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 withfrost, 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.
