Santana walked through the streets of New York City. He’d been dropped off by Krampus, who was enjoying using Santana’s sleigh far too much. Santana pulled up the back of his pants and pulled down his shirt, making sure he wasn’t showing off his Krampus Trampus Stampus to all and sundry. The last thing he needed was his shame broadcasted to the entire world on some hipster’s bad tattoos blog.

New York City during Christmas was like no other city in the world during Christmas…because all the cities in the world had their own special ways of having Christmas. As Santana walked through the dark slush of the streets, past the beeping taxis, he saw the world for what it was. It was both Naughty, full of toils like having to dig one’s car out of the icy snow, and Nice, like the vendors selling hot roasted nuts for a few bucks along the streets, for families and couples to enjoy.

The couples part of that…well, that wasn’t exactly something Santana liked to think about.

He’d done the whole ‘being in a couple at Christmas time’ thing, a long, long time ago…and although he knew it was important for others to find love and to start families (and families that just consisted of friends!) to share their joy with, he knew that wasn’t something that was in his stars. He had Pandora, his few close friends at The North Pole, and a world of children who still believed in Christmas. That was who he spent his time among, all in a sleigh, with eight loyal reindeer guiding him through the skies.

Doing cute lovey-dovey shit like holding hands while wearing matching beanies and scarves and mittens? That wasn’t his deal. At least, it wasn’t any longer.

Santana found the restaurant with ease. It was pretty hard to miss. A giant red-lettered neon sign with a green neon border marked the restaurant.

Réveillon — French for ‘Eve,’ according to Krampus. Well, the eve marked the boundary between day and night. For Santana, would this signal the limen between his past and his present?

He’d passed by it at least half a dozen times, circling the block, trying to figure out a way to get out of the jam he was in without having to open his heart up again. He finally went inside its doors. The place wasn’t crowded at all, but, many gossamer and chiffon curtains separated all the tables from each other, giving the tables privacy.

“May I help you, monsieur?” asked the maître d′.

“I’m here to meet someone,” said Santana. “It’s, uh…a blind date. She’s apparently wearing a sprig of holly in her hair.”

The maître d′ turned and exchanged a look with a waitress who was just about to head into a certain dining tent that seemed to be…aglow with more than mere candlelight. He turned back to Santana.

“I am sorry, but…I do not believe she has been seated yet,” said the maître d′. “You are, of course, free to wait for your companion.

“Alright,” said Santana, choosing to stand.

In about five minutes, he checked his watch. The maître d′ surreptitiously looked backward to see if the waitress was free. When he got a nod, he turned back to Santana.

“I am terribly sorry, sir, but, I believe I may have been…mistaken earlier,” said the maître d′. “What did you say the woman looked like?”

“She’s got some holly in her hair,” said Santana.

“Ah, but of course! For some reason, I thought you said ‘dolly,’ like one of those kid’s toys. I was confused. My apologies. Holly, of course. I’ve seen just the woman,” said the maître d′ with a wink. “Right this way.”

The maître d′ led Santana through the restaurant to a larger oval table near the back of the restaurant. As Santana walked through the gossamer wonderland, like a babe in the woods of the fae, he caught glimpses of the woman, whose table was enrobed in sheer silks of red and green. Her appearance was like that of a ghost — not concerning health, or lack thereof, as she was a large, curvy woman, with lots of cushion for the pushin’. It was things like that curviness that were ghostly — traces of Santana’s past, his one romance, his one failed romance, with another. In many ways, the woman reminded Santana of that lost love, that woman who had rejected Santana and the life he had planned for them, from the gentle way she held her cocktail to her lips to her soft, curving shoulders.

Santana inhaled and scented out something familiar — the scent of a woman’s arousal. He’d scented that out before, but, he’d only ever smelled that particular perfume of desire once before. It made his cock twitch, his shift roar, and his heart beat faster than it had beat in a long time.

As the maître d′ opened the curtains, the illusion of time moving forward was broken, as Santana came face to face with his past.

Befana sipped at her cocktail, an aperol spritz, a taste of home. She was at a French restaurant, but, sometimes, a sip of Italy was what best suited the occasion. She tried to calm her nerves, but still, her mind ran wild with speculation about her date. Had Perchta set her up with someone handsome, or was it someone who had pursued Perchta that she was handing off to Befana?

“Madame, would you care for some bread?” asked a waitress, peaking into the gossamer curtains surrounding the table.

“Yes, that’d be great,” said Befana.

“Of course,” said the waitress, putting out a basket of bread with a plate of hot herbal butter and a butter knife. “I’m sure your dining companion will be here shortly. When they are, I’ll let the chef know he is to start the chef’s table menu, ça va?”

