Krampus and the Crone: A SciFi Alien Warrior Holiday Romance

by Honey Phillips

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Other Titles

  About the Author

  Krampus and the Crone

  An Alien Warrior Holiday Romance

  Honey Phillips

  Copyright © 2020 by Honey Phillips

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author.

  Disclaimer

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover by The Book Brander

  Edited by Lindsay York at LY Publishing Services

  Chapter One

  Commander Krampasarian D’Marchandar stepped outside of his wrecked ship and sighed. A cold, wet substance was falling from the sky. Was there no end to the unpleasant surprises this primitive planet produced? He had already been horrified to discover that water dripped from the sky at random intervals, but this new substance was thicker. And colder. He shivered and returned to his ship to investigate.

  After a quick search through his data files, he identified the new substance as snow - a phenomenon that would never have been permitted on Tandrok, the climate-controlled planet of his birth. Based on the information provided to him, the presence of snow could indicate the beginning of a cold season where it would appear with increasing frequency, covering the ground and leading to such terrible phenomena as ice storms and avalanches. Horrified at the prospect, he went to check on the progress of the microscopic nanites that were steadily, but very slowly, repairing the damaged sections of his ship.

  Unfortunately, watching them work did not increase the speed with which they progressed, and eventually boredom drove him back to the bridge. Telling himself that it was his duty as a Tandroki commander to record the lifeforms he discovered, he turned on the feed from his drones. However, the eagerness with which he bent over the images was not entirely due to his scholarly inclinations. Would she appear today or would this disgusting snow keep her inside?

  When his ship had first crash landed on K.R.S. Three, he had been too appalled to consider the possibility that the planet might be inhabited. The first few days had passed in a daze of horror, compounded by rage when he had discovered the distinct signs of sabotage. No doubt Commander Nicholsarian, his chief rival for the coveted position of Ambassador to Perchten, had been behind the disruption that had rendered his navigation systems useless before finally causing the explosion that had forced him to the surface of this primitive planet.

  Once he had set the repair process in place - and realized how long it would take - he had turned his attention to the planet. His ship had crashed into a group of deplorably large and irregular landforms. Fortunately, the crash had half-buried his ship in the dirt of a small, flat area near the peak of one of the landforms, rather than plunging to the valley floor. Unfortunately, that meant that at some point he would most likely have to dig away some of the dirt. By hand.

  He shuddered at the thought and returned to the contemplation of his surroundings. Only primitive, lower-level life forms existed in the vicinity of his ship, but as his boredom had increased, he had extended his survey and found additional life. Although still clearly primitive, they appeared to have some rudimentary level of intelligence. They constructed crude dwellings out of the materials surrounding them, engaged in trade, and exhibited communication skills.

  Using drones disguised as native flying creatures, he began watching the small village at the base of his mountain. On the whole, he was not impressed. Their living conditions were primitive, and they relied on crude methods to cook, clean, and control their environment. What’s more, they frequently argued amongst themselves and did not treat each other with any level of respect. Of course, he had thought bitterly, while the Tandroki culture placed a great deal of emphasis on respect and manners, behind that polite surface just as much conflict existed. Given the fact that such a conflict had most likely led to his present predicament, he found a certain measure of appreciation for the openness of the villagers.

  That did not, however, stop him from regarding them with some disdain. But since he had very little else to occupy his time, he began to spend a portion of each day watching the villagers. He grew interested enough that he prioritized fixing his translation system, downgrading some of the other repairs, simply so he could understand their primitive speech. Once that was accomplished, he was even more fascinated - and appalled - by their lifestyle.

  And then, she appeared.

  At first, he did not even realize that the newcomer was female, but the presence of a stranger in the marketplace had drawn his attention. The unfamiliar person was heavily cloaked, with a stooped posture, and seemed reliant on a wooden cane. As she moved amongst the stalls, his drones picked up whispers from the villagers.

  “Witch.”

  “Interfering old crone.”

  “Stay away from her.”

  This last was said by one of the males operating a stall to his bonded female – such a primitive concept – and she nodded her head obediently. But as he had already observed, the appearance of consent by a female meant very little. As soon as her male’s back was turned, she slipped away and went searching for the stranger.

  The newcomer had seated herself on a small bench next to the tavern, tucked away from the majority of the marketplace, and set out a small array of pouches on a colorful cloth. The stall keeper’s wife edged up to her, casting a nervous eye over her shoulder to make sure that her husband was not watching.

  “I need the potion, Jaelle,” she muttered.

  “Aye? Still won’t leave you alone, eh?” the stranger said softly.

