PRE-ORDER NOW OPEN! Ruin My Kiss: Dragons of Blood and Bone #5 is coming July 18th!

Ooohh, a new book in the Dragons of Blood and Bone series is coming soon!!

I’m super excited to announce that pre-order is AVAILABLE NOW for Ruin My Kiss: Dragons of Blood and Bone #5 on Amazon and Kindle Unlimited.

The official release date is Friday, July 18, 2025.

SO MANY THANKS for supporting this latest series featuring Rikyava from the Royal Dragon Shifters of Morocco series and her mates. Keep reading for an exclusive sneak peek at chapter one of this upcoming release, and be sure to pre-order below!

Enjoy… and get ready for more sexy Viking dragon HEAT!

XO Ava

WARNING - SPOILERS AHEAD!

If you still need to begin book one of this series, GET IT HERE.

CHAPTER ONE – END

Death from exposure is not a Blood Dragon’s preferred way to die—battle is. But this is a battle for our very lives, after we just fought the battle of our lives, as I huddle now in the strange underground city with my drakes. 

A deathly shiver takes me as I sit on the mossy flagstones of the towering, dark hall. Though we’ve found shelter in this ancient Blood Dragon citadel, our waning energy drags on me in the luminous darkness. 

I feel colder than death as my Fourth Drake, Baldur Sigurðsson’s curses haul the very life out of me and my drakes via our Bloodbond. No amount of heating breaths can help anymore, as I fight to remain conscious, waiting for my First Drake, Bjorn Magnussen, to return with something that can save us.

Laying inert upon the stones between myself, my Second Drake, Ström Eriksson, and my Third Drake, Mikkel Thorsen, Baldur is in a deathly trance. Terrible curses still seethe through his blood, bones, and flesh from the black Dragon of All Souls, as Baldur keeps himself in stasis out in the Void. 

He’s drawing strength from our Blood Dragon Ancestors to survive. It’s enough, barely; as we wait for Bjorn and Mikkel’s sister Lærke to find better shelter and food, I set my hand on Baldur’s bare chest, feeling his intermittent heartbeat. 

We’ve all got our hands on him, as Ström, Mikkel, and I help him stay with us. Desperately, we push back those curses, though I don’t know how much longer we’ll be able to. 

Although I banished the Black Dragon’s heart-curse that nearly killed him, the rest of his curses are still creeping back towards that most essential organ, despite how Mikkel and Lærke helped heal them earlier.

I gaze down at Baldur now, laying so still and pale upon the ancient stones. I don’t see his tall, lean physique, nor the luminous white, silver, and blue tattoos that curl over his skin in arcane Blood Dragon runic dialects as I watch him, praying that he’ll live. I only see his struggle for life, as my drakes and I give our everything to help him. 

And barely manage it.

The Black Dragon’s diseased crimson-black curses march up Baldur’s arms and legs into his torso now, trying to re-take his heart. His blond brows furrow, his beautiful face strained as he fights them with all the power he can access out in the Void. 

Though our physical battle against the Usurper is finished, I feel him battle on deep inside, devoured by its taint. Healing the Black Dragon’s curses is taking everything from us also, as Mikkel suddenly swoons and Ström grips his shoulder to help him stay upright. 

Even Ström is shaking with fatigue as his lips turn blue and he puffs exhausted breaths into the chill air. As his vivid green eyes flick to me, I feel his unspoken thought through our bond.

That none of us are going to make it, if Bjorn doesn’t find help—quick.

Mikkel needs to rest, Rikyava. Ström says through our minds now as he regards me intently, holding Mikkel upright. He’s been through hell these past few hours, nearly as much as Baldur. He can’t spend any more energy doing this.

I know. I tell him, as Mikkel shakes his head with a growl and re-focuses on staying conscious, though he’s unable to put his hands back on Baldur. This is all we have, though, Ström. Until Bjorn and Lærke get back.

“They better find food and proper shelter soon,” Ström says aloud now, because sustaining our mental connection is just too hard in our current state. “Or we’re going to freeze to death right here in this strange underground hall. You know we will.”

I do know, as I nod, feeling what we’re up against. As another bone-deep shiver takes me, I feel how the temperature in this underground hall is just about forty degrees. 

Hypothermia is a bitch; a person can die in forty-degree weather, especially if they’re wet. Unfortunately, this strange Blood Dragon-meets-Fey city, lost for countless generations, is as wet as it gets. 

A deadly subterranean paradise some place in the frozen north, fresh water burbles out of small fountains in the walls, to run through the floor in channeled rivers, sustaining the plants.

More like a thousand-year rainforest rather than a chamber, the incredible hall’s vast heights are lost to darkness, as gargantuan columns rise from the stone floor. 

The hall glimmers, as trees as big as the redwoods in California glow in a dense forest around us. As the trees flicker with their own inner light, they seem like silberskrae, though their silver-white bark is unlike any silberskrae tree I’ve ever seen, luminous. 

Their roots and trunks are far larger, too; their gargantuan roots tunnel right through the stones of the floor, their massive trunks growing up to spread their silver-white canopy across the faraway ceiling.

Luminous mosses and phosphorescent vines crawl up every surface of the ancient alabaster and sky-blue stones around us. Shimmering lizards, moths, and beetles flit through the underground space, scurrying up the gargantuan trees. It’s haunting and beautiful, a lost paradise.

Though one that’s going to kill us, if we linger here much longer. 

