demonic races, few enjoy such simplicity and warmth in their surroundings. Though it is possible that I have gone overboard with the greenery. Frost demons are especially fond of the festivities of Yule, and I am no exception. Each room of the cabin was fashioned into a celebration of the season. More than anything, I really wish to follow the female back now, if only just to see her expression when she sees it.
A quiet sound of contentment interrupts the stream of my thoughts, and I look over just in time to see her emerge from my room, the red flannel nightgown clinging to her generous curves as it drapes her body. There is lace around the collar and wrists, and tiny red bows are stitched into place down the center ofthe nightgown to the lacy hem brushing her ankles. The overall effect is one that lends sweetness to her appearance in contrast to the fabric outlining her hips and bust. She looks soft and warm, and utterly appealing, especially with her cheeks pinking with the return of blood to her face and limbs. I could simply devour her. She is so deliciously appealing. My claws dig into the wooden wall reflexively, and I startle when I hear it splinter.
Yanking my hand away, I glance over at her worriedly to see if she noticed. It seems that I worried in vain, however, because the small sound does not draw her attention my way. Though I am relieved due to the necessary secrecy within this game that keeps the human unaware and pliant while manipulating their festival cheer is essential, I am also annoyed by the way she walks right past me. I reach out a hand, and my bone-white claws come so close to grazing her pink cheek that the contrast between my colorless hues and her vividly bright features strikes me with awe.
White as freshly fallen snow from the tip of my horns to my tail, I don’t possess even a trace amount of pigmentation except for the bright, icy shade of my eyes. My limbs are colorless, as is my torso. Even my wings and wing-claws are of a snowy color, whereas other demons possess their most vivid hues there. The female is pale, but she is not snow and ice. She is rose on cream, with dark blue eyes of a summer sky and an abundance of copper-red strands of hair that fall down her back. They are drying in a chaotic fashion that brings to mind some sort of cheerful imp masquerading among the greater parties of the noble demonic races. Though she fits beautifully within my cabin, she certainly would not be out of place among those fine, golden halls.
I lean against the wall, my eyes following her as she walks back to the chair. She stops once more beside the chair but rather than lowering herself onto it and warming herself by thefire while she enjoys the treats that I have laid out for her, her head swivels as she looks around.
“Are you there?”
I nearly topple over in surprise before I catch myself. She is looking for me? When has that ever happened? The humans who are ensnared by the comforts of my cabin rarely give me a second thought once they are dry and comfortable enough to be tempted by the simple pleasures offered. The suggestion is embedded within the magic woven throughout the cabin, encouraging her to forget her cares and feast. She should be enjoying herself and drinking in the magic I have surrounded her with. Does the cocoa not tempt her? Perhaps I should have offered mulled wine. Keeping track of human trends during the holidays has always been a confusing affair when moving between the worlds. I was so certain that cocoa was preferred. I fret over it silently but startle when she speaks again suddenly.
“Hello? It would be nice if you could say something. You could reassure me so that I know I’m not going crazy. It is not really considered normal behavior to have an entire conversation with an invisible person.”
It would be so easy to push a bit more magic to encourage her to accept that our conversation is just a product of her tired mind overcome by her imagination. Except... I do not want to. The impulse to indulge in her company is so strong that it is overwhelming to me. My tail curls uncertainly along the side of my leg, my heart hammering within my chest as I make my decision.
“I am here,” I rasp, throwing all caution and sanity aside.
I am supposed to be building up to the feast, and yet the coldness within my heart cracks a little when a look of surprise briefly flickers across her face as she sits down and sinks into the thickly upholstered chair.
“Wow. Okay, you’re really here. But why not? The world is certainly full of strange things. A cabin haunted by a Yuletide spirit can’t be the strangest of them,” she observes as she picks up a small gingerbread man.
Is that what she thinks I am? A merry spirit of the Yule season? I grin with amusement. If only she knew the truth. The reality is not anywhere near as pleasant. Frost demons are ravenous creatures in midwinter. It is my nature to devour her as I have every person who has entered my cabin before. And yet... suddenly I would give anything to be the spirit of seasonal cheer she imagines me.
Very well. Let us pretend for a time. It cannot hurt anything, nor will it stop what will come. However, I cannot stop myself from imagining that this encounter is one that is filled with warmth and companionship as I step into the room. Though I remain cloaked in invisibility, I sit on the footrest beside her chair in surrender to my hunger for closeness. I think she knows that I am there, however, because she does not try to prop her feet on it. She even turns her head slightly in my direction with any uncanny awareness.
Or I may just be a sentimental fool of a frost demon.
But when she smiles in my direction and nibbles on the gingerbread man, something awakens within my chest even as an unfamiliar heat surges down to my cock. That alone is startling. Male frost demons seldom breed offspring since we consume our prey. This is a pleasure reserved for the female of the species as they become fertilized by the male they feed upon.
Yes. I will pretend for a time and enjoy this.
“Of course. And as a spirit of the Yuletide, I insist that you be my guest, female,” I whisper enticingly.
“Shawna,” she corrects as she picks up the mug of cocoa and takes a sip. “You can call me Shawna.”
I smile, pleased to have been gifted with her name. “Shawna. Welcome to my home.”
