Page 17 of Sleigh Bells and Dragon Spells

“Stay back,” he snarled, his voice rough with suppressed power. “I can’t... I might hurt you.” The admission tore from his throat, raw and painful.

“Yes,”the spirit purred.“You will hurt her. Just as you hurt everyone. Just as you deserve to be hurt. Alone. Always alone.”

But Briar didn’t retreat. Instead, she moved toward him with determined steps. “Falkor,” she called, her voice cutting through the spirit’s poisonous whispers. “Listen to me.”

“She lies,”the spirit spat.“They all lie. Pretty words hiding ugly truths. You know better. You know what you are.”

Briar reached him despite his attempts to back away. Her hands came up to frame his face, and the warmth of her touch sent cracks through the spirit’s icy grip on his mind. “Look at me,” she commanded. “See me.”

Falkor tried to turn away, terrified of what she’d see in his eyes, but her grip was gentle and insistent. When he finally met her gaze, there was no fear there. No disgust. Only fierce resolve and something deeper that made his heart stutter in his chest.

“You’re not alone anymore,” she said firmly. “I see you, Falkor. Not the monster you think you are. Not the weapon your mother tried to forge. I seeyou.”

“Lies!”the spirit shrieked, but its voice seemed fainter now.“She cannot understand. No one can understand what you are!”

“I understand pain,” Briar continued, one thumb stroking his cheek. “I understand loneliness. And I understand that you’ve spent centuries believing you deserved both. But you don’t. You never did.”

The spirit’s hold weakened further as warmth spread from Briar’s touch. Falkor leaned into her hands, drawn to her light.The dragon fire in his blood calmed, no longer threatening to consume him.

“Don’t let it win,” she implored. “You’re not defined by your past or by her. You have a choice, Falkor. Choose to stay with me. Choose to believe that you deserve more than solitude.”

Her words struck something deep inside him, a truth he’d buried beneath centuries of pain and self-imposed isolation. The rage didn’t disappear—it was too deeply ingrained for that—but it transformed, becoming something he could control rather than something that controlled him.

“I...” he started, his voice rough with emotion. “I don’t know how to be anything else. Anyone else.”

“Then we’ll figure it out together,” Briar replied, her eyes shining with conviction. “But first, you have to choose. Choose yourself. Choose to believe you’re worth saving.”

“Thank you,” he murmured against her skin. “I almost lost myself.”

Briar smiled, the expression warming her entire face. “We’re in this together. Whether you like it or not.”

The spirit shrieked in frustration, its hold on Falkor’s mind shredding. Understanding dawned on them both—their combined power was the key. Without words, they joined hands, their magic intertwining naturally.

Falkor’s fire merged with Briar’s magic. Golden flames danced with sparks of holiday joy, pushing back the darkness with increasing force. They directed this unified energy toward the heart of the storm, causing a brilliant explosion of light and heat that forced the spirit to retreat.

As the light faded, Falkor found himself still holding Briar’s hand. Her fingers fit perfectly between his, warm, real, and grounding. For the first time in hundreds of years, the constant cold in his chest began to thaw, replaced by something that felt dangerously like hope.

The storm wasn’t over—they could both sense the spirit regrouping, gathering its strength for another assault. But standing there with Briar, their magic humming between them in perfect harmony, Falkor realized something had fundamentally shifted within him. The walls he’d built around his heart had developed their first crack, and through it streamed a warmth he thought he’d forgotten how to feel.

“This isn’t over,” he warned, looking down at their joined hands.

“I know,” Briar replied, squeezing his fingers. “But whatever comes next, we face it together.”

The wind still howled around them, carrying echoes of his mother’s hatred. But now, mixed with that bitter cold was something new—the faint sound of sleigh bells, and the promise of Christmas magic yet to come. And for the first time in centuries, Falkor found himself wanting to believe in that promise.

EIGHTEEN

Briar trudged through knee-deep snow, juggling an enormous box of Christmas decorations while trying not to slip on the hidden ice beneath. The dark storm clouds still loomed overhead, their unnatural purple-black swirls promising more magical mayhem, but she refused to let them dampen her spirits. After days of battling supernatural frost alongside Falkor, she’d made an executive decision: his cabin desperately needed an injection of holiday cheer.

A gust of wind whipped her red hair around her face, carrying the scent of pine and winter magic. Through the trees, Falkor’s cabin came into view, looking as unwelcoming as ever. No wreaths adorned the heavy wooden door, no lights brightened the windows, not even a hint of festivity touched the place. It stood dark and brooding against the white landscape, rather like its owner.

“Everyone deserves a little holiday magic,” she muttered, adjusting her grip on the box. Inside, specially enchanted garlands sparkled with Luna’s frost magic—guaranteed not to melt and specially crafted to bring joy to even the grumpiest of souls. The proprietor of Mystic Moon Magic Shop had eventhrown in some extra-strength cheer charms, along with a knowing wink.

Briar didn’t bother knocking. After spending the past few days fighting side by side against an evil spirit, such formalities seemed unnecessary. She shouldered open the heavy door, nearly stumbling under her burden of holiday cheer.

The cabin’s interior wrapped around her like a warm blanket, the temperature drastically different from the bitter cold outside—a side effect of having a dragon for an owner. Falkor sat in his usual spot by the massive stone fireplace, an ancient-looking leather-bound book open in his lap. He looked up at her intrusion, one dark eyebrow rising as he took in the overflowing box and her unwavering expression.

The firelight caught his features in fascinating ways, turning his golden eyes molten and highlighting the sharp planes of his face. His long black hair was loose today, falling past his shoulders in gorgeous waves. Not that she was noticing such things.

---