Because the moss is chill and damp, the humidity like the Pacific Northwest in the human realm—fucking cold. Our breaths puff into the chill air, and there’s nothing we might make shelter out of. 

The trees have lost leaves but no limbs down here; the vines are slick and wet, and stung Ström as he tried to pull some close for shelter. We’ve made do by gathering a pile of dead leaves around us; we can’t even touch that, though, because it’s so damp and rotten. 

We pull close now, shivering as Ström and Mikkel resume Blood Dragon heating breaths to stay warm, which we’ve been doing for the past hour. As my vision fades to black yet again, I shake my head, growling.

I focus on my First Drake—sending to him hard through our bond.

Bjorn?! I say desperately now as I reach out to him. Please tell me you have found something!

I can feel my First Drake through our Bloodbond. Exhausted, he’s having trouble staying on his feet, as he and Lærke check out the ancient underground for a better place to hole up. They’ve been at it too long, though; hours we don’t have, as Mikkel swoons again, and Ström catches him for real this time. 

Laying him down beside Baldur, to rest.

With a growl, Mikkel protests, but he doesn’t get up. His breaths are labored now, all his myriad scars and barely healed lacerations a testament to everything he’s been through in the past day. It makes his tall runner’s physique with his stark red and black tattoos of raiding ships and sea-dragons across his left chest look like a war zone, as fury saddens me to see all that decimation. 

Thanks to his imprisonment and torture by the Jarl of Copenhagen, Mikkel would have died six times over, if Baldur hadn’t poured his energy into my Third Drake to save him. 

Now, Baldur pays the price, as he struggles to find enough energy out in the cosmos to keep himself alive after our insane battle against said Jarl, the Black Dragon, and our enemies who wield it, not to mention Baldur’s cursing. 

Mikkel is little better, having returned the favor and given almost everything he had left to heal Baldur of the Black Dragon’s curses. Now, both drakes might not make it, as Ström lays his hands on Mikkel rather than Baldur, giving him all the energy he can spare. 

I redouble my efforts upon Baldur and feel the slightest twitch of his finger against my leg, letting me know he’s still with us. As an utter desperation fills me, of not wanting to die this way, my chest compresses and my heart pounds in a jilting, irregular rhythm. 

I cough, and Ström puts a hand on me, dredging deep of his incredible Bone Magic to give me whatever he can spare.

“Hold on to your heart, Rikyava. Don’t let it fail just yet…” Ström tells me quietly, as he feeds me power so I can stay upright. “Just hold on to your fierce love, for our people and for us. Because we’re all here with you, drakaina. Right here, right now—in it, right along with you. We always will be.”

I know what Ström means, as he locks his vibrant emerald gaze on mine in the haunting hall. He’s telling me my drakes are with me to the end—and after everything we’ve been through in the past months, I know it, as I remove one hand from Baldur to grip Ström’s hand. 

His lips quirk into a wry, beautiful smile. It’s everything I need from my best friend in this Bloodbond, as I understand his gratefulness to die beside me, if it comes to that.

The gratefulness all my drakes feel, to battle with me to the end.

“I love you. You know that?” I say now as we hold each other’s gazes in the gloom. 

“I know. But don’t say it to me like that. Not just yet…” Leaning in, Ström kisses me, tender and sweet, though our inner dragons are too tired to rise inside us. 

Deep within, I feel the barest growl from my dark Bone Magic drake and my brighter Blood Magic drakaina, as Ström and I kiss. They’re too far gone to form the rise in energy that touching my drakes usually provides my Bloodwalker magic, however. It’s a bad sign, as I part from Ström’s lips with a hard sigh.

His sad squeeze on my hand holds everything our words can’t say right now.

His hands are like ice, though; mine are, too, as I fight to feel my fingers and toes now from the deadly cold overtaking them. They’ve gone numb; I rub my heart with both hands, brisking my chest as I renew my heating breath. Because if I die, Baldur will have no one to help.

And if Ström goes, Mikkel will die, too.

As Baldur’s energy goes so far out into the Void that even I can’t find him now, a dark terror consumes me. Still, Ström and I hold on with the last iota of stubbornness we have, because that’s what Blood Dragons do. 

We’re not just any Blood Dragons, either; we’re our people’s most elite warriors, as I hear Ström’s fierce growl and feel his renewed determination to fight on. It’s everything I love about him, as I nod to him and he nods back.

Both of us, holding out to the bitter end.

Hold on, Rikyava. I’m coming—with help. 

As Bjorn’s voice suddenly breaks into my mind, I hitch a hard sob-laugh, startled. Because it’s exactly what I needed, as I feel my First Drake coming close now, renewed in his vigor, rather than how he was just a few minutes ago. 

I’m not Bloodbonded to Lærke, but I can feel her energy through her twin, Mikkel; even she’s more hale now, as she and Bjorn shine more brightly through my Bloodwalker’s senses. 

They’re almost back already, somewhere just beyond this gargantuan hall. As a feeling of fullness comes to me, I know they’ve found food, and that both have eaten. 

I tune in hard now to Bjorn, feeling how he’s dressed in clothing, rather than the nakedness all dragons are left with after we shift. Better yet, heat surrounds him; relief fills me as I realize he’s got a lit torch to push back the endless chill and dampness of this underground citadel. 

As Bjorn and Lærke enter the hall at a brisk trot, their renewed vigor fills me with hope, knowing they’ve found respite down here that will help us. As I see them coming through the gloom, I finally see Bjorn’s strange, gold-crimson torch, as it blazes into view from behind one of the towering silver-white trees. 

