Sleigh Bells and Dragon Spells (Whispering Pines #8)

Chapter 28

TWENTY-EIGHT

T he fire burned low in Falkor’s hearth, casting dancing shadows across the walls of his cabin. Outside, the supernatural storm raged with renewed fury, its howling wind carrying echoes of ancient sorrows. Inside, strings of twinkling lights—Briar’s insistent addition to his spartanly decorated home—created pools of warmth in the growing darkness.

On the couch, Briar watched Falkor searching through his books for spells, noting how the firelight played across his strong features. Even troubled, he was breathtaking—all sharp angles and contained power. His golden eyes reflected the flames, and her heart skipped when his gaze briefly met hers. The attraction between them had been building steadily, an electric undercurrent that made even silence feel charged.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” she ventured, her voice gentle. The words seemed to float in the space between them, carried on tendrils of wood smoke and magic.

Falkor’s gaze flickered to her face, lingering this time. Something in his expression softened. “Just thinking.” His deep voice rumbled like distant thunder, sending a shiver down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

Setting aside her tea, Briar moved to sit closer to him. “Sometimes it helps to share what’s on your mind.” The subtle scent of pine and smoke that clung to him filled her senses. “I’m told I’m a pretty good listener.”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “You’re good at many things, little witch. Including breaking down carefully constructed barriers.”

“Is that what I’m doing?” She tilted her head, studying him. “Breaking down barriers?”

“You’ve been doing it since you arrived.” His voice carried a note of wonder. “Like water wearing away stone—gentle but persistent.”

The admission hung between them, heavy with meaning. Briar reached out, her fingers brushing his arm. The contact sent warmth spreading through her palm. “Maybe some barriers need to come down.”

Falkor didn’t pull away from her touch. Instead, he covered her hand with his larger one, his thumb tracing small circles on her wrist. The casual intimacy of the gesture made her breath catch.

“There are things about this storm... about me... that you should know,” he began, his voice low and intimate in the quiet room. “Things I’ve never shared with anyone.”

“I’m here,” Briar said softly, turning her hand to link their fingers. “Whatever it is, I’m here.”

He squeezed her hand gently before standing, moving to the fireplace. With a wave of his hand, the flames leaped higher, pushing back the encroaching darkness. The golden light highlighted the strong lines of his face and the tension in his broad shoulders.

“I believe the dark spirit causing this storm is tied to my mother, Morganna Grashen.” He paused, glancing back at her. “She was more than just a powerful dragon—she was a force of nature, as cruel as she was beautiful.”

Briar rose, magnetically drawn to him. She moved to stand beside him, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. “Tell me about her. Help me understand.”

Falkor’s jaw clenched, then relaxed. “She believed love was weakness, emotions were flaws to be exploited. The holidays...” He gave a bitter laugh. “Those were her favorite times to teach these lessons.”

“What did she do?” Briar asked softly, her heart aching for the child he’d been.

“One Christmas when I was young, I made my sister Evangelina a gift—a small dragon carved from wood. I’d spent months working on it in secret.” His voice grew distant with memory. “Morganna found it before I could give it to her. She made me watch as she crushed it to dust, telling me that sentiment would be my downfall.”

Briar’s hand found his again, squeezing gently. “You were a child showing love for your sister. There’s no weakness in that.”

“Another year,” he continued, his fingers tightening around hers, “she locked Evangelina in her room on Christmas Eve, telling her it was for her own good—that learning to be alone would make her stronger. I could hear her crying through the door, but I was too afraid to help.”

“You were protecting yourself,” Briar said firmly. “That’s not cowardice, Falkor. It’s survival.”

He turned to face her fully, and the pain in his golden eyes made her heart clench. “I’ve spent centuries running from these memories, building walls around my heart, convincing myself that isolation was strength.” His free hand came up to cup her cheek, the touch surprisingly tender. “Then you walked into my life with your Christmas spirit and your endless warmth, and suddenly the walls don’t feel like protection anymore. They feel like a prison.”