WARNING: MATURE CONTENT AHEAD

My Holidays gift for all my naughty elves 😉

Happy holidays ✨

This short story is inspired by the French song in the header, which is about Santa's daughter and the son of Père Fouettard (a European Krampus who basically whips naughty kids lol)

"Yes, Nicholas, I will. Don't worry, I know it's my first time, but I've practiced enough." I sigh through the candy cane. "You'll be the ones to make me mess it up if every member of this family calls me every two minutes! Don't you have a job to do? Because I do!"

My eyes travel automatically to the large house, or should I say mansion, standing proudly in front of me as the fresh coat of snow and fairy lights are highlighting its grandeur into the night.

"Okay, okay, but if there's any bump on the road, call me."

"Yes, I know you're the expert in 'bumps on the road'," I tease him, quickly adding a 'love you' because, in this family, my dry humor always passes better with some sweetness.

"Love you too, little sis, and be careful. Stay away from Balta–" The warning tone in his voice gets lost in the silence around as I hang up the cane-phone, throwing it in my sack.

"What? We'll still be here on the 26th if I listen to his recommendations," I justify in front of Cookie's blinking eyes.

Yes, I know Cookie is not really original for a reindeer, but when you're the youngest child of the Claus family, there isn't much choice left. Besides, don't be fooled by her sweet name; she is fierce, stubborn, and hard to convince.

"I've already heard these recommendations a million times, and I've learned them by heart: stay away from Balthazar, Krampus, any human eyes, and security camera..." I recite while grabbing my rolled list, throwing the sack over my shoulder, and offering Cookie a determinate smile and of course, a carrot. "I'm ready."

Moreover, the probability of running into any of those is tiny, knowing tonight, the Krampus family is as busy as the Claus, and the world is wide. As for human eyes, it isn't a risk either because I've been assigned the list of unoccupied houses to make sure it was safer.

But I won't complain. I'm already so happy to be out in the world alone for the first time, and I'm appreciating every detail: the gray smog hiding the stars I've seen clearly every night of my life, the smell of snow melting on the tarmac, and the faraway and incessant barking of a dog. We don't have all of this in the North Pole, and I'm ecstatic in front of everything, even the famous little security camera as I approach the front door.

The front door indeed, and not the chimney as popular tales are saying. Well, at least, we don't use them anymore since a little incident that has happened to my grandpa.

The small golden master key hanging around my neck is much more practical, and with a click on the red gem, the security system is turned off, while the carved end can open any door.

In two seconds, I'm inside, as if I'd done this all my life, and even experienced robbers wish they could be that fast.

However, I'm not here to do something forbidden, and if I take my time to observe the sumptuous and expensive interior, it's because I'm searching for the most important room, my curious eyes and idle fingers dawdling just a little on all the shiny furniture and impressive pieces of art.

Everything looks straight out of an interior design magazine, and when I finally find my destination, it's even truer, my fingers and all my movements stopping in fear of messing the perfect décor.

With the dark walls and furniture going from white leather to silver polished wood, there is not a piece disrupting the perfect harmony of tones, well, except for my red outfit now, and I quickly walk to the most familiar thing I spot – and the most important too – the Christmas tree, which is also magnificent, tall, and imposing to be able to stand proudly in the wide room. Its sparky and glassy baubles resemble the crystals from the chandeliers, and they're reflecting the flames of the fireplace.

It's probably the most elegant Christmas tree I've ever seen in all my life, and God knows I've seen quite a few.

Yet it doesn't bring me the sparks of Christmas. 

It lacks the misshapen and hideous decorations from the kids' arts classes that the parents keep because of the priceless sentimental value. It lacks the holidays cards from distant aunts whom you won't forget because of the cheery and annoying tune the piece of paper has stuck in your heads, and even the whole family room is lacking the cozy smell of wood, which the fake flames on the screen don't provide, the crumbs of cookies on the couch, and all those little imperfections tinged with memories. There's not even a stain on the white and fluffy carpet.

Everything is lacking life.

I shake my head, looking down at my list. The newest Nintendo Switch, two Nerf toy guns, and the Barbie holidays doll, I have it all in my sack, and I just have to put them under the tree. The wrapping papers will at least bring some colors around. Still, that's not what my gloved hands are pulling out of the sack.

My task might be distributing the gifts, but my most important mission is to make sure everyone experiences those sparks, and when I gaze at the little angel in my palm, I already sense it.

The imperfect and hand-made trinket is standing out in the wide room, and a large smile stretches my lips at the memory of a little me making this colorful decoration with Nicholas and Lior when we've had no idea about the harmony of colors or even the importance of painting inside the lines.

