Winter Flame (The Dragonne Library)

Chapter 1

Pippa

The Library felt like it was settling into itself—that particular quiet that came when the day's work was done. I tucked the final restored manuscript into its protective sleeve, my fingers still tingling from the preservation magic I'd woven through its pages.

"Another successful day of keeping ancient knowledge from crumbling to dust," I announced to no one in particular, stretching my arms above my head until my spine popped.

A quick knock sounded, and my office door opened, revealing Tess. Her glasses caught the warm light from the floating lanterns, and there was something almost... glowing about her lately. Dragon Rider magic, probably. Or maybe just happiness. Either way, it suited her.

"I'm heading to Drakehaven for some last-minute holiday shopping," she said, patting her bag. "Want to come? I still need to find something for Mason, and it turns out gargoyles are impossible to shop for."

"Speaking of the holidays," I said, leaning back in my chair, "who do you think they'll choose as Solstice Keeper this year? Last year it was that pompous wizard from the Academy who nearly set the ceremonial oak on fire."

Tess blinked at me. "Solstice Keeper?"

"Oh, right—this is your first Solstice at the Library." I grinned. "It's basically our version of Christmas, though a lot of the traditions overlap with the human celebration. Gift-giving, family gatherings, way too much food—but with more magical fire and ancient rituals thrown in."

"So it's Christmas with extra sparkle?" Tess asked, settling into the chair across from my desk.

"Pretty much. Though instead of Santa, we have the tradition where they pick someone from the magical community to serve as the Keeper of the Great Flame."

"What does that involve?" she asked.

"Well, you're responsible for keeping the ceremonial fire burning throughout the week before the Solstice," I explained, counting off on my fingers.

"Plus leading the blessing ceremonies and collecting stories from the community—you know, tales of the year's magic, losses, hopes, that sort of thing.

The stories get woven into the final blessing on the last night. "

Tess's eyebrows rose. "That actually sounds beautiful."

It was beautiful—I'd always loved the tradition, the way it brought everyone together to share what mattered most. Part of me had always longed for that kind of connection, those warm family gatherings and shared celebrations.

But thanks to dear old Dad's particular brand of parenting, I'd learned early that trusting in holiday magic and family warmth was a fool's game. Better to keep things light, keep the walls up. Vulnerability was a luxury I couldn't afford.

The melancholy tried to creep in, but I shoved it down with practiced ease as Tess leaned forward, her expression brightening.

"But seriously," she continued, "come shopping with me. I could use the company, and maybe you'll have better ideas for Mason's gift than I do."

The invitation was warm, genuine—the kind that made my chest do that annoying flutter thing. But the thought of wandering through festive shops, watching couples pick out gifts for each other, seeing families choosing perfect presents...

No. That was exactly the kind of scene that made those old longings surface, the ones that whispered about what I might be missing. And those whispers always led to dangerous territory—the kind where I might actually start believing in things like lasting happiness and people who stayed.

Nope. Not today.

I plastered on my brightest grin, the one that had gotten me out of trouble since I was knee-high to a mushroom. "Can't. Very busy. Big, important pixie things." I waved a hand dismissively. "Top-secret mischief, you wouldn't understand."

Tess laughed—that easy, knowing sound that said she saw right through me but wouldn't push. "Alright, but if you change your mind, I'll be at the market for a while."

I watched her go, that warm feeling in my chest curdling into something more familiar. Something that tasted like pine needles and loneliness.

Books over baubles, I told myself firmly, slipping into the stacks once she was gone.

The Library had draped itself in evergreen garlands for the season, their scent mixing with the faint shimmer of protective wards.

It should have been comforting—this place that had become home, that accepted my chaos and gave me purpose.

Instead, the festive touches just amplified that familiar ache, the one that whispered I'd always be on the outside looking in.

Lost in my sulking, I turned a corner too quickly and slammed straight into a wall of muscle and starched cotton.

"Careful," a low voice rumbled, and strong hands caught my shoulders, steadying me before I could topple backward into a display of rare botanical texts.

I looked up—and up—into steel-gray eyes that seemed to see entirely too much.

The stranger was tall enough that I had to crane my neck, with the kind of commanding presence that made the air around him feel charged.

Dark hair fell across his forehead in waves that looked like he'd been running his fingers through them, and his jaw was sharp enough to cut glass.

