Gears started turning in my head. “You knew what I did—that I could help him, help them.” It hadn’t been a miscalculated distraction after all. “Why?”
She examined her manicured nails. “Marriage can grow quite…stagnant after a few centuries. Jólnir and I enjoy these little games. Keeps things fresh.”
I stepped closer, my voice hard. “These aren’t games. These are the lives of the people I love.”
She took a step back, looking at me like I was something unpleasant that had crawled out from beneath her perfectly pointed shoe.
“You got what you wanted. You should be grateful.”
“What I want,” I gritted out, “is for people like you to stop toying with lives as if you’re better than us.”
“Iambetter than you.” She said it like a fact—and she believed it.
I’d never slapped a timeless goddess/magical being before, but what was life without the joy of firsts? I raised my hand—only for Aleksi’s to wrap around my wrist.
“Sylvie,” he said gently, “let us fight this the right way. Like you showed me.”
I looked into his dark-green eyes as he kissed the tips of my fingers.
Kenai leaned in behind me, his voice low. “This is only the beginning. We have so many more fights.” He grinned. “So many more victories.”
Mrs. Claus’ lips flattened, but then she smiled. “I look forward to the challenge. This century is shaping up to be quite interesting indeed.” She turned and walked away without a backward glance.
My mates ushered me through the three-story glass doors of the lobby, out into the Arctic night. My mother and grandmother joined us, the aurora glimmering above. Behind us, the glasstowers of Santa’s empire gleamed in the shifting light—but they no longer seemed quite so imposing.
After all, even the most powerful magical corporation in the world never stood a chance against me—not when I had my men behind me.
And Christmas, I thought, was going to be much merrier for all of us from now on.
Epilogue
Sylvie
One year later
Christmas morning’s warm rays peeked through the sheer curtains of my Manhattan apartment. It was late, probably after ten, but my mates hadn’t gotten home from their runs until well after six a.m. Now they were all crowded around me in our California king-sized bed, fast asleep.
My head rested on Kenai’s chest, where his fingers had twisted into the ends of my hair before he’d fallen asleep. Next to me, Taimyr’s head lay on Kenai’s stomach, his fingers tangled in my hair at the base of my neck.
Aleksi’s arm wrapped tightly around my waist as he cuddled my other side. Everything smelled like them, and I inhaleddeeply, wrapped in their warmth. There was nowhere else I’d rather be.
I let myself bask in the perfection of it for a few minutes more, just listening to their slow breathing. This was home. This was what all our hard work had been for.
Since last year, things had changed—and continued changing—for the better. Unsurprisingly, with well-compensated and cared-for workers, output at the North Pole had increased. There were even rumors that Santa was considering returning to more bespoke presents for children instead of the mass-produced trends we’d been dealing with the last few years.
It was all good news, but what mattered most to me was that my mates and their families were safe—and that they came home to me every night invigorated by work, not exhausted.
The Christmas season was always hard, but their overtime was compensated now, and it made the relief of Christmas morning even sweeter.
I slipped out of bed and quietly padded to the bathroom for a shower. Afterward, I wrapped myself in a bathrobe and headed to the kitchen, wanting to prep breakfast for my hardworking mates.
But someone was already there—Kenai, his Hello Kitty pajama pants slung low over his hips, the muscles of his back flexing as he stirred something on the stove.
He heard me approach and glanced over his shoulder, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Made you something. Hot cocoa—your favorite.”
“That’s not funny, Kenai.” But it was, a little. I wrapped my arms around him and kissed his shoulder.
“It’s a little funny.”
