Sleigh Bells and Dragon Spells (Whispering Pines #8)

Chapter 9

NINE

F alkor took a careful sip. Complex flavors bloomed across his tongue – smoke and spice with an underlying sweetness that reminded him of ancient feast halls. “This... isn’t terrible.”

“Translation from dragon-speak: it’s fantastic and you want more,” Kade interpreted, earning chuckles from the others.

“Speaking of fantastic,” Bram leaned back in his chair, “have you heard about the new manager at Enchanted Essences for Kids? Briar something?”

Falkor’s hand tightened imperceptibly around his bottle. Of course, her name would come up.

“Rhee,” Cedric supplied. “Briar Rhee. She’s made quite an impression already, especially at the orphanage.”

“Tabitha mentioned that,” Bram nodded. “Said she enchanted their Christmas tree. The children haven’t stopped talking about it.”

“Ellie told me the same thing,” Kade added. “Apparently the ornaments respond to the children’s emotions – glow brighter when they’re happy, play soothing music when they’re sad. Clever magic.”

Something twisted in Falkor’s chest. The image of children gathered around a magical Christmas tree, faces bright with wonder, contrasted sharply with his own memories of cold halls and calculated cruelty.

“It’s good to see someone bringing joy back to that place,” Cedric commented, giving Falkor a sidelong glance. “Reminds me of what the holidays should be about.”

Falkor took another long drink, trying to drown out the echo of his mother’s voice: “Joy is weakness, my son. Power is the only truth worth pursuing.”

But Briar’s magic spoke of a different truth. He remembered the warmth in her eyes even as death approached on that icy road. No calculation there, no hidden agenda – just pure determination and an inexplicable spark that had drawn him from the sky like a moth to flame.

“Earth to dragon,” Bram’s voice broke through his thoughts. “You’re missing the entertainment.”

Falkor looked up to find Kade attempting to balance a spoon on his nose while reciting what appeared to be a traditional wolf pack blessing – backward.

“Lost a bet,” Cedric explained, grinning. “Should know better than to challenge a bear to a drinking contest.”

“In my defense,” Kade managed around the spoon, “I thought my wolf metabolism would help.”

“Amateur,” Bram scoffed. “My grandmother could drink three wolves under the table. And did, regularly.”

“Wasn’t that how you met Tabitha?” Cedric asked innocently. “Something about her out-drinking your entire sleuth?”

Bram’s cheeks reddened. “She cheated. Used some kind of witch metabolism spell.”

“Sure, she did,” Kade snorted, finally giving up on the spoon trick. “Nothing to do with you being completely smitten the moment she walked in.”

“Speaking of being smitten,” Bram turned to Falkor with a dangerous gleam in his eye. “When was the last time you went on a date?”

“I don’t date,” Falkor stated flatly.

“Everyone dates,” Bram argued. “Even grumpy dragons need love.”

“I think what our inebriated friend means,” Cedric intervened smoothly, “is that isolation isn’t always the answer. The world’s changed, Falkor. Not everyone has an agenda.”

Falkor’s thoughts drifted treacherously to Briar again. There had been no guile in her, no hidden motives. Even now, her actions at the orphanage spoke of genuine kindness. It... unsettled him, this persistent pull toward someone so unlike anyone in his experience.

“Come on,” Kade broke through his reverie. “Darts tournament. Loser has to help Elsie decorate the Lone Wolf Café for Christmas.”

“That’s cruel,” Bram whistled. “She’ll have them hanging tinsel for hours.”

“Scared?” Kade raised an eyebrow at Falkor.

The challenge snapped Falkor out of his brooding. “You realize I have centuries of practice at projectile weapons?”

“Prove it, old man.”

What followed was an increasingly ridiculous competition, with Bram adding absurd rules after each round. “Next shot must be thrown while reciting a holiday carol.” or “Points only count if you’re standing on one leg.”

To his own surprise, Falkor found himself enjoying the childish display. When one of his throws went wild during a particularly undignified “spin three times first” rule, his genuine laugh startled them all.

“Quick, someone paint a portrait,” Bram stage-whispered. “Proof that dragons can experience joy.”

“I’ll notify the scientific community,” Kade deadpanned.

Later, stepping into the bitter night air, Falkor felt oddly lighter. The weight of centuries seemed marginally less crushing.

“Next week, same time,” Cedric said. It wasn’t a question. “We need to discuss this storm properly, but tonight was about something else.”

“Making me look foolish?” Falkor raised an eyebrow.

“Making you remember you’re not alone.” Cedric’s expression turned serious. “Whatever’s coming, you have allies here. People who understand what it means to carry power and responsibility.”

“Don’t go getting sentimental on me,” Falkor muttered, but there was less bite in his tone than usual.

As he walked home through the swirling snow, his thoughts refused to settle. The easy camaraderie of the evening had awakened something long dormant – a hunger for connection he’d thought safely buried.

And Briar... why did his mind keep returning to her? To the way she’d faced death with such fierce grace, the stories of her kindness at the orphanage, and her apparent gift for bringing light to dark places.

“Light is an illusion,” his mother’s voice whispered. “Darkness is truth.”

But for the first time in centuries, Falkor wondered if Morganna had been wrong. The warmth he’d witnessed tonight – both in his unexpected friendship with the other shifters and in the tales of Briar’s impact on the town – suggested another possibility.

Still, as snow crunched beneath his boots and wind whipped past his face, old fears clung like icicles. Connection meant vulnerability. Vulnerability meant weakness. And weakness, in Morganna’s world, meant death.

Falkor squared his shoulders against the wind. He would monitor the situation, nothing more. The town’s safety might require his involvement, but his heart would remain firmly protected behind centuries of ice.

Yet as he reached his cabin, a treacherous whisper in his mind wondered what it might be like to experience Christmas the way Briar shared it – with wonder instead of warfare, joy instead of judgment. The thought disturbed him enough that he spent the next hour in dragon form, soaring through the storm-tossed sky until physical exhaustion drowned out his confused emotions.

Dragons guarded their treasures, after all. And Falkor’s most closely guarded treasure was the heart he’d sworn would never be broken again.