I know the perfect imperfect spot for it, and my fingers are tickling as I turn on the fairy lights and then, reach out on my tiptoes to the top of the Christmas tree.

I push a branch away, and the tingles are spreading farther along my arms as I'm about to hang the trinket.

"Am I dreaming?"

The precarious balance is lost with those three words echoing in an unknown and deep voice, and not only the balance of the decoration slipping out of the branch. I feel myself teetering on my tippy toes, and before I can catch myself, I'm tumbling backward, landing on the carpet, which is perfectly placed to cushion my fall.

However, my preoccupation isn't about my behind anyway, as I'm already racking my brain to fix this situation.

The house was supposed to be empty for the night. The family's flight is at 5 a.m., and they shouldn't be back until dawn.

"Ash blond curls almost as white as snow, red lips as tempting as a candy cane, and eyes as blue as the North starry sky, it's really Marie-Noel Claus, exactly as the tales describe you."

Black hobnailed boots appear in front of me, and my gaze climbs up a tall and imposing silhouette dressed like robbers would until I catch the messy strands as dark as coal, where two unmistakable horns are peeking out.

And finally, I stop on the two eyes as fierce and vibrant as burning iron, directed down towards my legs.

"Balthazar Krampus?!" I quickly pull down my skirt, covering my white stockings and the inches of skin exposed by my garter belt.

"The one and only to serve you." He bows with an exaggerated gesture of his hand, and I eye dubiously those long fingers that he's holding out in front of me, and actually, all of this tall man, well, Balthazar Krampus, apparently.

Nevertheless, Krampus's son is supposed to be hideous and frightening, and this man is nothing like 'the tales describe' him.

He's handsome, dangerously handsome, and yes, he is spine-chilling, but the kind of chills that have a purpose lower than your spine, and those shivers are descending slowly as I look up at him from my position still seated on the carpet.

'Stay away from Balthazar Krampus', the faraway echo dissuades my hand from accepting his.

So I get up by myself, smoothing down my red outfit as, in spite of the fleecy thickness of my clothes, I still feel too naked under his smoldering gaze. "What are you doing here?"

"What do you think I'm doing?" He takes a step closer to me, and as I straighten up to hold his gaze under his lifted eyebrow, I realize how imposing and tall he is, even when I'm standing. "I'm here to punish the naughty kids."

My eyes fall on the scourge hanging at his pants belt. They haven't used it to punish the kids since long, as it's been a little too harsh. Yet the leather appears worn-out and crackled as if used regularly, and before I know it, the shudders have reached their destination too low with a dangerous image, which I quickly shake off.

This is ridiculous. He is talking about the kids, the kids, the ones for whom I'm here.

However, when my gaze comes back to his face, the corner of his crooked smile leaves a shadow of doubt, and the fang peeking there is deepening the innuendo. I'm not even talking about the spark making his eyes brighter and sending a flaming rush to my cheeks as it's clear that he's caught my stare, and maybe even my thoughts.

Though I do my best to keep my composure and focus on the kids.

"There's no one naughty here. Maya, Alfie, and their parents are all on the nice list."

And I'm Santa's daughter, so I'm not naughty, am I?

"Sorry to disappoint, candy, but Alfie is on my list."

"What?!" 

Whatever dangerous image has been lingering in my mind is blown away by a rush of annoyance.

Okay, maybe it's just fueled by it when he takes a step closer to so 'kindly' show me the list on what looks like a normal iPhone – they can't even use magical tools to maintain the Holidays spirit!

"There must be an error because he's on my list too." I step backward, and when my back collides with a hard surface, I know I'm stuck, although it isn't from the fireplace screen that comes all the heat along my spine.

"June 10, Alfie stole and smashed his little sister's birthday gifts, and hence, passed on my list. You missed something, candy." He leans closer to me again, cornering me as much figuratively as literally for an instant before he turns away.

"Now, where do I put the charcoal? Under the beautiful tree? In his stockings? Oh, no, better! On the white carpet." His smile widens slowly like to show the extent of his mischief, and from what I glimpse, there is a lot.

"What? No! He apologized for it and said it was an accident because he wanted to prepare a surprise for her. He even made a card."

If Balthazar believes he can trick me, he's wrong. I know every single kid's history, and like I've said, I've waited so long for this night, so I won't let anything or anyone get in my way, not even a horned model-looking devil.

"Bullshit!" he sneers, his laugh as evil and spine-chilling as the rest of him, and it starts to get on my nerves in every sense of the word, sadly. "He only apologized because his parents threatened to confiscate his own birthday gifts, and he loves too much his PlayStation. As for the card, he made one of his 'friends' do it."