Scrolls scattered around our feet like fallen leaves, and I caught the faint scent of cedar and something darker—magic, maybe, or just him.

Of course the Library serves up a hot, nerdy distraction exactly when I needed one.

"Sorry," I managed, though I wasn't particularly sorry about the view. Broad shoulders filled out that charcoal shirt beautifully, and with his sleeves pushed up, I could see the corded strength in his forearms. The kind of arms that could pin someone against a bookshelf and—

"Are you injured?" His hands were still on my shoulders, warm and steady, and his voice carried that particular brand of authority that probably made lesser beings scramble to obey.

Not me, though. Authority just made me want to poke at it.

"Only my pride," I said, stepping back with a grin. "Though I have to say, you make an excellent wall. Very solid. Ten out of ten, would crash into again."

His mouth twitched—not quite a smile, but close enough to count as progress.

When his gaze dropped to my lips for just a heartbeat too long, heat sparked low in my belly.

He crouched to gather the scattered scrolls, movements precise and controlled.

Everything about him screamed discipline and order—the kind of rigid structure that made my pixie nature itch to cause delicious problems.

"I'm Pippa, by the way," I said, watching him stack the parchments with methodical care. "Professional chaos-bringer and part-time Library crasher, apparently."

"Callen." He straightened, scrolls now neatly arranged in his arms, and there was something almost formal in the way he said it—like his name carried weight.

"What's all this?" I asked, genuinely curious despite myself. "Planning to take over the world with ancient paperwork?"

"Research." Callen's eyes had that distant look scholars got when they were chasing something important. "There's a Solstice ritual mentioned in several texts—something unique. The references are fragmentary, but if I can piece them together..."

He trailed off, but I could see the intensity burning beneath his controlled exterior. Something that mattered.

"Let me guess," I said, settling into the familiar rhythm of teasing. "You've been buried in dusty tomes for days, living on nothing but determination and probably stale coffee, trying to crack some ancient mystery through sheer stubborn will."

His jaw tightened. "Discipline and research are hardly character flaws."

"Never said they were. But when's the last time you actually did something festive instead of just reading about it?

" I gestured at the garlands draped around us.

"The Library's practically begging for some holiday spirit, and you're over here with your very serious scrolls, being very seriously serious. "

"Unlike some people, I don't treat this place like my personal playground."

The words stung, but I kept my grin in place. "Playground? I prefer 'creative workspace.' Besides, the Library loves my chaos. Don't you?" I directed the last question upward, and I swear I felt a warm pulse of amusement from the building itself.

"Chaos," he muttered, his gaze dropping to my mouth again when I smiled, lingering just long enough to make heat uncurl in my belly.

"Your favorite kind, apparently." I stepped closer, just to watch his pupils dilate.

"Face it, Callen. You spend all day with your perfectly organized research and your carefully controlled magic, but what you really need is someone to mess up your hair and challenge your theories and make you remember that knowledge without experience is just..

." I waved a hand airily. "Academic masturbation. "

His eyes flashed—anger or arousal, I couldn't tell. Maybe both. And maybe I was pushing his boundaries on purpose, just to see which way he'd break. "You're impossible."

"I'm fun. There's a difference." I could feel the electricity crackling between us, the kind of tension that made my magic spark under my skin. "Though I suppose fun is probably against your very strict personal code of conduct."

"I have work to do." But he hadn't stepped away, hadn't broken eye contact. If anything, he'd moved closer, close enough that I could smell the clean scent of his soap, the faint trace of magic that clung to his skin.

"Of course you do." I let my voice drop to a whisper, just to watch his control fracture a little more. "Wouldn't want to be distracted by something as frivolous as enjoying yourself."

For a moment, we just stood there, breathing the same air, the space between us charged with possibility. Then he cleared his throat and took a deliberate step back, scrolls clutched like armor against his chest.

"I should—these need to be catalogued."

"Right. Very important scroll business." I fluttered my fingers in a mock-serious wave. "Well, good luck with your very serious research. Don't let the ancient wisdom bite."

I turned to go, hips swaying just enough to be interesting, and I swear I heard him exhale shakily behind me. Then, so low I almost missed it:

"Chaos."

But it didn't sound like an insult. It sounded like a promise. Like a claim.