Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Sylvie
Kenai took my hand, his grip firm and reassuring as we made our way toward the exit.
Taimyr led the way, his movements casual but his eyes constantly scanning our surroundings.
My mind was already racing with what I’d seen.
This was sophisticated corporate discrimination—the kind that required documentation and a legal strategy sharp enough to pierce through decades of normalized abuse.
“We need to get you back before anyone—”
Taimyr stopped abruptly, his arm shooting out to halt us. Voices echoed from around the corner—sharp, authoritative, speaking in rapid bursts. Elf supervisors. At least three of them, from the sound of it, heading straight toward the path we’d been taking.
Kenai’s hand tightened around mine as he pulled me sideways, Taimyr already moving to shield us from view.
We ducked down a different hallway that led to a rear exit.
When Taimyr pushed open the emergency door, the only path left took us deeper into the complex—toward a construction area where the clang of hammers and shouted orders carried on the cold air.
As we stepped outside, I froze. A team of six reindeer rounded the corner, pulling an impossibly large sleigh behind them.
They were massive—larger even than Taimyr had been in his shifted form.
The male leading the team was by far the biggest reindeer I had seen.
His antlers spread nearly as high as I was tall, darker and thicker than either Kenai’s or Taimyr’s.
“Finnish forest reindeer,” Kenai murmured in my ear.
He and Taimyr both watched the lead reindeer warily, their tension mirrored in his narrowed gaze. Frost flared from his nostrils as he gave an aggravated huff, shaking his massive head. Then his eyes landed on me—and my breath caught.
“Let’s go,” Taimyr whispered, his hand on the small of my back.
“No. I need to see this.” Everything about the scene felt wrong, and I needed to know just how wrong.
“You don’t understand, that’s—”
A sharp crack split the air, followed by a pained bray. One of the reindeer near the sleigh shifted back into human form, clutching his leg.
“My ankle,” he gasped, his face pale with pain. “I think it’s broken.”
The lead reindeer immediately shifted to human form, and I understood why Kenai and Taimyr had looked so tense.
Even in human form, he was enormous—easily six and a half feet tall, with shoulders broad enough to dwarf the man he approached.
His chestnut hair was cropped short, neat beard dusted with frost, and his dark forest-green eyes blazed with concern as he crouched beside the injured worker.
“Mikael, don’t move,” the leader said, his accented voice carrying easily across the yard. “Let me look.”
Before he could, an elf in a red supervisor’s uniform strode over, clipboard in hand. “What’s the holdup here?”
“Mikael’s injured,” the leader explained without looking up. “His ankle—”
“Where’s your backup?”
The big man’s jaw clenched. “You know we don’t have any. There’ve been too many injuries already—”
“Then he shifts back and finishes the route,” the elf interrupted. “We’re already behind quota for the day. Need I remind you Christmas is only a few days away?”
The leader’s head snapped up, fury darkening his features. “He can’t put weight on it. Look at the swelling.”
“Not my problem,” the elf said coldly. “Company policy is clear—injuries sustained during work hours don’t excuse failure to complete assigned tasks. He can rest when the route is finished.”
“That’s not company policy, that’s—”
“Are you questioning my authority?” The elf’s voice dropped dangerously low. “Because I can always reassign your team to the North Ridge routes. I hear the wind shear up there is particularly brutal this time of year.”
The leader’s hands clenched into fists, his whole body radiating barely concealed rage. The threat clearly meant something—through our bond, I felt both Kenai and Taimyr’s spike of alarm.
“You can’t make him work on a broken ankle,” the leader insisted, his voice trembling with effort as he fought to stay calm.
“Watch me.” The elf made a note on his clipboard. “Mikael, you have five minutes to shift and get back in harness, or your entire team gets cited.”
The injured man tried to stand, but the moment he put weight on his ankle, he crumpled with a cry of pain.
“This is insane,” the leader snarled, moving to support his teammate. “He needs medical attention, not—”
“What he needs,” the elf snapped, “is to remember the consequences if this route isn’t finished in time. And so do you, Aleksi. You wouldn’t want children to wake up with no presents on Christmas, would you?”
My heart stopped. This was Aleksi.
He helped the injured reindeer remain upright, his massive frame shielding the smaller man from the elf’s glare. “At least let me carry his share of the load.”
“Absolutely not. He has to finish the route. He pulls his weight or the whole team is penalized.”
Aleksi’s face went white with fury. For a moment, I thought he might attack the elf right there. The air around him shimmered with aggression, and I saw his teammates edge back nervously.
“You’re going to cripple him permanently,” Aleksi said through gritted teeth.
“That’s his choice to make,” the elf replied with a shrug.
I watched the internal battle play across Aleksi’s face—the desperate urge to protect his teammate warring with the knowledge that any defiance would bring punishment down on all of them. It was a story I’d seen a hundred times before.
“He finishes the route, he meets the quota?” Aleksi asked, his voice dangerously quiet.
“That’s what I said.”
“Fine.” Aleksi turned to Mikael, jaw set. “Climb on my back.”
Mikael nodded weakly.
The supervisor opened his mouth to object, but Aleksi cut him off. “Company policy says he has to finish the route. Doesn’t say how.” He stared the elf down. “I’ll carry him. And his load.”
“That’s not—”
“Check your clipboard,” Aleksi growled. “Unless you want to explain to management why you’re preventing a worker from completing his assigned route.”
The elf’s mouth snapped shut. His face flushed, but he knew Aleksi was right. A completed route mattered more than procedure. Aleksi had found the loophole—the tiny crack in the system that let him protect his teammate without technically breaking a rule.
I watched as Mikael hobbled over, his injured leg held gingerly off the ground. Aleksi shifted back into his massive reindeer form, towering over the others. Mikael climbed onto his back, and Aleksi moved to take both of their harness positions.
It should’ve been impossible. The load alone was staggering, not to mention the weight of another body. But Aleksi just lowered his head, dug his hooves into the packed snow, and started pulling.
The elf made another note on his clipboard, a satisfied smirk on his face, and walked away. The rest of the team fell into formation, trying to help distribute the weight, but there was only so much they could do.
I felt sick. Making it Aleksi’s choice to destroy his body in the name of loyalty.
Framing it as dedication instead of exploitation.
My jaw tightened as anger like I hadn’t felt in years flooded through me.
I’d grown numb to my clients’ stories—I’d had to, just to survive it—but seeing this, seeing what had been hidden all along, had my heart pounding.
As the team moved out, Aleksi’s head turned slightly in our direction. For just a moment, his dark-green eyes locked with mine.
The world tilted.
Something snapped into place inside my chest—not like the bond with Kenai and Taimyr, soft and protective.
This was rawer. Primal. Like a hook catching under my ribs and pulling tight.
My breath hitched; my heart stuttered. I felt the overwhelming urge to run to him—to demand he put down that impossible load, to stand between him and anyone who’d dare hurt him.
Mine, something deep inside whispered. Ours.
Through the bond, I felt Kenai’s sharp inhale. Taimyr’s grip tightened on my arm.
But Aleksi had already looked away, lowering his head against the weight, disappearing around the corner with his team.
I stood frozen, a hand pressed to my chest where that strange new pull still thrummed—like my heart was beating outside my body.
“Sylvie?” Kenai’s voice was careful. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered. “What was that?”
Kenai and Taimyr exchanged a long look over my head.
“We should get you back to the chalet,” Taimyr said finally. “Now.”
But I couldn’t move. Couldn’t stop staring at the place where Aleksi had vanished, bearing a burden that would’ve crushed anyone else.
Couldn’t stop feeling the pull in my chest that told me this wasn’t over.