"I..." I don't want to give him the pleasure of seeing me search through my magical list, even if maybe it would be better to hide my face crumbling down as I rake through my memory.

It may have happened like this. I don't remember much except that Alfie is indeed known to be a little sly, and the only thing coming to my mind is Nicholas's voice.

'Stay away from Balthazar Krampus' and 'If there's any bump on the road, call me'.

"You're so innocent."

My hand stops on the cane-phone I've been reaching for in my sack.

I've been about to call my brother; I swear. But Balthazar's devious voice, and particularly, pronouncing this word is like an electroshock in my already strained nerves.

"I'm not." I lift my gaze to hold his, and even narrowed the blue shades must not look really convincing clashing with the blazing colors of his eyes. Though that's something I've learned to use to my advantage, and widening my eyes with an earnest expression, I add, "It's Christmas, can't you make an exception? If he's on both lists, it's maybe a sign to give him a chance for this year... for the Christmas spirit–"

"Does it look like I care about the Christmas spirit?" He brushes a shiny bauble on the tree with one of his long fingers, lifting an eyebrow and appearing as unaffected by my pleading eyes as by the tree wobbling under his rough touch, while I'm leaping forward to keep it standing.

But sadly, it also brings me closer to him than before, and I'm invaded by his scent, a hot mix of leather, smoke, and spice that fills my lungs more than the bland air of this house.

"Put your little gifts if you want, but he'll get coal too."

"No! It's against the universal rules to do bo–" I stop as, at the same time that the twinkle lights of the tree switch flashing patterns, an idea lights up in my head. Though I hope I'm not as obvious when I shrug. "You know what? Okay, leave your charcoal if you want."

"Do you know who you're talking to?" He leans closer, his gaze piercing farther than my lies. "Haven't you heard you can't fool the devil? I'm staying as long as you're here to make sure you don't remove the coal and every naughty kid gets his punishment."

I know he's talking about the coal and Alfie, yet the information is short-circuited somewhere along my spine by those shivers, and when he takes off his black coat, I'm left shuddering completely.

"W-what are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" The corner of his devious lips lazily lifts into a taunting smile, and he makes sure to peel slowly the piece of fabric off his body and throw it on the couch before adding, "I'm making myself comfortable if we stay here for a while."

Is it my naughty mind or he's choosing each word with a potential underlying meaning? I'm not sure in front of his tight black sweater hugging his taut figure and each tension of his biceps as he stretches his arms.

"I have other things to do." I try to keep my words free of double meaning; am I succeeding though?

"There's nothing holding you back, candy," he retorts instantly, yet he doesn't leave me much room to leave – as if I even tried.

I'm anchored on my spot, and it isn't the kids' gifts holding me here as I drop my sack on the ground to cross my arms over my chest.

"Stop calling me 'candy'. My name is Marie-Noel."

"Oh, I know... But you're as innocent, as sugarcoated, and as pristine as a candy." He inches closer and closer until my crossed arms are colliding with his firm chest, and they fall by my side, leaving my rising chest to press into his when he exhales over my ear. "And I bet you taste as sweet."

There's no doubt he can see the goosebumps rushing from his lips to my core in a sweetly devious trail.

"I'm not." I try to swallow the dryness in the back of my throat. "I'm not innocent. I'm not sugarcoated, and I'm not pristine."

My voice may be wavering, but it's the truth.

It isn't because I've never gone out of the North Pole that I'm pristine and pure. I've found some great company there, and trust me, there's nothing small about elves. Their pointy ears are even cute. Though they're nothing in comparison with those two horns and those fangs slowly revealing themselves through a mischievous smile.

"Prove it then." With his low, defiant voice echoing in the silence, I become hyper-aware of the sparking electricity surrounding us.

When I've been complaining about the lack of sparks in this room, now, they're crackling all around and prickling my skin. Yet it isn't the cozy sparks of Christmas; these ones are more searing and dangerous, the kind that can trigger an explosion at the lightest movement.

"Candy." Here is the trigger. A little word, two slow syllables, a million possible meanings, and an infinity of emotions rushing back.

I've been told and treated like I'm a little fragile and innocent candy my whole life, and coming out of those sinfully tempting lips, it's the final straw.

Maybe it's all the tensions in the air, or the surge of freedom coming with this night, or maybe it's just the desire to feel those lips and those fangs, but anyway, everything snaps in the air and inside my chest when I grab his cheeks and crash my lips on his.

Not so innocent, Santa's daughter, is she? 😏😇😈 Go hurry to read the next part to find out who's the naughtiest?

But before, don't forget to vote ⭐ and comment to thank your naughty Santa (me 😏)

PS: Who recognized Nicholas from my old short story Santa's son? 😉