Cupid Claws: The Twelve Mates Of Christmas, Book 6

by Sylvan, Sable

  “Dope, is that my shift?” asked Rowan.

  “I mean…kinda,” said Krampus lamely. “But I’m going to have to take your bear.”

  “Do it,” said Rowan. “I’m ready.”

  “This guy,” tutted Krampus. He put the snow globe against Rowan’s palm. There was a quick flash of green and red. It was the fastest transfer of shifts he’d seen in all his years. There was no resistance from Rowan, none at all…although Rowan’s shift was surprisingly powerful and caused the snow globe to shake in Krampus’ hands before he threw the snow globe down into his bottomless pockets.

  Krampus grabbed the chain binding Rowan to the chair and yanked it. The chain dissolved and reappeared in Krampus’s hand. Krampus tossed the chain into the air where it expanded until it was ten feet in diameter. The chain slowly hovered down to the ground, a few feet away from Krampus and Rowan. The turning chain filled with emerald flames that soon dissipated and showed a forest from above.

  “What a view,” said Connor. “Dude. Listen to Krampus.”

  “Fine, fine, I just want to meet Santa,” admitted Rowan

  “Santana,” corrected Connor. “Remember, Rowan – the true meaning of Christmas is that we can make Christmas anywhere, out of anything…with just a little belief in the power of Christmas magic!”

  “You got any more questions?” asked Krampus. “We need to get this show on the road.”

  “Just one,” said Rowan. “What’s my reindeer’s name?”

  “He ain’t your reindeer. You’re his human,” corrected Krampus. “His name’s Cupid.”

  “Cupid? You’ve got to be kidding —” started Rowan, but before he could say ‘me,’ Krampus had pushed Rowan down, through the portal, and towards Rowan’s weirdest Christmas ever.

  Chapter One

  December 1st, 2012

  Holly Luna was oiling up a pair of buns when somebody tapped at the window.

  Holly ignored it. After all, the buns were begging to be oiled up. She was sure that some kids had just thrown a snowball at the window on accident.

  The buns were round, glossy with oil, and squishy but firm at the same time. Soon, they’d be a perfect golden-brown color, just begging to be bit into. Heck, Holly already wanted to put her face right between the buns before taking a big ol’ nip of them in her mouth.

  They were the best buns she’d ever seen in her life — and she’d seen her fair share of buns. After all, she was a BBW — a big, beautiful woman — and that made her an expert on buns.

  She loved buns that were oiled up. She loved buns that needed oiling up. She loved buns that were golden brown, buns that were thick, buns that were tight, buns that were hard, buns that were soft, buns that were on display, and buns that were hidden away so that others wouldn’t grab the buns. She loved buns from all over the world, whether they were English buns, Irish buns, French buns, Italian buns, Chinese buns, Japanese buns, or Mexican buns.

  She was a bun lover.

  It was that simple.

  She especially loved buns with nuts.

  It was a winning combination. Buns and nuts went together like eggnog and candy canes.

  She wasn’t fond of buns with seeds on them. They just felt sandy to her.

  People loved having her oil up their buns. Heck, they paid her for it. Some had said she was the best in the business.

  Somebody tapped at the window again and called, “Holly?”

  That somebody was curvy — but most definitely not a snowball.

  Holly took off her gloves and opened the window.

  “Avery? What’s up?” asked Holly, looking at her boss, who was seated outside, a notebook in one hand, an empty mug in the hand near the window.

  “Would you be a dear and refill my coffee? I need to talk to you about your special project,” said Avery.

  “Sure thing,” said Holly. “I just need to finish up oiling these buns.”

  Avery raised an eyebrow.

  “You know what I mean,” said Holly, taking the mug and shutting the window before rolling her eyes.

  Holly put the mug down, washed her hands, put on a fresh pair of gloves, and took the olive oil glaze brush in one hand, using the other to turn around the focaccia buns. The bready buns were full of sundried tomatoes and olives and feta cheese. They were like fat little calzones — the petite BBW shaped version of calzones.