  “No. Not even when I’m most likely to be fertile. I know it’s my duty to let him have his way, but I don’t need a fifth child right now.”

  Jaelle quickly sorted through the pouches and handed one to the stall keeper’s wife. “You know the routine. A pinch in your tea every morning, then a week off once a month.”

  The other woman pressed a small coin into her hand with a quick word of thanks and then disappeared back into the crowd. The so-called witch lifted her head to watch her departure, and for the first time, his drone could relay a picture of her face.

  A tattered fringe of gray hair surrounded a heavily lined countenance, but he paid little attention to her features. All he could see were her eyes. Blue – as blue as the skies that covered this planet. But it was more than the arresting color that caught his attention. Intelligence sparked in those blue depths and he saw both compassion and sorrow in her gaze as she watched the stall-keeper’s wife disappear. After a quick, assessing survey of her surroundings, she dipped her head once more. He wanted to demand that she look back up. That she look at hi
m.

  As he watched in fascination, more people, mainly women, made their way to her bench. They stopped only briefly, usually after a nervous look around, then hurried away. Very few of them engaged in conversation with her. One exception was a stooped, old man, who hobbled over leaning on a cane, and procured some sort of cream. He then proceeded to settle down to chat. Was he trying to secure Jaelle’s interest?

  Krampasarian found himself frowning. The elderly male was obviously unsuited for this female. He was relieved when she gently urged the old man on his way.

  Within an hour, the cloth was empty, and Jaelle folded it up and placed it back in her basket. A basket that was now full of a variety of other items since many of her customers had offered trade goods instead of coins. As far as he could tell, she never set a price or disagreed with the offered payment and his Tandroki pride was offended by her failure to recognize the worth of her goods.

  With her own sales complete, she proceeded to hobble around the marketplace and make some additional purchases of her own. Once she was in public view, her interactions were even briefer and occasionally accompanied by a sneer or a muttered insult. In a shocking reversion to his race’s own primitive background, Krampasarian’s claws threatened to emerge at the disparaging treatment. After he stared at his tingling fingertips in horror, he looked back at the screen and realized that she was gone. Where was she?

  His drones searched uselessly until he finally thought to look outside the village and caught a glimpse of a faded red cloak taking a path up the mountain. Up his mountain. He immediately abandoned the village and sent the drones after her. As soon as she was out of sight of the buildings below, she straightened, rubbing her back and stretching, before resuming her journey with a brisk pace completely unlike her previous tottering steps. Fascinating.

  She climbed for some time on the narrow path before coming to a halt in front of a small, well-kept cottage surrounded by a flourishing garden. A well was located in the front courtyard, and she stopped there to draw a bucket of water. As he watched, she scrubbed her face, then threw back the hood of her cloak and ran damp fingers through her hair, the gray disappearing to be replaced by shining dark waves. He sent a drone closer just as she stretched again and he could see her face once more.

  No longer lined with age, her complexion was smooth and radiant. The rather coarse features of the villagers had been refined in her. She had high cheekbones, a straight nose, a pointed little chin, and a lush, red mouth that made him think of things he had not considered since his first coming-of-age. His sex actually stirred, a reaction as unwanted as it was unexpected. But he still couldn’t drag his eyes away from her. He was so wrapped up in his observations that he didn’t realize that she was approaching his drone.

  “Hello there, little bird,” she whispered in a low husky voice that seemed to feather softly over his skin. “I haven’t seen you here before.”

  By the Horns of Moroz, he should have realized that she would be observant. His drones had assumed the form of native flying creatures, but she was correct. They were rarely seen at this altitude.

  “Did you lose your way? Are you hungry?”

  While he hesitated, unsure if he should send the drone flying away, she ventured into her garden and retrieved a handful of seeds from a large flower and scattered them in front of the small creature. The drone did not, of course, need to eat, but he felt obligated to respond to her hospitality. He had the drone pick up several of the seeds before he remembered that it would not be judicious to have her approach and examine it closely. Despite his reluctance, he sent it flying into the trees. She laughed, a sultry note that sent a thrill of pleasure through his body, and lifted a hand in farewell. Still sitting on his ship’s bridge, he actually started to raise his own hand in response before he came to his senses.

  Skef. What was the matter with him? He could not afford to be distracted by a female, especially not a primitive female, no matter how attractive she might be or how many intriguing questions were hidden behind that beautiful face. In fact, he should stop watching the village entirely and focus only on his own ship. Resolving to stay away from her, he returned to his work.