“Okay,” said Befana, nodding. She looked through the bread basket and found herself a cheesy roll. She buttered it with the herbal butter and munched. She heard the doors to the restaurant open and turned to the maître d′ station.

The maître d′ was talking with a man — but the man looked to be by himself. He was tall, with broad shoulders, wearing a leather jacket that Befana could see shining in the light. Apparently, he was one of those bad boy types. Befana didn’t have to see his face to know he was probably a bonafide hottie.

“Ooh, Perchta, I really owe you one,” Befana whispered to herself. She looked down. She’d gotten crumbs all over her cute sweater! She quickly brushed them away, and, on accident, her waving hands caused the candles to go out! Befana quickly recited an incantation to set the candles on fire again, but instead, they set the candles on tire — and two tiny tires appeared underneath the candles like avant-garde votive candle stands.

“Oh, drat,” said Befana, moving the candles to get to the tires. She accidentally touched a hot votive jar, burning her fingers. She dropped the candle, and the glass spilled, causing hot wax to drip all over the table, and worst of all, the wax got on the bread basket!

Oh, and the table got set on fire.

“Ah, darn it,” said Befana, frowning. She peeked out the curtains, out of the side not facing the front of the restaurant, and looked for her waitress. She didn’t want to risk making the situation any worse with magic.

“Uh, excuse me, miss?” asked Befana. “I uh…need some help.”

“I’ll be right with you, Befana,” said the waitress, walking over.

“Wait…how do you know my name?” asked Befana.

“Oh, because of the reservation, of course,” said the waitress, waving her hand over her face to reveal that she was none other…than Perchta!

“Perchta? What are you doing here!” hissed Befana.

“Just here to keep an eye on things at this fancy pop-up restaurant,” said Perchta with a wink.

“Well, I need your help fixing this — “started Befana, but when she looked back at the table, everything was back in its place, with no wax on the bread or tiny tires underneath the candles.

“See? Aren’t you glad I’m here?” asked Perchta with another wink. “Demoncraft comes in real handy!”

“Yeah,” admitted Befana lamely. “How do I look?”

“Crumby,” replied Perchta.

“Some friend you are,” said Befana.

“I mean, literally, crumby — you’re covered with crumbs,” said Perchta, reaching into her pocket to grab a good ol’ fashioned lint roller. She quickly got all the crumbs off of Befana.

“Good luck on your date!” whispered Perchta before leaving.

Befana had some more of her cocktail. She had to be sure that she didn’t have any more accidents that night. The date had to go perfectly — after all, it was rare she had time to go out at all, and the guy Perchta had selected looked like a hunk.

He got closer to her table and Befana could smell the heady scent of snow and pine on him. Whoever he was, he smelled damn sexy — in a somewhat familiar way. She’d known a man with that scent before. She’d have to ask her dinner date where he’d gotten that cologne.

The maître d′ opened the curtains to the table.

In walked a man wearing designer leather shoes. Befana was shyly staring at the ground when the man walked in, not exactly sure where to look, as it had been an embarrassingly long time since she’d had a romantic dinner companion. She looked up. He was wearing black denim jeans — tight, around his thighs, and around something else, something big.

Befana would’ve recognized that crotch outline anywhere. She frowned to herself and looked up. There was no way that it could really be him.

“Your table, monsieur,” said the maître d′, pulling the chair out for the man, who wasn’t exactly a stranger.

“Santana?” hissed Befana.

“So, it is you,” said Santana, shaking his head. “Here I was, thinking this was a prank by Krampus. Hell, now I’m not sure it isn’t. What are you doing here?”

“I was told I had a blind date,” said Befana, peeking out of the curtains. “Guess you must’ve scared him away.”

“Ha-ha,” said Santana, sarcastically. “Maybe you just accidentally turned him into a toad when nobody was watching.”

“Well, get up,” said Befana. “He’ll probably get here soon.”

“And what makes you think that?” asked Santana. “Scratch that — what makes you want that? Thought you weren’t one for commitment, Befana.”

“Oh, typical projection,” said Befana, crossing her arms. “That’s real rich, coming from you. Now, if you don’t mind, my friend Perchta — you remember her, don’t you? Well, she set me up with a guy, and —”

“Wait, Perchta, as in Krampus’ cousin Perchta?” asked Santana.

“Y-yes,” stammered Befana. “Wait. No.”

“Yes,” said Santana. “I was told I had a blind date with a woman with a sprig of holly in her hair. Now, either I don’t know my botany like a witch would, or…that’s a sprig of holly tucked behind your ear.”