  Holly tossed her new gloves and refilled Avery’s coffee with the special blend of Christmas coffee — a combination of orange peel, spices, and nuts, was mixed into the beans before they were freshly ground by the ladies at Bear Claw Bakery. Holly made herself a cup of coffee too. Like Avery, she took hers with a good amount of cream and a hefty spritz of whipped cream. She sprinkled Avery’s special ‘Christmas dust’ on the top of the beverages. Holly had no idea what was in it, but it made the coffee taste divine.

  Holly slipped on her coat and outdoor shoes. She walked out to the back patio of Bear Claw Bakery. The fresh scent of the frosty Montana air hit her nose. The bakery smelled nice — how could it not? It was a frikkin’ bakery. It smelled of the cinnamon and sugar the old-fashioned donuts were rolled around in. It smelled of freshly brewed Christmas coffee, of hot pots of peppermint tea, and of white chocolate cranberry scones fresh out of the oven.

  But, to Holly, there was nothing better than the scent of the outdoors. The fresh smell of the Montana air was a welcome change from the stuffy atmosphere of Boston, where the brick and concrete and glass buildings all seemed to close in on her. On The Wreath, she didn’t have to worry about large slabs of ice falling ten stories from an office park and hitting her straight in the egg-noggin. On The Wreath, time moved more slowly, even as the days on the calendar counted down steadily toward Christmas. Everything on The Wreath seemed more peaceful. Even the snowflakes seemed to dance more gracefully in Montana.

  “Hey,” said Holly, putting Avery’s lucky mug down on the table. “What did you want to see me about, boss?”

  “Sit next to me,” said Avery, patting the seat next to her.

  Holly moved to sit next to Avery, facing out toward the lake.

  “You see that island over there?” asked Avery.

  “Yeah,” replied Holly. “You told me about it earlier — it’s Camp Kringle, the Christmas tree camp, right?”

  “Exactly,” said Avery. “I’m going to need you to make sure that whoever canoes over here, from over there, doesn’t end up distracting you.”

  “Wait, what?” asked Holly. “Rewind — who the heck is rowing over?”

  “Trouble,” said Avery, shaking her head. “This guy, Krampus, runs the camp. Every year, he has a different bad boy bear shifter helping him out with the Christmas tree harvest — and every dang year, for the last five years, the shifter has ended up causing trouble for me and my bakery.”

  “Ah, so they’re troublemakers?” asked Holly. “Don’t worry, boss. I can handle it.”

  “Err…well, they’re handsome devils,” said Avery. “He’s wrangled a marathon runner, a male stripper, a billionaire, a romance novel model, and a pilot…and each of those men has ended up finding his fated mate here at the bakery.”

  “Whoa, nobody said anything about fated mates,” said Holly. “Fate might give shifters mate marks…but I’m a human, and I don’t even have a fated mate. Trust me. I’m not looking to date a bad boy. I’m getting too old to be messing around with guys who aren’t looking for commitment. Call me a skeptic, but I don’t think the concept of ‘fated mates’ changes the fact that a bad boy is just that — a bad boy.”

  “Smart girl,” said Avery. “I don’t want you getting distracted from your task at hand. I need you to come up with an event for the bakery for the Christmas season. We’ve already got a place booked — the local community center, on the night of December the twenty-third. The only question is, what kind of party are we going to throw?”

  “It depends — do you want family friendly, or do you want it to be a sexy Christmas event?” asked Holly.
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br />   “I thought you just said you weren’t looking to get into any Christmas mischief,” said Avery, crossing her arms. “After all, you wouldn’t want to get on Santana’s — I mean, Santa’s — Naughty List this close to Christmas.”

  “Trust me. I don’t want trouble, but I know what other people want,” said Holly. “The people that want to do something tame, like go caroling with their families, great. They have traditions. They’re not going to change their plans just because some bakery decides to throw a party. We need to target the people that aren’t doing stuff that night. The only question is, who are they, and what do they want?”

  “That’s exactly what you need to figure out,” said Avery. “I want you to come up with a plan for the event — you can leave the marketing to me. I’ve worked in this town for over a decade. I know everyone. I can get the bodies in the space…once you figure out what kind of bodies I need to be targeting!”