Both carry torches, though Lærke’s burns white-green rather than red-gold, as if their torches are powered by their own dragon energy. As they rush back to us, I see Bjorn also has a massive sack slung over his brawny shoulder like some kind of ridiculously sexy, built Santa Claus. 

Lærke has a similar one; as they jog towards us through the massive trees, I see they’re both dressed in ancient battle-leathers, though Bjorn is dressed in black and Lærke is in beautiful tawny cream. 

Both of their attire are thousands of years out of date, however—fucking antiques that should be falling apart in a museum, not hale and certainly not wearable. 

As Bjorn stumbles to a halt beside us, falling to one knee and spilling open his sack, I see that sack is made of embroidered sky blue silk. It’s just as hale as Bjorn and Lærke’s clothing, though anything down here in this damp gloom should be long rotted away by now.

None of that matters, though, as fresh food spills from Bjorn’s sack, dumped before us on the stones. As Lærke spills her sack also, hers and Bjorn’s torches making copious heat and banishing the hall’s deadly chill, I snatch up a beautiful green apple, munching it down fast. 

I’m barely chewing; I can’t remember swallowing as I seize a sack of dates next, like an animal. Ström is the same, as he grabs a bag of fresh peaches, stuffing them in his mouth so fast he barely has time to spit out the stones and not choke on them. 

As we eat, Lærke hauls her brother upright, forcing him to take a large piece of jerky and wolf it down. Mikkel is stronger when his twin is around; they share energy through a bond I can’t even begin to understand, as his dark fire flares, returning. 

We eat like wild beasts, in silence. Soon, there’s nothing left but crumbs and still, my belly feels ravenous; Blood Dragons can eat a whole cow, even in human form, when we need it.

We do now, though nothing of the kind is available. As the food Bjorn and Lærke brought refills some of my energy now, however, my inner dragons devouring it, a flush of heat comes to me. 

My fingers and toes cease to burn and tingle with frostbite. Deep within, my dual dragons roar at one-hundredth of their regular energy, though it’s something. As Bjorn sets up a ring of torches all around us now, I see them flare to life in all our dragon’s colors, bright like life in the gloom. 

One torch is black, crimson, gold, and white for me; another is a luscious dark emerald and brimstone for Ström. Mikkel’s flares black, copper, and chartreuse; Baldur’s gutters, but at last flares a tiny bit with his beautiful midnight and sky-blue energy, flashing with opal-gold in its depths. 

It’s then that my heart lifts, as real hope cascades through me, at last. Because I finally know we have what we need to survive, as those magical torches light, surging with brightness all around us. 

As they do, a tenfold increase in heat blazes through the space. The endless chill is cast back. It’s precisely what we need to live through this night.

As I finally take a relieved breath, knowing we’re going to make it.

Bjorn cuddles in, slinging an arm around me as we rest in the blessed heat, bellies fed, if not quite full. His free hand he puts to Baldur, taking over for me as he pours his somewhat renewed energy into my Fourth Drake, helping him come back from where he went in his desperation, so far out in the cosmos. 

Bjorn and Baldur share the same Blood Magic; I feel a deep synergy move between their power now, as Bjorn gives Baldur what he needs. 

Baldur’s energy latches onto that resonance between them, roaring up in a seething wildfire to take what Bjorn offers. As Bjorn squeezes me tight, growling with his bear-like stubbornness and weathering Baldur’s fierce pull, my inner dragons respond to his stalwart, righteous rage. 

Heat and fire fill my chest, flooding down into my limbs, as gratefulness fills me for my First Drake. Because not only has Bjorn saved our asses, he also saved us when he ripped open a portal right to this place from the serious shit-storm we were in, in Copenhagen.

Bjorn didn’t know how to do that; he’d never trained in that kind of magic. Somehow, he wrangled Baldur’s dying power, however, knowing exactly how to use it when it counted. 

Then he’d faced off with me, when I was at my worst.

For I had become a towering midnight-black terror of a dragon when we battled against the Black Dragon in Copenhagen. When Bjorn got us out of there, stopping me from wielding the Usurper in my darkest wrath, I’d gone ballistic against him, ready to attack.

I’d been about to rip apart his very soul with my power when he opposed me. But with the pure, blazing stubbornness of his all-gold drake, Bjorn had stood his ground. 

He’d made me come to my senses, and saved us all when I went darker than black, into some terrible place I don’t ever want to look at. Because it had infected all my drakes in that moment, making them the worst version of themselves in our mutual, devastating night. Except him. Except Bjorn’s shining, righteous brightness.

Always up for the fight of his life.

It was Bjorn who saved us, by getting me to stand down in that moment. Because only he could hold up a big fucking mirror in my face and show me just what I had become: a monster, no trace of the honorable, righteous Rikyava left.

We haven’t talked about it, though I know we need to. Right now, we need to survive, though; as my drakes’ and my energy recovers enough that we can rise past our deathly fatigue, I know we’ll get through this terrible shitstorm we’re in.

It won’t be easy, however, as the Black Dragon’s curses still drag at us. Baldur’s not out of the woods yet; I feel Bjorn stew with me, as we understand everything we’re still up against.

And how it could all still fall apart—faster than fast.

“Lærke and I found decent shelter and more food. Help me get everyone up,” Bjorn says, as he heaves to standing. He extends me a hand; I take it, letting him haul me to my feet. 

