Just in time to celebrate Christmas in July, you can get Son of Krampus anywhere!
He only comes when you’re naughty.
As the daughter of Saint Nicholas, Nadire’s life is Christmas 24/7. She’s never had time to fit anyone in her life, or a reason to look twice at mortals. That’s all upended when she meets a tall, dark haired stranger who sends her heart racing.
Unbeknownst to her, there’s a secret Emeric Hellswarth is hiding and that one night stand will come to haunt her every thought. How can she plan Christmas when her heart keeps bouncing between both hating and begging for the Son of the Krampus?
Son of Krampus is a story of family, of the stress heaped upon those fighting to keep it together, of the fear of venturing out to form your own. It’s a sexy enemies to lovers as Nadire and Emeric come to realize they share more in common than anyone else could understand.
“Emeric and Nadire’s story was fascinating and exciting. Their back and forth dialogue brought me many sighs and chuckles.
Ellen Mint has hit it out of the ballpark”
Susan b — Son of Krampus
“Emeric (the son of Krampus), is alluring, sexy, and just so interesting as a character as he interacts with Nadire (the daughter of St. Nicholas). This story is new, different and not something you would usually read about in regards to christmas themed books!”
Oliva H — Son of Krampus
Excerpt from Son of Krampus
The friendly bartender hovered around her, or tried to at least. More patrons began showing up demanding his attention, allowing Nadire to drown her sorrows in the milk of human kindness. And what precisely did she have to be sorrowful about? To the world she was a wealthy woman in her early thirties who could pretend to be late twenties with the right makeup routine. She literally traveled all across the globe with little to no hassle, often had people lavishly thanking her. All she had to do was be happy with what was given her. Happy with the path gifted to them all.
“This is why I don’t drink alone,” Nadire muttered under her breath. She hated sounding maudlin even if the circumstances called for it.
The morose scales tumbled from her eyes and she sat bolt upright on the stool. Swiveling around, those crystal snowflake eyes from the dining hall burned into hers. Even with another barstool between them, the heat of the man’s body called out to hers. He tapped his fingers against the bar in the old shave and a haircut rhythm while staring her up and down.
What a day for her to wear business casual that left everything to the imagination.
“You look like a woman who intends to devour whomever talks to her next,” he said, his striking face stern with certainty.
Nadire couldn’t argue with his assessment even as she tried to dig out the furrow at the top of her brow. “You’re probably right.” She sighed focusing on her beer. Devouring men was easier than talking to them.
“Hm.” The man snorted, no doubt ending the conversation. Nadire’s sight bored into the bubbles climbing up her glass. A blur at the periphery caused her to turn her head. Despite the warnings he made, the stranger leaned his long leg over the top of the stool and sat down beside her.
“But you…” She gasped, the words stolen from her tongue. “You said that…”
He shrugged a single taut shoulder. “What is life without a little risk?” The man bore a Germanic accent, though it was light and often bobbing in and out with his o’s. Instead of either the tacky sweaters of the tourists, or the important suits of the buyers, he was dressed in a simple button up with the top two undone. The rich cinnamon color caused his eyes to sparkle brighter than the top of any tree.
Realizing she was once again staring, Nadire threw out, “Devouring is more than a small risk, I’d say.”
“Depends upon who’s doing it. For the right woman, some men would happily be eaten whole.”
Sweet lord! She pawed at her cheek to try and disguise both the blush and the smile cracking her lipstick. He sat silently in place, only the edge of his eyes cast over the man-devourer while Nadire felt herself slowly melting into the stool. With no recourse, she relied upon her only chaperone and returned to the beer.
“Ah, a pint.” The man tried to catch the bartender’s eye, but his foreign request only caused the drink slinger to frown. The bar was filling fast, one of those bachelorette parties complete with penis themed hats rolling in. All of the cosmo requests were keeping the bartender busy, a vast swathe of cotton candy perfumes practically sizzling off the women.
Nadire focused on her drink, assuming the already tipsy and partying women would catch the ice-blue eye of the stranger and vice versa. It wasn’t that she didn’t have the occasional gentleman caller. Some liked to press their luck when she worked the circuit, their cologne unable to cover over the stench of desperation. But she wasn’t exactly the settling down type either. Relationships required time and devotion. Nadire couldn’t even keep a poinsettia alive.
Certain in her future of rummaging through the minibar while scrolling before sleep, Nadire dropped her glass and turned straight into crystal eyes. “How big of a bite would you take if I asked you your name?” he asked, his voice plummeting to the depths of an unassailable baritone. It seemed as if only she could hear him, the pink penis brigade all squealing to themselves. Did they not even glance over at this perfect specimen seated beside them?
Laughing to try and cover her shock, Nadire shrugged a single shoulder. “Only a little nibble.” The man who’d been cold as morning’s frost blushed, his plush bottom lip slipping open as he snorted from her answer. She knew what she’d want to nibble on first.
“Nadire,” she spoke, trying to shake away the thought. This was a business trip. She should be focusing on candy canes and bells of holly, not… God’s nails, it’d been too long since she’d spoken to a man she didn’t work with.
“Nadire?” he repeated, his accent rolling her name around like bodies in satin sheets. “A rather mysterious name.”
Most probably expected her to be named Candy, or Holly, or Angel. Most in imagining the life of Saint Nick never wondered if he’d prefer to keep his own traditions, and not name the rarely mentioned children after aspects of the holiday born centuries past his birth. She winced at the reminder of her mountain of baggage, when he slid an arm over the back of her stool.
The tips of his mahogany hair tickled her cheek and he whispered beside her ear, “It fits you perfectly.”
He slipped back to his chair as if nothing happened, but Nadire could still feel the tickle across her skin from his hair. It vibrated out from that simple touch, alighting her nerves as she graced her palm to her cheek.
“You haven’t told me your name,” she gulped. “It seems only fair after all.”
“But I haven’t yet paid the price for yours.” The man lifted his hand out to her, exposing forearm muscles that tightened to marble perfection. “A little nibble, you said?”
“Ah.” Nadire gazed down at the masculine hand, his large fingers hanging helplessly in the air. The image of her teeth grazing over the tender skin flashed through her mind and she blinked in shock at her imagination. “Perhaps later.”
“A fair promise.” The man smiled, letting his hand drop to the bar just as his beer arrived. After thanking the grumbling bartender, he finally told her, “I am Emeric.”