  “Ugh, ‘bodies,’ weird term, gives me the willies,” said Holly, shuddering. “I thought this was a Christmas party, not a Halloween party. Well, let me figure something out and get back to you.”

  Holly was about to get up from the table and clear their empty mugs, but Avery stayed her hand.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be on break about now?” asked Avery, checking her watch. “It’s good for you to get some fresh air. After all, it keeps your nose sensitive.”

  “My nose?” asked Holly, quirking a brow.

  “A baker needs a strong palette, and smell is a big component of taste,” retorted Avery, her own nose in the air. “Anyway, you’re going to miss the show if you go in now.”

  “What show?” asked Holly.

  “Why the one over there,” said Avery, pointing to the lake. “After all, this is the best dang show on The Wreath — and you know a woman like me won’t miss her daytime shows for all the Christmas tea in China.”

  “The mischief that goes on with that lumberjack guy and his bears — it’s really as good as a soap opera?” asked Holly.

  “Why, of course, it is, and you know I must see my stories live,” joked Avery. “You see that shirtless guy? That must be Krampus’ bitch for the Christmas season.”

  Holly peered. She could barely make out two figures on the island. One was sitting on the dock, wearing a red top, and the other seemed to be shirtless. She couldn’t make out his facial features. Holly watched as the shirtless man tried to get an aluminum boat to stay close to the shore as he loaded the boat with what looked like a big black garbage bag.

  “And I take it Krampus is the one reading a book on the dock while the shirtless hunk tries to get that boat into the water?” asked Holly.

  “Now do you see why I have to see this live every year?” asked Avery. “After all, this is the first time that boy will have rowed across the lake this season.”

  Holly watched as the shirtless guy managed to get the boat onto the water. He put two oars into the boat. The guy in red — Krampus, Holly recalled — got into the boat, and the guy put in the trash bag before he got into the boat. Then, before the shirtless guy could get into the boat, the boat started to float away.

  “What did you mean about that other guy, by the way?” asked Holly. “About him being Krampus’ bitch?”

  “Every year, Krampus gets some big, bad shifter bad boy and whips him into shape, turning him into, well, a more respectable guy,” said Avery. “He works them to the bone. The bad boys get put through the wringer. They have to work as lumberjacks at Camp Kringle, the Christmas tree farm.”

  “He does this every year?” asked Holly. “And has he ever failed?”

  “I hate to admit it, but, Krampus is good at his job,” admitted Avery. “Each and every last one of his lumberjacks found their fated mate by Christmas Day.”

  “Wow,” said Holly. “Being a shifter’s fated mate must be nice…but I don’t exactly think that’s in my stars.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Avery. “Shifters aren’t your type?”

  “I’m not their type,” Holly corrected Avery. “I’ve, uh, had my share of intimate experiences with shifters, but…well, let’s just put it this way. I’ve never been claimed. Guess I’m an ugly duckling or something.”

  “Ugly? Girl, no way,” said Avery, looking over her temp worker. “Curvy, however…” Avery raised an eyebrow and made Holly laugh.

  The shirtless man ran through the shallow water toward the boat. He climbed in the boat and started rowing hard. Holly was crying with laughter. It was like watching a clown — a hunky clown, with a shift that could tear her to shreds if it so desired, but a clown nonetheless.

  Holly watched as the man rowed across the boat. Krampus was reading his book and didn’t help the shirtless man row. When they reached the dock, Krampus disembarked. The shirtless man stood up too quickly and didn’t watch his balance. He caused the boat to capsize in the shallows of The Wreath, the lake’s water soaking him as he fell ass-first onto the icy ground underneath the water. The bundle fell into the water too.

  “Wait!” said Avery, but it was too late — Holly had already gotten up from her seat.

  Holly made her way down to the shore, where the man had just gotten the boat tied up to the dock.

  “Hey, are you okay?” asked Holly, facing the man’s back as he grabbed the bundle out of the boat.