As Lærke and Ström get Mikkel up between them, Bjorn surprises me by kneeling down and heaving the unconscious Baldur into his arms. Just a day ago in Iceland, Bjorn and Baldur bristled with contention over me. Now, Bjorn is almost tender as he hefts the lean Baldur up, carrying our most critically injured drake. 

Bjorn nods us back the way he came, jutting his chin at the torches. I get them, carrying all six in my hands.

Holding all our guttering brightness, I take point now beside Bjorn.

To find us some place safe, at last.

All content copyright Dragonlight Publishing LLC 2025. All rights reserved. No portion of this content may be reproduced without the author’s written permission.

PRE-ORDER NOW! Scorch My Lips: Dragons of Blood and Bone #4 is coming April 25th!

Hey there!

Who is ready for the next Dragons of Blood and Bone book!?

I’m thrilled to announce that pre-order is AVAILABLE NOW for Scorch My Lips: Dragons of Blood and Bone #4 on Amazon and Kindle Unlimited.

The official release date is Friday, April 25, 2025.

THANK YOU for supporting this latest series featuring Rikyava from the Royal Dragon Shifters of Morocco series and her mates. Keep reading for an exclusive sneak peek at chapter one of this upcoming release, and be sure to pre-order below!

Enjoy… and get ready for more sexy Viking dragon HEAT!

XO Ava

WARNING - SPOILERS AHEAD!

If you still need to begin book one of this series, GET IT HERE.

CHAPTER 1 – FIGHT

Hurricanes have nothing on a Blood Dragon, as I spar with my drakes in the towering lightning-stone amphitheater, mad with intent. I whirl, clash, and roar, insane with the battle-fury of my people, as they hammer my blows away, strike after strike, blast after blast. 

Rage and wrath consume me as I fight inside the gargantuan colosseum here in Chambord, home of the Storm Dragons of France. All around, Storm Dragons watch with eager eyes. My drakes and I are center stage in the massive space, as the uppermost tiers fill with blue, purple, and cloud-grey dragons. Because we’ve sparred the morning away, well into the afternoon. 

And we just aren’t stopping—as fury and darkness consume us.

Gripping the highest boxes with massive restless talons, my cousin, King Rhennic Erdhelm’s dragons, growl at today’s spectacle. Others in human form watch in the grandstands below, come to see the Royal Blood Dragon drakaina lose her shit at what’s been done to her.

Because all my memories of home and clan have been stolen, as I rage now to get them back. It’s only been a week since the Black Dragon Knight’s High Council Excommunicated me from my home and took my memories of Sweden and all the people I love there. 

But a week is enough time for me to be livid, since nothing the Storm Dragon healers have tried these past days has helped me.

Not one bit.

A bitter taste fills my mouth now, and it’s not just the tang of my own blood from a split lip, as a seething truth roars inside me. That truth is matched by a furious hum on my chest from Aesa’s silver Truthstone embedded in my bones and skin, knowing that my time here has been futile.

I’ve been through tests; I’ve given blood. I’ve endured countless bouts of lightning-storm magic from the Storm Dragon healers coursing through my body to figure out what’s wrong with me. 

Just about everyone can see my dragon-aura’s full of holes, where my human memories and my dragon’s instincts concerning my home should be. What no one can figure out is how it was done.

Or how to reverse it.

Fuck my life.

Still, the bastards on the Black Dragon Knight’s High Council don’t know what’s coming for them, as I fight in the amphitheater now, livid. My drakes, Bjorn Magnussen and Ström Eriksson, weather it, because that’s what they do. They support me as my First and Second Bloodmates, even when supporting me means fighting me all morning so I can go ballistic in a safe, controlled space. 

We’ve paced ourselves. None of us have shifted into our dragons today in this ginormous amphitheater of alabaster lightning-stone columns and tiers like the Colosseum of Rome, which flicker with opal-blue Storm Dragon magic. 

I’ve needed to go at it for hours to diffuse my rage, however; I woke up before dawn with both my inner Blood Magic drakaina and my dark Bone Magic drake seething for war, needing to fulfill it. My dual dragons want retribution on the Knight’s High Council, and so do I.

And I know who’s pushing my need for revenge, as a dark presence now enters the space.

I know my Third Bloodmate, Mikkel Thorsen, has come into the towering lightning-stone hall the moment he arrives. He’s barely set foot upon the blue-white stones of the foyer when I turn towards him with a snarl, hammering a massive volley of devastating Bloodspears at Bjorn and Ström, sending them right to their asses on the white sand floor.

I’m just that strong now with my Third Drake’s incredible torrent of energy rushing through me, thanks to our recent bond. Mikkel’s indomitable power surges through my veins like a hurricane, as I see him settle into one of the most ornate, throne-like stone seats at the lowest edge of the fight ring. 

Those boxes are reserved for Storm Dragon royalty, but Mikkel doesn’t care. With power like his, he should be royalty. Not to mention that he’s also the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome, with a runner-lean frame, strong shoulders, and an almost wasp-lean waist. 

Fucking hot, he’s a body I want, hard; not just that, but the rest of him is beyond sexy, as well. 

His short black hair with its dark auburn hi-lights is always stylish; as he runs a hand through that hair now, I can almost feel it, knowing that soft wave is all natural and not products. 

His face is almost more beautiful than a mere mortal; Mikkel has a high-cheeked, full-lipped face like an Archangel, making me wonder if there isn’t just a little Archangelic blood far back down his family line somewhere. 

Though he looks like an angel or a demigod, however, his power is beyond devilish, full of poison and darkness. As he stares at me with his darker-than-black gaze now, I feel my inner Bone Magic rush to him in a torrent. 

