Taimyr, now a magnificent Siberian tundra reindeer with a dark brown coat and impressive antlers, somehow managed to look patient despite his inability to speak in this form. He was larger than Kenai’s reindeer—stockier, built for endurance and power. His antlers were broader and darker. I knew it was him by his dark, smirking eyes, but the idea of climbing onto his back for flight still seemed completely insane—especially for this subway-riding city girl.
Kenai, still in human form to communicate, rubbed my shoulders gently. “Flying with Taimyr is the only way to get there without leaving tracks or scent trails that others can follow.”
“But what if I fall off? What if the wind’s too strong? What if?—”
Taimyr made a soft chuffing sound that somehow conveyed both amusement and mild offense.
“He’s the strongest flier among the Siberian herd—probably the entire North Pole,” Kenai replied dryly. “He can carry twice your weight through arctic storms. I think he can handle one nervous omega on a calm day.” He leaned around me and nipped at my neck. “Don’t tell me our big, brave lawyer is afraid to fly?”
“It’s not calm, there’s wind, and I’ve never—” I stopped myself, realizing I was being ridiculous. “Okay. Fine. But if I die, I’m haunting both of you.”
With Kenai’s help, I managed to climb onto Taimyr’s back, gripping his thick coat with both hands. The moment I settled into position, I could feel the incredible muscle underneath me—the coiled power waiting to be unleashed.
Taimyr rose smoothly to his feet and moved to the edge of the cliff beside the chalet. Looking down at the drop made my stomach lurch.
“Oh god,” I whispered. “Let me off. I’m sure I could walk there?—”
But then Taimyr’s powerful legs bunched, and we were airborne.
The first few seconds were pure terror. The ground fell away beneath us, wind whipped through my hair, and I was certain I was going to slide off and plummet to my death. But Taimyr’s flight was remarkably smooth—his body moved with the air currents rather than fighting them, and I gradually realized he had complete control.
And then something magical happened.
As we soared over the snow-covered peaks, climbing higher than I’d ever been without an airplane, I stopped being afraid and started being amazed. The world spread out below like awinter wonderland—pristine valleys, ancient forests, mountains that stretched to the horizon. And I was flying through it all on the back of a magical reindeer.
Through our bond, I felt Taimyr’s joy at sharing this with me—his pride in his flying abilities, his contentment at having me with him in his element. The wind carried us effortlessly, and for the first time I saw Taimyr’s brand of winter magic. Not flashy like Kenai’s, but subtle and controlled—the wind and sky bending to his will.
“This is incredible!” I called out, and felt his answering rumble of pleasure vibrate through his chest.
The wind grew colder, and a flurry of snowflakes surrounded Kenai as he joined us in the sky. His white fur sparkled in the sun, although his flight was…considerably more erratic than Taimyr’s.
We flew for what felt like both an eternity and no time at all, covering ground that would’ve taken hours on foot in mere minutes. Taimyr’s endurance was remarkable—his breathing stayed steady, his flight path never wavered. I began to understand why the Siberian clan was so valued for the longest routes.
Finally, we began to descend toward a ridge overlooking a broad valley. As we landed gracefully on a rocky outcrop, Kenai touched down beside us, a puff of snow rising with his less-than-controlled landing.
Taimyr huffed at him as he lowered down to let me off. Kenai shifted back into his human form, snow still clinging to his hair.
“And that’s why you carried her,” he said dryly, though affection softened his tone. I walked over to him and flicked the snow from his bangs.
Taimyr shifted back to human form, and I turned toward him, stroking my fingers along his cheek. “That was…the most amazing thing I’ve ever experienced.”
He gave me a surprisingly shy smile before planting a gentle kiss on my forehead.
“Wait until you see this,” Kenai said grimly, pointing to the valley below.
I looked down—and my heart sank, but for entirely different reasons than I’d expected.
The valley had been transformed into what looked like a modern corporate campus. Sterile buildings dotted the landscape, connected by well-maintained paths. Solar panels glinted on rooftops as employees bustled between them. Everything was organized and utterly civilized.
And somehow, that made it worse.
“It looks so…normal,” I breathed, confusion in my voice.
“That’s the point,” Taimyr replied, coming to stand beside me. “Santa’s operation isn’t some Dickensian nightmare. It’s a modern corporation—built on magic instead of money.”
I watched as reindeer in both human and shifted forms scurried between buildings, their movements hurried and tense, the Christmas deadline looming. They wore uniforms—polos and coats with the North Pole logo, just like mine.
To an outsider, it might’ve looked like a well-organized, even idyllic workplace. But I knew better.
