Page 31 of Sleigh Bells and Dragon Spells

She hadn’t realized that she’d closed her eyes. She opened them and locked them onto his face. His handsome, chiseled face.

Then the image of the dragon came to mind, laying atop Falkor’s human face. It was like seeing both sides of him at once. The man and the dragon.

Both were hers.

“I want you now, Falkor,” she said.

As though saying his name was the push to action, he finally pushed inside her, little by little, stretching her, causing every inch of her to celebrate the feel of this man.

When he was finally fully sheathed, he lay on top of her, his heavy body pinning her to the sofa. She whimpered with urgent need as she lifted her hips, needingmore, more, more.

“Yes,” she groaned.

He thrust powerfully, moving with slow, smooth, and even strokes. His leanly muscled hips moved sinuously, slapping against her with audible force. Every time he traveled in and out, in and out, she felt herself slipping toward the precipice of a truly thunderous climax.

His body strained against her own, taut as a bowstring. She let out a scream as the orgasm crashed into her and overwhelmed her. His seed spurt inside of her, warm and invigorating, and fueling her climax to even greater heights.

Then they were clutching at each other, arms and legs entangled. She nuzzled her face into his powerful shoulder and sighed.

He was the right man...

Later—much later—they returned to the kitchen to find the French toast cold and forgotten. But neither of them cared. They had found something far sweeter, far more nourishing: the promise of healing, of joy, of a future where love wasn’t weakness but the greatest strength of all.

Watching Falkor move around the kitchen to make fresh coffee, his movements loose and relaxed, his smile coming easier, Briar felt her heart swell. She wouldn’t name this feeling yet—it was too new, too precious. But she knew with the same certainty that guided her magic that what was growing between them was real and rare and worth protecting.

He caught her watching him and smiled—that genuine, unguarded smile that made her breath catch. “What are you thinking about, little witch?”

“Just that I like seeing you happy,” she answered honestly. “It suits you.”

“You suit me,” he said softly, pulling her into his arms. “Even with your chaotic Christmas spirit and your tendency to turn perfectly good trees into dancing hazards.”

She laughed against his chest, feeling his arms tighten around her. The storm would return. Morganna’s spirit still lurked in the shadows, waiting to strike. But in this moment, safe in Falkor’s embrace, Briar knew they would face it together. And together, they would win.

Because love, real love, was the most powerful magic of all. And finally, after centuries of darkness, Falkor was learning to believe in it again—one kiss, one laugh, one shared moment at a time.

THIRTY-TWO

The storm clouds writhed overhead like living shadows, their unnatural purple-black hue casting an eerie glow over Whispering Pines. Briar stood at the edge of Falkor’s property, her dark red hair whipping around her face as she studied the magical disturbance. Each gust of wind carried crystalline shards of ice that seemed to seek out warmth and hope, determined to extinguish both.

“Your mother’s power grows stronger,” she said, turning to face Falkor. He stood rigid beside a frost-covered pine tree, golden eyes tracking the storm’s movement with centuries of pain evident in his expression. “We need our friends.”

Falkor’s jaw tightened, but she noted he didn’t immediately reject the idea. Progress. “The other witches,” he said flatly. “You’re sure they’ll help?”

“They’re already involved whether they want to be or not.” Briar gestured at the threatening sky. “That storm isn’t exactly discriminating in its targets. Besides, they trust you—you’ve helped them all before.”

A muscle twitched in his cheek. “Trust is a strong word.”

“They might not know you well, but they know you’re one of the good ones, Falkor. Even if you try really hard to hide it.”

He snorted, but she caught the slight softening around his eyes. “The witches’ circle, then?”

“It’s our best option. The grove’s ancient magic will give us protection while we plan.” Briar reached for her power, preparing to send the message. “The spirits can’t spy on us there.”

Falkor nodded once, sharp and decisive. “Do it.”

Briar closed her eyes, drawing on her magic. The spell formed like crystalline threads of light between her fingers, splitting into multiple strands as she wove her message:The storm grows stronger. Meet at the grove. Bring your mates. Hurry.

She sent the magical missives seeking Celeste, Daisy, Ellie, and Tabitha. Each thread sparkled as it shot away into the gathering darkness, carrying her urgent summons.

---