Two of a kind.

Our beasts coil around each other in a towering auric Bloodknot as they greet one another. It’s massive, poisonous, and powerful, as our darkest natures connect, happy to see each other again. 

Seething auric ropes of oilslick black magic flow between our dragons, uniting them in our bond. Our dragons get along just fine; the jury’s still out on me and Mikkel, however, as he stares me down in the fighting hall. 

We are life-mated now after the events of the past week in Copenhagen, but I’m still not sure where I stand with him, or him with me. 

And neither are my drakes; Mikkel’s presence in the gargantuan rotunda stops our fight as both Bjorn and Ström turn. I hold up a hand to my First and Second Drake, though I needn’t have. They’ve already halted our battle as they felt my energy change when Mikkel entered the hall.

From roaring and rageful—to utterly black with wrath.

Because I’m not entirely sure who I am when my inner Bone Magic takes over; and I don’t like it, as Mikkel rises now from this chair, watching me with penetrating dark eyes. 

Mikkel’s black eyes spark with a ring of vicious chartreuse green now—the eyes of his dragon—as he feels me dive into my darkest place, a place we both share. Dressed in a black collared shirt and pinstriped slacks with a shiny black belt, he is casual as he kicks off his snakeskin boots and steps down to the main floor.  

Then steps to the sand—spiking cold, black fire deep into my heart.

“Your drakes are tired, drakaina.” Mikkel stares me down, deadly teasing as he addresses me like he’s a pirate about to make me walk the plank, a roguish smile on his lips.

A pirate I just want to fuck, and fuck, and fuck.

“They’re fine,” I say as he approaches, hands out at his sides to show me he’s unarmed and not threatening me with any magic. 

He’s walking towards me, implacable like a hurricane, however; all around, the Storm Dragons have picked up on our mood. The sky above Chambord’s amphitheater is bruised with purple storm clouds now, though it had been a lovely sunny day. Lighting flickers above; the Storm Dragons can’t hold back their eagerness.

As tension roars through me and my drakes, now that Mikkel’s joined us.

“Fuck! Don’t sneak up on a Blood Dragon when our hackles are up, Mik,” Ström laughs, jovial as he shakes his head. 

Standing beside me, my Second Drake is always in a good mood, except when he’s not. Even in his current exhaustion from occupying my desire for revenge with Bjorn these past eight hours, Ström still has an upbeat nature. 

I can hear fatigue in his voice, however, as he runs a hand through his short, sandy-blond hair, rucking it up into a sweaty mess, then down his short-trimmed, tawny stubble. 

Dressed in borrowed Storm Dragon Guard gear, he wears a white singlet over his lean, mean muscles. Ström’s nearly my same height and looks all of two hundreds pounds soaking wet, but he’s got strength in that tight, honed body. Perfectly proportioned, with what I know is a truly massive cock hiding beneath his pants, Ström is not a drake anyone would want to tussle with. 

Though his emerald green eyes twinkle, his chisel-cheeked, handsome face always puckish with a teasing smile, Ström’s got power. It’s wildcard power—even more than Bjorn’s now, with Mikkel pushing his magic. He sets his hands on his hips, chuckling and grinning at Mikkel’s arrival.

Though his vibrant emerald gaze is watchful.

“Fuck off, Mikkel. We’re busy.” My First Drake, Bjorn, growls now as his vivid gold eyes flash hot at my Third Drake’s arrival, and not in a nice way. His long golden hair pulled up atop his head in a sweaty man bun, Bjorn grunts as he rips the elastic from his wild mess of hair and scratches through it with his fingertips. 

As his massive mane falls free, Bjorn’s golden eyes blaze. Shirtless and wearing only lightweight storm-grey tactical pants for our duel, barefoot in the sand, Bjorn is simply the most stunning piece of man-meat I’ve ever met. 

Built like a Viking god, he has muscles on top of muscles, rippling now as he airs out his hair. His waist is strong but fit, his pecs and arms could crush a Mack truck, and his rock-solid shelf ass and thighs would make anyone swoon—dragon or not.

But it’s his face that has always captured me. As Bjorn snarls at the situation now with the pure gold eyes of his dragon burning out from that strong, almost godlike masculine face, his level gold brows scowl. Beyond handsome, devastating when you match that with his stalwart, protective nature, Bjorn is almost never in a good mood, unless we’re fucking.

Which he and I haven’t been able to do at all these past seven days.

“Mikkel. Did you need something?” I say now, planting my hands on my hips and watching him. I’m statuesque today in my dark grey tactical leggings, a white tank top with a sports bra beneath, and all my long, Swedish-blonde hair done half-back in braids and pulled into a ponytail so I can fight.

Built like a Scandinavian brick house, I’m no slouch when it comes to muscles; I’ve been a career warrior all my life. I see Mikkel’s dark eyes glide up and down my body now as I sweat, flushed from kicking ass for eight hours straight. He’s appreciative—beyond appreciative—as he takes me in.

The subtlest dark and sexy smile on his face.

“I just came because I sensed you three needed a bit more firepower to keep going,” Mikkel says, as he stares at me with his dark gaze and cat-got-the-cream smile. “Or am I wrong that your drakes are wrung out from everything you’ve put them through since sunrise?”

I’m about to protest that we don’t need Mikkel’s added energy boost to keep going when Ström speaks up.

“I hate to say it… but Mikkel’s right, Rikyava. Bjorn and I are done. For now, at least.” Ström gives a wry laugh beside me. 