  Chapter Two

  “Good morning, Robin,” Jaelle said cheerfully to the small red bird perched on the top of the well. It was not a robin, of course, or even exactly a bird for that matter, but it bore a close enough resemblance that she’d named him after the Earth creature. Although the red birds were not usually seen this high in the mountains, this one had appeared every day since her trip to the marketplace. She had caught glimpses of other red birds flitting through the trees, but this one seemed to be the boldest.

  “Do you think it’s going to snow today?” she asked him as she studied the sky.

  Dark clouds were rolling across the valley below and the top of the mountain was already shrouded in fog. The scent of snow was in the air and she sighed. While she could get by without them if necessary, she was running low on flour and salt. If she wanted to bake bread before the storm hit, she would need to make another journey to the village today to get additional supplies.

  As always, she had mixed feelings about the trip. Even though she appreciated the serenity of her cottage and her quiet life, she did get lonely. The interaction with the villagers, however brief, made her feel less isolated. But while the interaction with her patients was usually polite, if not overly friendly, the rest of the villagers were a different story. She was regarded with the same suspicion and distrust as her mother and her grandmother before her.

  But that was never going to change, and with a sigh, she went to apply her makeup. That too was another source of mixed feelings. As her grandmother had pointed out, it made her less threatening and helped her to avoid unwanted attention from the men of the village. But the fact that a string of seemingly ageless old women had been coming down the mountain for generations only added to the suspicion with which she was regarded.

  Her grandmother had found it amusing and joked about it when she first taught Jaelle how to disguise herself. The familiar pang washed over her. She still missed the wise, funny older woman. Unfortunately, no matter how skilled her family was in the healing arts, age eventually overtook everyone.

  As she left the cottage in the familiar disguise, she blew a kiss at the small stone that marked her grandmother’s passing, snugly settled next to Jaelle’s mother, and her great-grandmother and all the women in her family back to the first ill-fated ancestor to land on this planet.

  Since she was too far from the village to be observed, she could walk freely, enjoying the trip down through the evergreen trees that dominated this part of the mountain. But as the trees began to thin and the bare branches of the deciduous trees took over, she slowed her pace and bent over her cane. The posture was as familiar to her now as her real gait.

  Robin had accompanied her down the mountain, flitting in and out amongst the trees and making odd little chirping noises. There was something about his call that didn’t sound quite like the other birds, and she sometimes wondered if he’d suffered some sort of accident. But it was nice to have him along as a companion on her trip.

  As the village came in sight below her, she stopped to study it. The collection of sturdy wood and stone buildings climbing up from the river looked peaceful and prosperous. The new house that the miller was building was almost complete. Based on the rumors from her last visit, he would be asking for Nyssa’s hand in marriage as soon as it was finished. Since Nyssa was the daughter of the mayor of their small village – a man who regarded himself of high importance – Jaelle wondered if the miller’s suit would be successful. She followed the village courtships with great interest, knowing that no man would ever come courting her.

  When the time came to have a child, she would have a quick, discreet encounter with a carefully selected villager. As soon as she knew she was pregnant, she would administer a drink that would make him think the whole thing a dream. Another family tradition that she
didn’t intend to change, although she did spare a wistful thought for Lars. After her grandmother died, she had checked the carefully kept records and realized that the big, gentle woodcutter was her father. It might have been nice to have grown up as his daughter…

  But the separation was necessary and she shook her head and returned to contemplation of the village. There were other signs of growth as well and she was glad to see them. From the history her family had passed down, it had taken several generations of struggle before the settlers had been able to flourish and expand.

  They would be expanding even more rapidly if men like Knut had their way, she thought grimly as she resumed her journey. They didn’t seem to understand the toll childbirth took on a woman in these primitive conditions. But at least Jaelle could use her family’s wisdom to help those women who didn’t want to have a child every year. Although the birth control mixture was her most requested product, she was happy when the villagers would take any of her healing potions. The village did claim a self-professed doctor but his methods were untrained and dangerous.

  As she entered the village, she noticed that most of the houses were decked out with green boughs around the windows and clusters of red berries on the doors. Of course, it was the holiday season. A mixture of heritages from the original ship and generations of isolation had resulted in a hodgepodge of holiday traditions centered around the winter solstice. Good spirits, evil spirits, and the birth of the new year came together in the weeks leading up to the Longest Night celebration.

  The marketplace stalls also sported the holiday decorations, and a sense of suppressed excitement filled the air as people laughed and chatted. Fragrant spices perfumed the air from the hot punch being sold by a dozen vendors. She gave it a longing glance as she passed, but her small reserve of coins was needed for supplies, not frivolity.