“Guilty.” His brushed away my tears again. “Is it working?”
I wanted to say no. Wanted to pull back, rebuild my walls, protect myself from the inevitable hurt that came from letting someone in. But sitting here with him—his scent so comforting and perfect, seeing my own exhaustion and determination reflected in his eyes?—
Maybe I was tired of being alone.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I admitted. “I’ve spent so long keeping people at arm’s length.”
“Then we’ll figure it out together.” He shifted closer. “One step at a time. No pressure, no expectations beyond what feels right to you.”
“What if I’m terrible at it?”
“Then you’ll be terrible at it.” His smile was gentle. “I’ll be patient.”
“What about Taimyr?” I asked.
“He’s my mate. He understands. What I need from you is to stop worrying about others—just for a little while.”
The certainty in his voice made something crack open in my chest. Not the professional armor I wore like a second skin, but something deeper—the part of me that had been alone for so long I’d forgotten what it felt like to want more. My mouth opened, and I found myself telling him something I hadn’t told anyone except my therapist.
“When I was young—too young—I was married. We met in law school, and I…well, I thought he was the love of my life. It was great for a while, but then my career started to take off and his didn’t…and I guess he couldn’t handle that. He got jealous, started to cut me down, made me feel small. Luckily, I got out before it got too bad—a quick divorce, but…”
Kenai squeezed my hands, encouraging me to go on.
“Even though I knew it wouldn’t work, I wanted him to at least try. Try to fix it, try to stay—but he just left. Like it had never mattered at all.”Oh god, I was a mess.
Kenai’s arms came around me, so warm, his scent filling my nose and something deeper in my soul until the sobs stopped.
“I found you because of your work. But what I feel for you—that’s real. It started before I ever met you, this sense that you were important, that you mattered. And now that I’ve actually met you, been with you, smelled you…” He took my hands. “You could never help us with a single case, and I would still want you. The bond would still be pulling at me. You’re not a means to an end. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, Sylvie. I’m sorry that he couldn’t see your value, but I’m not sorry he gave you up.Because I don’t intend to. I’ll stay, and I’ll fight, and I’ll never let you go.”
The heat surged again, stronger this time, and I gasped. But underneath it was something else—something warm and right and terrifying in its intensity.
“I want to try,” I whispered. “I want to trust this. I want to trust you. I’m just…scared.”
“I know.” He pulled me up from the chair, steadying me when my legs trembled. “But you don’t have to do it alone. That’s what trust means, Sylvie. You’re not alone anymore.”
Through the windows, I could see fresh snow beginning to fall, coating the pines in white. The chalet felt warm and safe, insulated from the world outside. And Kenai was looking at me like I was something—someone—worth fighting for.
Maybe it was the magic of the season. Maybe it was the bond humming between us. Maybe it was just exhaustion making me reckless.
But for the first time in longer than I could remember, I wanted to let the ice I’d grown around my heart melt away.
“Show me,” I said, my voice steadier now. “Show me what you are. If I’m really going to trust you, I want to see all of who you are.”
Kenai went very still. “Sylvie, the shift can be…intense for humans to witness. Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
He studied my face for another long moment, then nodded. “Stay where you are. And don’t be afraid.”
He moved to the center of the room, giving himself space. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and I watched in fascination as his features started to change. Small snowflakes drifted around him, sparkling like a galaxy of stars. The shift began subtly—his ears becoming more pointed, his cheekbones sharpening—but then it accelerated.
His body stretched and expanded, muscles reshaping, limbs elongating. His antlers grew, magnificent and branching, pure white like fresh snow. Within moments, where a man had stood, there was now the most beautiful reindeer I’d ever seen.
He was exactly as I remembered from the road—all lean muscle and graceful power. His coat was pristine white, almost luminescent, and his antlers spread wide and elegant above his head. But it was his eyes that took my breath away—the same silver eyes, watching me carefully for my reaction.
I could see the scars now—over his snout, across his flank, scattered down his legs. Evidence of every fight he’d ever lost, every time he’d stood up anyway.
“Oh,” I breathed, and then louder: “Oh my god, Kenai. You’re beautiful.”
