Sleigh Bells and Dragon Spells (Whispering Pines #8)

Chapter 15

FIFTEEN

G olden eyes reflected in the frost-covered window as Falkor stood in his cabin, watching the unnatural storm ravage Whispering Pines. Ice crystallized across the glass in intricate, sinister patterns that reminded him too much of his mother’s magic—delicate spirals and sharp edges that spoke of calculated cruelty rather than winter’s natural beauty. The wind howled with an otherworldly voice, carrying screams that pressed against his mind like phantom fingers.

Briar’s face flashed in his memory—the earnest plea in her eyes when she’d come to ask for his help, the unwavering determination despite his gruff dismissal. Something stirred in his chest, an unfamiliar warmth he hadn’t experienced in centuries.

He remembered how the afternoon light had caught her dark red hair, creating a halo effect that made her look almost ethereal. The way her eyes had sparked with defiance when he’d tried to send her away. The subtle scent of vanilla and cinnamon that seemed to follow her, so perfectly suited to the holiday season she loved.

Falkor shook his head, trying to dislodge these distracting thoughts. He shouldn’t notice such things. Shouldn’t care. And yet...

“Damn it all,” he muttered, grabbing his heavy black cloak from its hook. The cloth settled around his shoulders like armor as he strode toward the door. “I can’t let her face this alone.”

His boots crunched through fresh snow as he stepped outside. The bitter wind bit at his face, carrying an unnatural chill that even his dragon-warm blood struggled to combat. Dark clouds roiled overhead, their movements too purposeful to be natural. The storm was hunting, searching, and he had a sinking feeling he knew exactly who it wanted.

The trek into town proved treacherous. Each step broke through layers of supernatural ice that seemed to reach for his boots with grasping fingers. The closer he got to the town square, the more the temperature plummeted until frost formed on his beard and eyelashes. The darkness grew thicker, more oppressive, reminding him of nights spent hiding from his mother’s rage.

What greeted him in the square stopped him cold. The once-charming buildings stood encased in thick sheets of ice, their windows dark and lifeless. Christmas decorations hung frozen and broken, their cheerful colors muted under crystalline shells. Icicles hung like daggers from every surface, their points aimed at the ground like nature’s arrows. The very air felt heavy with fear and despair, pressing down on him like a physical weight.

Through the swirling snow, he spotted Briar near the orphanage’s outside Christmas tree. Her hands glowed with magic as she fought to protect the dying evergreen, but her power flickered weakly against the overwhelming darkness.

Her face was drawn with exhaustion, yet she persisted, refusing to give up even as ice crept up the trunk, suffocating the tree’s enchantments. Her hair had come partially loose from its braid, wild strands whipping around her face in the fierce wind.

A shadow moved behind her—something more than mere darkness. It coalesced into a threatening form, reaching for her with claws of black ice. Falkor’s heart lurched in his chest, an unfamiliar panic seizing him.

“Briar!” The shout tore from his throat as his body moved before his mind could process the danger. He lunged forward, dragon fire erupting from his outstretched hands in a brilliant stream of gold and crimson. The flames struck the entity, causing it to dissipate with an otherworldly shriek that sounded disturbingly like his mother’s laugh.

Briar spun around, her eyes widening as she took in his presence. A mixture of shock and relief crossed her face, softening her tired features. In the glow of his fading flames, she looked almost luminous, snowflakes catching in her hair like tiny stars.

“What was that?” she breathed, her words forming little clouds in the frigid air. A smile curved her lips, warming something deep inside him. “My hero.”

“Don’t,” he growled, but there was no real heat in it. “I’m nobody’s hero.”

“Could have fooled me,” she quipped, then swayed slightly on her feet.

Without thinking, Falkor reached out to steady her, his hands gripping her upper arms. The contact sent a jolt through him—she was ice-cold. Instinctively, he pulled her closer, sharing his dragon’s warmth. She fit against him perfectly, her head barely reaching his shoulder, and for a moment, he forgot to breathe.

“You’re freezing,” he muttered, trying to ignore how right she felt in his arms.

“And you’re like a furnace,” she replied, not pulling away. “Convenient.”

The teasing note in her voice made his chest tighten. He stepped back abruptly, disturbed by his own reaction to her proximity. “The tree,” he said gruffly, gesturing to the dying evergreen. “What’s wrong with it?”

Briar’s expression sobered. “Its magic is fading just like the one inside. If we lose one of them...” She glanced at the orphanage, worry creasing her brow. “The children depend on its protection. It’s not just decoration—it’s hope. Safety.”