Sleigh Bells and Dragon Spells (Whispering Pines #8)

Chapter 13

THIRTEEN

T he forest loomed ahead, its snow-laden branches creaking under layers of ice. Normal winter storms didn’t feel like this—didn’t carry this weight of malevolence. Briar began the trek, humming “Silent Night” under her breath. The melody helped ward off the oppressive silence.

Something pulled her forward, an inexplicable certainty that finding Falkor mattered more than she understood. Her boots crunched through snow drifts that seemed determined to block her path. The trees pressed closer, their shadows deeper than natural darkness warranted.

“Oh sure, make it creepy,” she muttered as branches rattled overhead. “Because trudging through a frozen forest to find a grumpy dragon isn’t dramatic enough already.”

After what felt like hours, the forest opened into a clearing. Briar caught her breath at the sight of Falkor’s cabin. Built from massive dark timber and gray stone, it rose like a fortress against the white landscape. No smoke curled from the chimney. No footprints marred the snow. The structure radiated solitude as if it had grown from the forest floor specifically to keep the world at bay.

“Well, you’ve come this far,” Briar told herself, marching up to the heavy wooden door. She knocked firmly, the sound echoing in the unnatural quiet. For long moments, nothing happened. She raised her hand to knock again.

The door opened a crack. Golden eyes pierced her from the shadows—familiar eyes that sent her heart racing with recognition. But it wasn’t just recognition causing her pulse to quicken. Those eyes belonged to possibly the most attractive man she’d ever seen, and the realization hit her like a punch to the solar plexus.

“Yes?” The voice was deep, curt, wrapped in isolation like the ice coating the trees. But oh, what a voice it was—rich as honey and dark as sin.

Briar summoned her brightest smile, trying to ignore the way her stomach fluttered. Seriously? She was attracted to the grumpy hermit dragon? What was wrong with her? “Hello! I’m Briar Rhee. I thought you might enjoy some treats on this cold day.” She lifted the basket hopefully.

One dark eyebrow rose, disappearing under equally dark hair that fell just past his shoulders in waves that begged to be touched. Stop it, she chided herself. This isn’t a romance novel.

“I’m not interested.” The door began to close.

The cold chose that moment to overcome her warming spell entirely. Briar sneezed explosively, the sound almost comically loud in the silence. The door’s movement halted.

A sigh emerged from the shadows. “You’re going to catch your death out here,” the voice grumbled. The door opened wider, revealing his full height and build. Briar’s mouth went dry.

Falkor Grashen filled the entire doorframe with broad shoulders and lean muscle, radiating the kind of raw power that made her magical senses tingle. He wore simple dark clothes—jeans and a black Henley—but they did nothing to diminish his impact. If anything, the casual attire emphasized his warrior’s build and grace.

“Fine. Come in for a moment.”

“Thank you.” Briar darted inside, grateful both for the shelter and the chance to observe him more closely. What was it about this clearly antisocial man that drew her? She’d dated plenty of perfectly nice, well-adjusted guys. Her last relationship had ended simply because they’d wanted different things in life. So why was she suddenly fascinated by someone who probably called scowling a good time?

“It’s quite chilly out there,” she said, trying to focus on her mission rather than the way he moved—all contained power and fluid grace.

The cabin’s interior struck her immediately—spartan, almost severe in its simplicity. A fire burned in the hearth, but it offered mechanical heat without warmth. No decorations softened the stark walls. No personal touches suggested anyone actually lived here.

The space reminded her of a monk’s cell, if monks furnished their cells with expensive leather furniture and state-of-the-art kitchen appliances that looked like they’d never been used.

“You have a lovely home,” she offered, removing her coat. His snort suggested he knew exactly how impersonal the space was.

Determined to create warmth in this austere room, Briar set her basket on the rough-hewn table. “I brought enough for both of us,” she said, pouring rich hot cocoa into two mugs. The chocolate aroma filled the air, bringing an instant touch of comfort.

Falkor accepted the mug with obvious reluctance, his large hands making the ceramic look delicate. “You didn’t need to do this.”

“Maybe not. But everyone deserves a little holiday cheer.” She unwrapped the cookies, arranging them on a napkin. “These are from Molly Hues at Bewitched Bakery. They’re the best in town—probably the best anywhere, really.”

“I don’t celebrate the holidays.” His tone could have frozen flame.

“The cookies are good any time of year,” Briar countered cheerfully, studying him over the rim of her mug. Up close, his features were even more striking—high cheekbones, strong jaw, and those incredible golden eyes that seemed to hold centuries of stories. A few strands of dark hair had escaped his loose tie, softening his severe expression slightly.

“Have you lived here long?” she asked, genuinely curious about this enigmatic man.

“Yes.”

“The whole time in Whispering Pines?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve never been tempted by Molly’s Christmas cookies before?”

His jaw tightened. “I don’t do Christmas.”

“Any particular reason?” The words slipped out before she could stop them.

Those golden eyes narrowed. “Yes.”

Right. Time to change tactics. “It’s a beautiful piece of land you have here,” she said, gesturing to the windows. “Though it must get lonely out here sometimes.”

“I prefer solitude.”

“Everyone needs people sometimes,” she ventured. “Friends, family...”

“I don’t.”