  The man turned to face the female voice addressing him. He looked over the girl in front of him — no, not a girl, but a woman. She was curvy, with huge breasts, a thick ass, and a waist that could take a pounding, although it was hidden underneath a giant coat. She had chubby cheeks that he wanted to pinch, cheeks he wished to see flushed pink with arousal for him. Right now, her cheeks were just pink from the cold, but that made him want to take her in.

  It had already happened. He hadn’t even been trying to find her, but there she was.

  His.

  His fated mate.

  She’s hot, admitted the reindeer. Don’t let her be a distraction.

  Whatever, said the man. I know Fate’s work. This is it. I’ve never felt this before.

  Then how come you’re single? asked the reindeer.

  I was a damn good matchmaker, said the man. I spent all my time helping others find love.

  A matchmaker without a mate? asked the reindeer. Fat chance you’d find anyone that trusted someone like that up here on The Wreath. You ain’t in the big city no more.

  “I’m okay now,” said the man, looking over the curvy woman. “You shouldn’t’ve troubled yourself, coming all the way down here to help a sinner dock his boat at your lovely bakery.”

  The baker’s mouth nearly hit the floor. She looked at the man — he had mud on his face, splattered over his thick stubble. The stubble covered all of his chin, part of his neck, and went around to his sideburns. It was thick, so thick it nearly looked like a full beard, lain flat, if one didn’t look at it closely.

  His hair hit his shoulders. It was deep ashy chocolate brown, the color of the bark of the pine trees underneath the winter sky. It hung in loose wet rivulets around his neck, the water and mud binding the hair into thick locks.

  The lumberjack was shirtless. His jeans hung loosely around his muscular legs, held up with a pair of suspenders that went over the man’s naked torso. In the loop of the belt was an ax, big, thick, sharp. Holly swore she could see another shaft in the man’s pants. The man’s chest was glossy — Holly wasn’t sure if it was with sweat or lake water, or a mix of both. He was covering his chest with a large crinkly black plastic bundle.

  “It’s no trouble,” said the woman. “Can I help you with that?”

  “Rowan doesn’t need help,” called a stern voice.

  Holly looked up at the man on the dock and put her hands on her hips.

  “Krampus, you’re not my boss — Avery is so I would suggest that you make that the last time you ever try to order me around!” said Holly.

  “And were you this sassy before or after Avery had time to influence you?” asked Kramp
us. “Look, lady, you want to enable a bad boy — that’s on you. But, if I were you, I’d play the long game — and let me discipline your crush into a man worth dating, mating, and, uh…what rhymes with mating? Ice skating?”

  “I never said that I —” started Holly, blushing.

  That’s when the scent hit Rowan’s nose, an intoxicating scent, one that made his cock harder than the handle of his lumberjack ax.

  It was the scent of arousal, and that blush in Holly’s cheek wasn’t just from embarrassment.

  Rowan kept the bundle in front of his crotch, hiding his erection with the package.

  “Let’s get this to your boss,” said Rowan, leading Holly with one hand around Holly’s waist.

  Holly felt Rowan’s firm hand touch her waist and she nearly melted. She almost stumbled, distracted by the fact that this ‘Rowan’ guy had his hand on her body, his firm, steady hand that made her feel safe and protected.

  The tree was still covering his chest. Holly wondered what it was hiding. Was it his mate mark? She knew about mate marks. Any hot-blooded woman who spent time around shifters knew about those. They were the marks that were supposed to lead shifters to their fated mates. Would a bad boy like Rowan have, say, a pair of handcuffs for a mate mark? Or was he secretly a good guy, with a Christmas angel’s silhouette slapped right on his chest? There was only one way to find out.

  Again, Holly nearly tripped herself up as she thought about Rowan’s hot body, a body hotter than freshly baked buns.

  “Careful there,” said Rowan. “Wouldn’t want you to have a twisted ankle come Christmas, now, would we?”

  The way Rowan said the word ‘come’ made Holly’s insides turn to jelly. They walked up the stairs to the back patio, where Avery had her arms crossed.

  “It took you what, fifteen minutes, to forget about my advice?” asked Avery.

  “What advice?” asked Holly, as Rowan took his hand off her waist.

  “Exactly,” said Avery with a sigh. “Okay, what’s this one called, Krampus?”