Sleigh Bells and Dragon Spells (Whispering Pines #8)

Chapter 25

TWENTY-FIVE

F alkor found himself drafted into Briar’s ambitious snow dragon project, his hands working alongside hers to shape the frozen sculpture. He tried to focus on the task, but his attention kept wandering to her—the way she bit her lip in concentration, how her cheeks flushed pink with cold and excitement, the musical sound of her laughter when their fingers brushed.

“The wings need to be bigger,” she decided, stepping back to survey their work. A smudge of snow decorated her nose, and he fought the urge to brush it away. “Dragons have impressive wingspans, right?”

“They do,” he agreed, amused by her determination to get every detail right. “Though I’m not sure snow is the best medium for aerodynamic accuracy.”

She rolled her eyes at him, but her smile held genuine warmth. “Less critique, more snow, please. Unless you want the orphanage’s bunny sculpture to beat us?”

He glanced over at the competition. Tommy and Jadie had indeed created a remarkably good snow bunny, complete with magical carrots for the nose and ears. “We can’t have that,” he said solemnly, though his lips twitched. “A dragon’s pride is at stake.”

Working together, they shaped massive snow wings, Falkor using a touch of his magic to help the delicate structures hold. Briar added intricate scale patterns, her small fingers creating surprisingly detailed textures in the snow. When she stumbled slightly, pressing against his side to regain her balance, he instinctively steadied her. The contact sent warmth spreading through him despite the cold air.

“Sorry,” she murmured, but she didn’t move away immediately. He found he didn’t want her to.

What are you doing to me, little witch? The thought came unbidden as he watched her return to her work, humming a Christmas carol under her breath. These unfamiliar feelings unsettled him—the way his magic reached for hers, how his body seemed to gravitate toward her presence, the strange ache in his chest when she smiled.

“Mr. Falkor!” Jadie’s voice broke through his reverie. “Can you make the eyes glow like yours do?”

He blinked, surprised by the request. “I’m not sure?—”

“Please?” The little girl’s hopeful expression reminded him painfully of Evangelina when they were young before everything went wrong.

“Here,” Briar said softly, her hand finding his. “We can do it together.”

Their magic merged effortlessly, her warmth tempering his fire into something gentle enough for this purpose. The snow dragon’s eyes began to glow with a soft golden light, drawing gasps of delight from the gathered children.

“It’s beautiful,” Tommy breathed, forgetting his own sculpture in his excitement.

“All art deserves appreciation,” Briar declared diplomatically. “Your bunny is excellent too. Very... hoppy-looking.”

The boy beamed at her praise, and Falkor felt something inside him soften at her kindness. She never missed an opportunity to lift others and spread joy wherever she went. It was so different from his own tendency toward isolation, yet somehow her light made him want to step out of his shadows.

“Hot tea for the artists,” Ivy called out, appearing with a tray of steaming cups. “And fresh-baked scones to fuel your creativity.”

As they took a break to warm up, Briar pressed close to Falkor’s side, ostensibly seeking warmth. He found his arm wrapping around her shoulders without conscious thought, his dragon magic creating a pocket of heat around them both.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

“For what?”

“For this. For trying new things. For making the children so happy.” She looked up at him. “For letting me see this side of you.”

Something in her gaze made his heart stutter in his chest. She was close enough that he could count the light freckles across her nose, could feel her breath mingling with his in the cold air. The urge to kiss her nearly overwhelmed him.

Dangerous , his mind warned. But for the first time in centuries, that warning felt less like protection and more like a chain he longed to break.

“Briar, I?—”

A snowball hit him squarely in the back of the head. He turned to find Tommy looking horrified at his own daring.

“Sorry!” the boy squeaked. “I was aiming for Jadie!”

Falkor should have been annoyed. Instead, he grinned—actually grinned—as he gathered a handful of snow. “You realize,” he said with mock gravity, “this means war.”

The resulting snowball fight was chaos with children and adults alike joining in. Falkor defended Briar while simultaneously trying to hit her with snow, their laughter mixing in the winter air. She darted around him, quick and graceful, using him as a shield while pelting others with remarkable accuracy.

“Teamwork!” she called triumphantly when they successfully ambushed Tommy and Jadie. “Dragons and witches are unstoppable.”

The joy in her voice, the simple pleasure of play, the way she fit so naturally against him—it all combined to create an unfamiliar feeling in his chest. Warm, bright, and terrifying in its intensity.