“Well, technically, it’s on my ear, not in my hair,” said Befana lamely, her cheeks turning as crimson as the berries that were in her hair — even if she insisted they were not. “So you…me…this…”

“This is our blind date,” said Santana, arms crossed.

“Like Hell it is,” shouted Befana. “Damn it — the one time I think I’m going to have a good time, the first date I’ve had in years, and it’s with you!”

“Whoa, now, you wouldn’t want to make a scene, would you?” asked Santana. “Of course you wouldn’t — that’s never been how you deal with things. You always just ran away.”

“Oh, because keeping secrets is just so much better?” asked Befana.

“You’re the one keeping secrets,” insisted Santana. “You left, Befana — on Christmas Day.”

“Yeah, I did,” said Befana. “I can admit that Santana…but you, well, you’ll never admit what you did to break my heart. I won’t pry as to why things didn’t work out with the other woman, but —”

“Is that what you think?” asked Santana with a laugh. “You think I cheated or something?”

“I know what I saw,” said Befana, eyes welling with tears. “Of course, you’d just laugh about it.”

“I’m not laughing at you,” said Santana. “I’m laughing at how ridiculous a proposal that is. Me? Cheating on you?”

“And why wouldn’t you?” asked Befana.

“Because I love — I mean, I loved you,” said Santana. “A real man would never cheat on the woman he loves. People might not always believe in me…but I’m real, and as a real man, I’d never betray your trust.”

“You can say whatever you want,” said Befana, shaking her head. “I know what I saw, Santana. I know that I wasn’t the one for you, and I know you betrayed my trust, because it’s my trust, and I feel betrayed.”

“I won’t sit here and be called a liar,” said Santana, standing up from his chair. “You know, it’s funny, Befana — I’m believed in by people around the world, but the one person who doesn’t believe in me is you when I’ve never given you a reason not to believe in me. You’ve seen me at my most vulnerable, and felt just how real I can be, but I guess sometimes, seeing isn’t believing, and neither is feeling. Guess that’s why the feelings I thought you had for me…well, they weren’t worth believing in after all.”

“Santana, wait —” started Befana.

“I think we’re done here,” said Santana. “This was a mistake. Of course, it was a mistake. Know this, Befana — I don’t know what you think happened, but it didn’t. There was never anyone else. You know there never could be. It’s ironic — you’re a Christmas witch, who knows just how strong and real Christmas magic is, but you don’t believe in Santa.”

“Santana!” shouted Befana, but this time, it was Santana’s turn to leave.

Befana’d left on a broomstick, that fateful Christmas Day when she’d left her present in the past, like an overlooked Christmas stocking, but Santana didn’t ride broomsticks. He rode sleighs. Well, at least, he tried to, but with the Krampus Trampus Stampus in place, Santana couldn’t exactly ride his sleigh. The Krampus Trampus Stampus stopped him from flying his retinue of flying vehicles, but, it didn’t prevent him from turning into a giant furry white predator, the kind that wasn’t often spotted on the streets of New York City. It was the kind of shift that made people wonder if they should call a zoo or a SWAT team.

It was big and white like a rich lady’s ermine coat.

It had sharp claws like a bogeyman.

It had a snarling, snapping jaw like a shark with rabies crossed with a vampire with a toothache.

It was a polar bear, and it was angry.

Santana took off into the streets, his clothing absorbed into his shift’s body, as Santana, a highly magical being, didn’t have to worry about his clothing bursting into shreds when he shifted — nor did he need to be worried about being left naked when he turned.

Being alone when he turned back into a human male would be hard enough.

There was no need for Fate to be particularly cruel and add nudity to the equation.

Befana got up from her chair to chase after him but was stopped by the maître d′.

“Let me go!” ordered Befana, struggling against the grip of the maître d′ on her shoulder. Then, she realized the maître d′ wasn’t touching her at all. He’d merely stopped her body from moving forward. It was like Befana was running on an invisible treadmill.

“I can’t let you do what you want to do,” said a familiar voice. Befana looked over at the maître d′ — a man in a suit, but no longer was an older man with salt-and-pepper hair and a bald spot wearing that suit. Instead, it was a man with emerald green eyes, with black curly hair, and rather goatish looks.

“Krampus?” asked Befana, ceasing her worthless attempt at chasing after Santana. “What are you doing — oh. I see what this is.”

“Perchta and I had to get you two to meet, face to face, but I guess we couldn’t make you two see eye to eye,” said Krampus.

“So you set all this up?” asked Befana. “This restaurant?”

“Call it a ‘pop-up dining experience,’” jested Krampus.

“Why did you two set us up?” asked Befana, arms crossed.

“You’re his,” said Krampus. “You know that, Befana. Fate…she doesn’t make mistakes.”