I haul my eyes away from Mikkel, who has stopped fifteen paces shy of us. It gives me a moment to assess my drakes with a clear head. 

Ström’s showing signs of fatigue, though he’s doing better than Bjorn, after our entire morning of fighting. Like Mikkel, Ström’s a Bone Mage; since Mikkel joined our Bloodbond, Ström’s power has gotten exponentially stronger, too, not just mine. 

All of it is outweighing Bjorn, however. As my biggest, most badass drake growls now that Ström spoke for him, I look at Bjorn. Flipping his mass of wavy hair to one side, he rubs a crazy amount of sweat from his short golden beard. Sweat is everywhere, even soaked through his pants, as I watch the fabric cling to all his burly muscles and his frankly massive cock beneath.

But that cock is far from hard, as Bjorn heaves deep breaths. As his snarling golden gaze meets mine, I can feel how tired he is.

Fatigue beyond anything I’ve ever felt in a dragon.

“Bjorn. Sit down before you fall down.” Mikkel chuckles as he feels what all of us do—that my First Drake is beyond tired.

In fact, Bjorn is exhausted to the max; I know it’s because he’s weathered a severe metaphysical shitstorm lately, which Mikkel’s Bone Magic has caused between us. 

As my Mikkel-enhanced Bone Magic went rogue this week, desiring retribution from the Black Dragon Knight’s High Council, Bjorn’s been fighting to balance it all. His power’s been working overtime, Bjorn often waking from a dead sleep just to pour whatever he can through me to stabilize my wrath. 

My most stubborn drake will never admit it, but he’s outnumbered and outgunned in our Bloodbond now. He’s the only pure Blood Sage in our bond; the only person balancing our blackest magic, as he trembles now on the sand. It’s a situation that would be beyond almost anyone else’s capabilities.

But they’re not Bjorn—and he doesn’t show fatigue lightly, nor concede defeat. 

It’s wearing on him, however, as he struggles now to hold our bond steady against all this dark Bone Magic with my Third Drake so close. Bjorn’s knees buckle; a fast movement from Ström is just enough to prevent him from hitting the sand as Ström shores him up beneath one arm. 

As my most furious, most hard-headed drake stares at me, the fire leaves his eyes. He’s toast; bitterness fills Bjorn’s features as I approach.

I cuddle close with my arms around him, kissing his chest.

“Bjorn. You should go rest.” I snuggle in to my burly First Drake, despite his sweat. Inhaling deep of his scent, I let his good smell of pipe tobacco, peat whiskey, and battlefield char envelop me as his powerful arm wraps around me possessively.

Though I note how he hasn’t made Ström stop helping him.

“I’m not leaving. Not while he’s around.” Bjorn juts his chin at Mikkel before kissing the top of my head. He’s just that tall, though I’m not short.

“He’s her mate now, too, Bjorn. Or didn’t you hear?” Ström acts casual, though even I can hear his own biting bitterness that I now have a third mate in our group. Ström stands like an iron rod at Bjorn’s side, however, holding the bigger drake up with ease from the extra power Mikkel gives our Bone Magic. It’s firepower we’ll need if we’re ever going to go up against the Knights Council, or our true enemy.

The Dragon of All Souls—what we call the Black Dragon. 

“I’m still not leaving you alone with him.” Bjorn snorts as he looks down at me. His arm still around me, Bjorn is possessive in Mikkel’s presence, in a way he’s not around Ström anymore. 

“I’m a big drakaina; I’ll be fine.” I lift up, kissing his lips. Though everything else on him is ultra hard muscle, Bjorn has the softest lips. They whisper like silk over mine before he presses me in a hard kiss that leaves me breathless.

A sudden need to jump him floods me, deep into my veins. He sets his forehead to mine, growling down at me in frustration. 

He and I both feel how much his dragon wants to rise to mine, to get on down to pound town, but it can’t. Bjorn’s done—good and done from everything our magic has put him through in the past week. 

Fighting my wrath all morning hasn’t helped; though his ardor struggles, wanting to match mine, it can’t. I don’t even feel a single nudge from his cock, though I’m pressed hard to him. 

Just like it’s been this entire week.

In the end, Bjorn sighs, then kisses my forehead. I feel him give in as he turns his head, setting his cheek to the top of my head and curtaining me in all his glorious hair. He wraps both arms around me now, standing on his own, though I can feel how much metaphysical energy Ström is sharing with him to keep him upright.

“I think I just need a quick nap. Then I’ll be back in the game,” Bjorn says as he gives me a squeeze. 

“Go,” I say, knowing that anything else I might say would impugn Bjorn’s manhood.

Nodding, he pulls back. He stares down at me with bereavement in his far more normal, gold-crimson eyes now. Taking his hand, I grip it. I know why Bjorn is bereaved. Once, he was my strongest drake. Now, he’s my weakest.

When we need his rageful power more than ever.

Bjorn goes. Nothing more needs to be said between us, though he tolerates a solid clap on his shoulder from Ström. Bjorn glares at Mikkel with a scalding heat as he passes my Third Drake, though nothing comes from his magic. 

Bjorn stumbles, however, as he gathers up his discarded fighting-singlet from the sand. Ström narrows his eyes on Bjorn, even as I feel Bjorn’s power gutter. He stumbles hard then, slamming to one knee in the sand at the edge of the fight ring.

Ström whips to him in a moment, shoring him back up and getting only the smallest glare from Bjorn.

