Sleigh Bells and Dragon Spells (Whispering Pines #8)

Chapter 36

THIRTY-SIX

I ce crystals danced through the air around Falkor as he stood on the orphanage grounds, his muscles tense with anticipation. The battlefield before him bore little resemblance to the cheerful courtyard of hours past.

Frozen fractals coated every surface, transforming innocent playground equipment into twisted sculptures of ice. The Christmas tree’s warm glow pulsed defiantly against the encroaching darkness, its magical lights flickering but refusing to surrender.

Behind the frosted windows, children’s faces pressed against the glass, their eyes wide with equal parts fear and wonder. Each small face struck a chord deep within him—reminders of his own childhood winters, of holidays spent in cold isolation while other families celebrated warmth and togetherness.

“They’re counting on us,” Briar said softly beside him, her red hair whipping in the bitter wind. “Every child in there deserves a Christmas filled with joy, not fear.”

Her presence radiated warmth that reached beyond the physical, seeping into the frozen chambers of his heart. His dragon nature stirred beneath his skin, scales threatening to emerge as his anger rose. Eight hundred years of buried rage simmered to the surface, but for the first time, he found himself wanting to channel it into protection rather than destruction.

“Stay close to me,” he murmured, fighting the urge to wrap her in his arms and shield her from what was coming. “My mother’s power—it’s unlike anything you’ve faced before.”

Briar’s chin lifted stubbornly. “I’m not going anywhere. You’ve faced her alone long enough.”

The storm intensified, snow and ice swirling into a vortex that turned the air as sharp as broken glass. From its center, a figure emerged—tall, regal, with platinum blonde hair that floated weightlessly around her ethereal form. Morganna’s eyes blazed like frozen lakes, her spiritual presence carrying all the imperial disdain that had haunted Falkor’s childhood.

“My disappointing son,” she sneered, her voice echoing with otherworldly resonance. “Still clinging to weakness after all these centuries. And now you’ve found yourself a witch to hide behind.”

Falkor’s hands clenched into fists. Dragon fire sparked between his fingers, responding to his fury. “You’re nothing but a ghost, Mother. A remnant of past cruelty that should have faded long ago.”

“I am power itself.” Morganna’s form expanded, ice crystallizing in the air around her like deadly stars. “You cannot escape what you are—what I made you to be. Love is for the weak, and weakness deserves only death.”

A barrage of ice shards shot toward them. Falkor spun, pulling Briar behind him as he threw up a wall of dragon fire. The projectiles melted mid-flight, but the collision of fire and ice filled the air with stinging steam.

“Your fire burns hot, my son,” Morganna taunted, “but rage makes it unstable. How long before you burn everything you touch? Everyone you foolishly try to protect?”

The weight of her presence pressed on him, familiar chains of guilt and shame tightening around his soul. Memories flooded back—holidays destroyed, moments of joy crushed beneath her imperial boots, Evangelina’s tears the day their mother’s cruelty finally drove her away.

“Falkor.” Briar’s voice cut through his spiral of dark memories. She stepped out from behind him, her hand finding his. “Look at me.”

He met her gaze, drowning in those warm brown eyes that somehow saw straight through his carefully constructed walls. No judgment dwelt there, only understanding and something deeper that made his heart stutter.

“You’re stronger than she ever was,” Briar declared firmly. “Your fire isn’t fueled by rage anymore—it’s powered by protection, by care, by lo—” She caught herself, color flooding her cheeks. “By everything she never understood.”

Drawing on his magic, Falkor summoned flames that coiled around both their forms. Beside him, Briar began weaving her own enchantments—sparkles of Christmas magic that danced like starlight. Their powers merged naturally, creating a barrier of light that pushed against Morganna’s darkness.

“Feel that?” Briar whispered, wonder in her voice as their magic intertwined. “We’re stronger together.”

“Pathetic,” Morganna spat, but uncertainty flickered across her ethereal features. “Love makes you weak. It makes you vulnerable. It makes you foolish enough to risk everything for someone who will eventually leave you broken.”

Ice spears launched from every direction. Falkor countered with sweeping arcs of fire, while Briar’s Christmas enchantments created shields of pure light. Yet despite their combined efforts, Morganna’s magic proved stronger than anticipated. Frozen tendrils snaked past their defenses, forcing them back step by step. The ground beneath their feet crystallized, treacherous, and slick.

“She’s too strong,” Falkor growled, frustration building as another attack nearly breached their defenses. “The magic—it’s not enough.”

Briar gripped his hand tighter, her magic pulsing in time with his heartbeat. “Because you’re fighting with anger, Falkor. Look at her—really look. Every burst of rage, every bitter memory—they make her stronger. She’s feeding on your hatred like she always has.”

The truth of Briar’s words struck him like a physical blow. He’d carried this darkness for centuries, letting it define him, become part of him. In trying to reject everything his mother stood for, he’d unconsciously embraced her greatest weapon—cold, consuming bitterness.

“Let go,” Briar urged, turning to face him as ice crystals swirled around them. “Release the anger you’ve held onto for so long. It’s the only way to break her hold over you.” Her free hand came up to cup his cheek, her touch blazing warm against his cold skin. “You don’t need it anymore. You have something stronger now.”

Fear gripped him, primal and deep. “I don’t know if I can. The anger—it’s been my armor for so long.”

“You can.” Her voice held absolute certainty. “I’m right here with you. I’m not going anywhere.”

Their eyes locked, and in that moment, everything else fell away—the storm, the danger, even Morganna’s oppressive presence. There was only Briar, her face tilted up to his, her eyes full of a truth he’d been too afraid to acknowledge.

“Trust me,” she whispered. “Trust us .”