“Obviously, she did,” said Befana. “Let me guess — she’s still in his life?”

“Well, of course,” said Krampus, confused. Why would Befana question if Pandora was still in Santana’s care?

“Then I don’t get why I was brought here,” said Befana. “If he already has someone.”

“She’s not you,” said Krampus. “You’re his fated mate, Befana. What you two had…well, it was special. Maybe, it still is special, but, you have to give him a chance.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” said Befana. “You’re right. I shouldn’t run after him. I should just leave. If I never see Santana frikkin’ Claus again, well, I’d say I wouldn’t care…but I would care. I’d be glad.”

Befana left, and this time, Krampus didn’t stop her.

Perchta came up to her cousin.

“Well, we really fucked this one up,” said Perchta, shaking her head. “Nearly a full year of planning this, since you visited me in February…and y’know, we got a whole kitchen full of gourmet French food they didn’t even touch!”

“We didn’t fuck this up,” said Krampus. “When two strong personalities meet…well, there’s bound to be friction. When there’s friction, there are sparks. And where there are sparks, there’s —”

“Hellfire!” said Perchta with glee.

“Where there are sparks, sometimes, there’s romance,” said Krampus. “Sometimes, there’s hate. Sometimes, there’s some other strong emotion, but…those two, they’ll end up together, one way or another.”

“But they’ll never end up eating all that nice food…” said Perchta with a sigh.

“You want the leftovers, don’t you?” asked Krampus, shaking his head.

“Yes,” said Perchta with a grin.

“Just have Avery save two boxes for us to take home,” said Krampus, pulling his chain off his neck. “Tell my wife that I gotta go handle some shit up North, but I should be back in twenty.”

The polar bear ran wild through Central Park, a big, lumbering beast whiter than the snow piled up on the sides of the park’s path. He let out anguished roars that shook the trees and would’ve scared away the birds away if they hadn’t gone south for winter. Incidentally, he scared two young male muggers away from an old lady, and two old female muggers away from a young man.

The polar bear’s paws ran through the icy grass of Central Park until the paw hit the glassy, cold surface of the largest lake in Central Park. The bear ran across the lake, skating on its paws, replaying the bad date over and over in its head. Why had Krampus decided that the one woman in the world for him was his ex? Why had Fate decided that same woman was fated to be his?

Santana knew whether everyone in the world was Naughty, or whether they were Nice. He could read all their hearts, but he couldn’t read his own and see the truth — the same way Befana hadn’t let Santana tell his truth to her.

Suddenly, the ice cracked beneath Santana’s feet. He didn’t scramble on the ice. After all, he was a polar bear shifter and had the animal instincts of his shift, as well as the sanity of his human side.

Well, at least for now…at least before the madness took hold.

Mate madness.

Santana knew it was a risk for any shifter — magical or not. Of all people, why would he be an exception to Fate’s rules?

It had happened before — after all, Fate had paired him with the wrong woman.

Maybe this time, Fate would make a mistake in his favor, and let him live his life without a mate by his side.

Santana plunged into the depths and let the coolness of the water embrace him, penetrating his white fur until it reached his shift’s black, leathery skin. He looked up, through the ice, at the golden lights of Central Park that illuminated the surface of the lake. The golden light gave the ice a warm glow, so different from the blue cast it had at The North Pole, at Santana’s favorite swimming spot, illuminated only by the light of the moon.

Suddenly, the ice turned green — a familiar shade of emerald green, demonic in nature. Santana turned. A portal, encircled in chains, filled with green flames, had formed. It was too late — he’d already entered the portal that had developed underneath the lake, underneath the ice, underneath his polar bear body!

Santana traveled through the portal. One second, he was suspended in icy water, the next, he was falling fast through warm air. He hit a hardwood floor and shook his head. He looked around as he shifted back into his human form – fully clothed, and soaking wet.

“Can’t I spend some time away from my own office, Krampus?” asked Santana, facing his best friend.

“Not if it involves wallowing in a lake,” said Krampus, crossing his arms.

“And what exactly would you suggest I do?” asked Santana.

“Go on a nice date to a French restaurant with the love of your life — the woman you’re meant to be with, Fated to be with,” said Krampus. “But, you know, we tried that, and apparently, you prefer having a Krampus Trampus Stampus on your furry ass. You couldn’t even get through canapes! Well, enjoy ruining Christmas for children the world over just because you couldn’t sit through a gourmet dinner with a woman you’re obviously still in love with.”

“I don’t have feelings for her,” growled Santana.

“If that were true, you wouldn’t have left,” said Krampus. “You know what leaving looks like, right? Well, let me show you.” Krampus pulled his chain off his neck, tossed it on the ground, and disappeared.