Go, I tell my Second Drake telepathically through our life-mate bond as he glances at me, lifting his eyebrows. Get Bjorn back in bed; he’s toast. I’ll speak with Mikkel. A little chat between us is overdue, anyhow.

Are you sure? He’s far more genteel than Bjorn, but even Ström worries for me, leaving me alone with my Third Drake. Because although Mikkel and I are bonded for life now, our magic has done disastrous things in each other’s presence ever since we met. 

His ability to keep my ripped-open memories sane is far more than Bjorn’s or Ström’s, with all the metaphysical firepower Mikkel’s packing, but it comes with a price. 

A dark price, as my gaze flicks to Mikkel’s and I stare now, deep into his eyes. 

Still fifteen paces distant, Mikkel’s not looking at Bjorn and Ström as he watches me in the fight ring. Mikkel has eyes like a snake, and I know I’m not wrong when I’ve compared his inner dragon to a deadly black mamba. He doesn’t care about right or wrong, not like Bjorn, Ström, and I do. He’s self-admitted he doesn’t belong in our little band of heroes.

Even though I know he has to be my mate.

I’m sure, I say through my mind now to Ström, encouraging him to go.

Ström doesn’t gainsay me; though I feel his unrest at leaving me alone with Mikkel. We’re not actually alone in this gargantuan amphitheater of vaulted white lightning-stone, however, with all these Storm Dragons everywhere. 

Ström and Bjorn finally go, though Ström gives me one last wary glance, and Bjorn gives me a bereft one. It leaves me alone in the enormous sand-ring of the main floor with Mikkel. 

We face off like two desperados of the wild west now, hands loose but ready at our sides like we’re about to whip out six-shooters and blast each other. I’m not certain we won’t, as we regard one another across that long, open space.

Waiting.

“Fight me or fuck me, drakaina. Your choice.” Mikkel speaks in his almost hauntingly smooth baritone voice. Though he put no effort into it, I hear his words like a barb inside me, spearing me across the gulf that separates us. 

The inner black dragon of my Bone Magic flashes up at that voice, towering over my brighter Blood Magic. My brighter dragon is tired, almost as tired as Bjorn. Settling down, she lets my darker side take over as I feel my blacker-than-night drake stare out at Mikkel with its glittering star-bright eyes.

Black like death in the Void. 

“Fight.” I choose suddenly, knowing that’s what I want. Mikkel and I have already mated now, in one incredible, disastrous life-mating that took us both by surprise, but this is what I want. 

I want to fight him; I want to rip into him and test his strength. I want to make him best me, if he can.

And earn the right to be with me.

“As you wish.” Mikkel is quiet, though I don’t miss the eager smile that quirks his full lips. His eyes are all hard darkness now, even though their outer ring of dragon-copper flares. He knows this has been a long time coming. We’ve crashed into one another, we’ve torn at each other in our crazy frenzy to unite our power and fuck. 

What we haven’t done, however, is prove to each other how strong we both are. He hasn’t proven to me he’s worth being mastered in this bond, and I haven’t proven to him he needs to play by my rules in this life-mating.

Or get the fuck out.

“Ready when you are.” Mikkel’s disastrously energetic mode is online now as he claps his hands, giving me a huge grin with an eager fire in his eyes. But the darkness is never gone, as he reaches up, ripping his nice shirt off over his head. 

He casts it to the sand, bare now from the waist up; yet again, I notice an incredible Danish Blood Dragon tattoo on his lean, powerful muscles and perfectly balanced torso. 

Ornate, the tattoo curls up over his left shoulder like the ocean, decorating his heart with raiding ships and a sea-monster dragon flowing over his shoulder with water, scales, and wind. Done in black and red, it has some sort of warding ability, as I feel an unknown magic emanate from it, just as I’ve felt before.

For the first time, however, I also notice intricate chartreuse-green lines blossoming out all over Mikkel’s lean, hard body. Those vicious lines are in his dragon’s patterns, deadly, as they course through his veins. 

As I see his dragon’s literal poison come out upon his flesh, it raises everything inside me high for a fight. I roar up into my true dragon now, the two sides of my dual energies rushing into my united Bloodwalker power, though I don’t know which of my dragons will be in charge of this battle. 

It’s almost always been my brighter crimson Blood Magic drakaina who’s dominated my power. But as Mikkel roars up into his towering black-as-night drake with its glittering lines of chartreuse green poison running through its scales, I know I’ve shifted up into not my red drakaina, but my own black dragon.

The black dragon of my inner Bone Magic, like Mikkel’s. 

I’m not united in my power now, as I stand before Mikkel as my inner darkness and roar at him in a seething rush. I’m terrible, blacker than night, blacker than death, as I snarl now and rake powerful talons through the white sand at my feet. The wings I raise to the storm-thundering skies are devoid of color, except for a glittering in my scales like ancient stars, as I stare Mikkel down.

And I let myself be taken now by my inner darkness, rather than my united Bloodwalker power, to match his.

For the first time since we met, I finally see Mikkel hesitate. I feel him see me now—truly see me—as he is stunned by my might. 

He’s a powerful Bone Mage, talented and ruthless, but I’m a Bloodwalker. I’m the thing that eats drakes, tearing all their power away to incorporate it into my bond, as I make it do what I need it to. 

I finally see him register that as he sees my blackest nature and hesitates. But then the most disastrous, eager smile takes him as his poisonous black and green face cracks in a wide grin and he shows fang. In one powerful slap of his wings, Mikkel’s in the air.

