Page 25 of Sleigh Bells and Dragon Spells

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.

TWENTY-SIX

As the afternoon light began to fade, casting long shadows across the snow, Falkor realized that the storm hadn’t come in. What had stopped it? Was there such a thing as too much happiness?

The snowball fight had devolved into general merriment, with children making snow angels and building fortifications for future battles. His carefully maintained dignity should have been offended by such frivolity, but instead, he felt lighter than he had in centuries.

Briar stood a few feet away, helping Jadie perfect her snow angel technique. Her hair had come partially loose from its braid, creating a flame-bright contrast against the white snow. When she laughed at something the little girl said, the sound vibrated through his very bones.

“Hot chocolate refills!” Molly announced, appearing with fresh cups topped with whipped cream and magical sprinkles that created tiny fireworks as they dissolved. “Extra marshmallows for our dragon friend—I hear you have a tendency to char them.”

Falkor accepted the cup with as much dignity as he could muster, though he caught Briar hiding a smile behind her own drink. “That was one time,” he muttered.

“Three times,” Briar corrected, moving to stand beside him. Her shoulder brushed his arm, and he automatically shifted to shelter her from the strengthening wind. “But who’s counting?”

Her familiar scent—vanilla and cinnamon with an undertone of magic—wrapped around him like a warm blanket. His dragon instincts, usually so focused on maintaining distance and control, urged him to pull her closer instead.

“Mr. Falkor?” Tommy approached, fidgeting with his scarf. “Could you... could you tell us about real dragons? Since we made the snow one?”

Other children gathered around, eyes bright with curiosity. Even Briar turned to him with interest.

He should say no. Should maintain the careful distance he’d cultivated for centuries. Instead, he sat on a nearby bench, the children arranging themselves around him like eager puppies. Briar settled beside him, her thigh pressed warmth against his.

“Dragons,” he began, his voice dropping to a storyteller’s cadence, “are creatures of fire and sky. We’re born with magic in our bones and starlight in our blood.”

The children listened enthralled as he described flying through storm clouds, racing the wind, and sleeping on beds of enchanted crystals. He carefully edited out the darker aspects of his heritage, focusing instead on the magic and wonder that had filled his early years before everything changed.

“Can you show us?” Jadie asked hopefully. “Just a little dragon fire?”

He hesitated, but Briar’s hand found his, squeezing gently. Taking a deep breath, he gathered a tiny spark of his power, creating a small dragon made of golden flames that dancedabove his palm. The children gasped in delight as it flew in circles before dissolving into sparkles.

“That was amazing,” Briar said softly. When he looked down at her, the wonder in her eyes made his heart stop. She looked at him not with fear or suspicion, but with genuine appreciation and something deeper that made his pulse race.

The wind picked up suddenly, carrying the scent of the returning storm. The magical reprieve was ending.

“Time to head inside, everyone,” Molly hollered, already herding children toward the orphanage. “The storm’s coming back.”

As the square emptied, Falkor still sat with Briar, neither of them moving to leave. Snowflakes began to fall more heavily, catching in her hair. The growing darkness made her seem to glow, her magic a warm presence against his.

“I should get you home,” he said reluctantly.

“Probably,” she agreed, but she didn’t move either. Instead, she turned to face him fully. “Thank you for today. For sharing those stories, for playing with the children. For letting yourself enjoy it.”

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