“You only knocked over what? Three trees?” Vix tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.
I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “Four.”
Blitz draped an arm around my shoulders. “At least you got lots of cookies.”
I peered through my fingers. “Some of those things should not be considered cookies.”
Dad approached our huddle, and I could see the fatigue in the slight droop of his shoulders. But his eyes still held the magic that was uniquely his. “Eating terrible cookies is a Claus rite of passage. One time, in 1985, your mother went along for the ride, and she projectile-vomited after a heinous gingerbread crime against Christmas.”
“Christopher!” Mom’s voice rang out as she hurried into the stables. “Must you tell that story every year?”
“Only until it stops being funny, my dear.” He smiled at her, and magic shimmered between them.
Mom reached us, her hands cool against my flushed cheeks as she examined me. “You look tired but whole. No magic depletion at all.”
“Just existential cookie trauma.” I sighed. “Someone even left out celery, hummus, and kombucha. Who does that?”
My mom’s laughter was like bells, filling the stable with its melody. “You survived your first Christmas Eve delivery. How does it feel to be part of the family business?”
The question settled over me, heavy with meaning. “It feels...” I searched for the right words. “Like coming home.”
Rudy’s arm tightened around my waist, his pride flowing through our bond. Dad’s eyes misted slightly, and Mom squeezed my hand.
I straightened my shoulders. “Next year, any household that leaves out oatmeal raisin cookies is going straight onto the naughty list. I’m making it an official North Pole policy.”
Dad threw his head back in laughter, the sound echoing off the rafters. “I’ve been wanting to implement that rule for centuries!”
Something settled within me. The night had been chaotic, exhausting, and completely ridiculous at times, but standing here surrounded by my herd, my parents, and the magic that flowed through all of us...
I was finally home.
Reindeer Wishes
As the lanterns spiraled toward the aurora, Neve’s men watched with varying expressions of awe, pride, and wonder. Each man felt the pull of the bond, that invisible thread connecting them all to the silver-haired woman who’d changed their lives.
Rudy stood tallest among them, his broad shoulders carrying an unspoken authority against the night sky. His eyes never left Neve as she laughed, joy manifesting as literal magic around her body. After years of feeling broken because he couldn’t fly, he now understood his purpose had always been to stay grounded and to be the anchor for not just her, but for the herd.
On his lantern, he’d written:Let me be worthy of leading them all, especially her.
Beside him, Pierce watched with careful eyes, noting every detail of the moment. For someone who’d spent years maintaining control, the chaotic whirlwind that was Neve terrified and thrilled him. As sparks danced across her skin, he felt an unfamiliar loosening in his chest. The rigid structure of his existence softened around her light.
He’d written:May I learn to let go sometimes.
Dash stood steady, eyes sharp, like a man who could read the horizon even when no map existed. His gaze shiftedbetween Neve and the sky, marveling at how her magic had blossomed. The weight of protection was one he carried naturally, but with Neve, the burden felt lighter somehow.
His wish had been straightforward:Chart a course that leads us all home.
Dane couldn’t contain his grin as he watched Neve’s face light up with delight. The bond hummed between them, and he felt it like a physical touch. From the moment he’d first transformed in front of her on that rooftop garden, he’d known she was special. Now, watching her embrace her magic so fully, he felt vindicated in his immediate attraction to her chaos.
His lantern carried words that mirrored his playful heart:More adventures, more laughter, more her.
Vix shifted from foot to foot, unable to keep still as Neve’s magic sparked to life. The fiery one of the group, he had always felt too much and too intensely. In Neve, he’d found someone whose passion matched his own, someone who didn’t try to dim his light but rather added her glow to his.
He’d scrawled:Keep burning bright enough for all of us.
Cole stood slightly apart, observing with his typical quiet intensity. He had always been the cool, collected one and the voice of reason among chaos. Neve had melted something inside him that he hadn’t realized was frozen. As she laughed beneath the dancing lights, he felt that warmth spread through the bond they all shared.
On his lantern, he’d written:May we always feel warmth from the cold.