Opening his maw and roaring a seething blast of chartreuse-green poison.

Right at me.

All content copyright Dragonlight Publishing LLC 2025. All rights reserved. No portion of this content may be reproduced without the author’s written permission.

PRE-ORDER NOW! Rake My Lust: Dragons of Blood and Bone #3 is coming November 22nd!

Hey there!

Who is ready for the next Dragons of Blood and Bone book!?

I’m thrilled to announce that pre-order is AVAILABLE NOW for Rake My Lust: Dragons of Blood and Bone #3 on Amazon and Kindle Unlimited.

The official release date is set for Friday, November 22, 2024.

THANK YOU for supporting this latest series featuring Rikyava from the Royal Dragon Shifters of Morocco series and her mates. Keep reading for an exclusive sneak peek at chapter one of this upcoming release, and be sure to pre-order below!

Enjoy… and get ready for more sexy Viking dragon HEAT!

XO Ava

WARNING—SPOILERS AHEAD!

If you still need to begin book one of this series, GET IT HERE.

CHAPTER 1 – ALLY

Handcuffs can be fun. Don’t get me wrong, I love a good romp around the kink room. But magical handcuffs are never fun—and I’m in a set of those now, as I come to from unconsciousness. 

 I don’t know how long I’ve been out; when I wake, I’m in prison, though a nice one as prisons go. It’s fucking cold, however; the surrounding air is frigid, as I shiver and my breath blows steam into the air. My body heat as a Blood Dragon should take care of the chill, making me feel toasty, even though the air in my cell is only just above freezing.

 But oh, yeah—magical handcuffs restrain all dragon abilities.

 Even the innate kind.

 As I come back to consciousness, I register a few things about my cell. The first is that I’m on a cot, which is nice because I’m not sleeping on the cold, hard stone of wherever I am right now. I gaze around to see my cell is circular, like a tower, but with no windows. 

 I feel as if I am somewhere high up and I can hear a stiff wind howling outside the thick stones of the walls. This place is old wherever it is; the white granite stones have the feel of millennia, and I’m not talking about before they were quarried. 

 With an uneven floor and slightly jilted walls, the smooth-worn stones of my cell have been polished by many dragons over time. The space is big enough to contain a dragon, though I’m in human form. 

 I’m just the latest dragon to be incarcerated here, however, as I note a set of ornate black iron bars that serve as a door. Those bars are scrawled through with caustic red Bloodrunes—to curse the fuck out of me if I even try to get close. 

 I’m comfy beneath my thick wool blanket, though. That, plus my cot, is the royal treatment for a dungeon in Swedish Blood Dragon territory in the Twilight Realm. 

 I don’t know where I am, but I have a feeling I’m in the custody of the same dragon clan I just made severe enemies of right before I passed out. The powerful Magnussen Clan of the Blood Dragons of Sweden.

 Famed for their brutality up here in the far north.

 I just royally pissed them off by decimating a holy dragon-cairn they had a strict taboo against messing with. That, plus I did it with my two mates—Ström Eriksson, Jarl-Heir of the rival neighboring Eriksson Clan, plus the Blood Dragon Kingsguard Captain Bjorn Magnussen. 

 Though Bjorn’s a Magnussen, the previous Jarl-Heir to the clan I’m trapped by, he’s been outcast since his teens. He was outcast by his father, the Jarl of these lands, Oggi Magnussen.

 The dragon who has captured me.

 I don’t see my mates anywhere now. Sitting up slowly on my cot, because I have a blistering headache from magical fatigue, I see I’m dressed in a nice set of linen trousers with a long-sleeved tunic. A white polar bear pelt is atop my wool blanket, which is why I’m so cozy. I seize both the pelt and blanket, wrapping them around me as I sit, leaning back on the stone wall and facing my cell door.

 Waiting.

 I don’t have to wait long. Either the Magnussens have some sort of magical security system to alert guards of my movements, or they’ve got modern micro-cameras in here. Tech and magic intertwine in the Twilight Realm; but someone has stepped up to my cell door now.

 That someone unlocks the dire curse-runes on my door with a wave of their hand and a deep blaze of crimson-green Blood Dragon magic. As iron locks click back from an ornate locking mechanism, the thick iron bars of the door with their detailed scrollwork push back. 

 I see my jailor; a breath of relief passes through me as I recognize the Captain of the Magnussen Border Guard, Olander Mortensen. He enters my cell with his towering bulk, far more than just about any other dragon I’ve ever met, wearing traditional black buckled guardsman leathers. 

 A white polar bear pelt similar to the one on my cot is pinned around his shoulders; mine dwarfs me, even though I’m not a small woman, but his fits him perfectly. 

 A stylized silver insignia of vicious mountains with a dragon curling through them is pinned to his pelt. As he brings me a steaming tray of bread, butter, venison meat pie, and a big bowl of stew, I don’t even ask if it’s poisoned. I tuck in instantly as a ravenous feeling fills me.

 No idea when my last meal was—the dragon inside me, hungry to the max.

 “Slow down, drakaina. Chew a little.” Captain Olander gives a deep basso chuckle as he sits beside me on the cot, watching me eat.

 “How long have I been here?” I ask, dispensing with any introductory questions. I know for certain now that Jarl Oggi Magnussen holds me captive, since this is his same Captain who was sent to collect us from the dragon cairn, now sitting beside me.

 Watching me eat like a ravenous beast. 

 “Three days. You’ve been out this entire time.” Captain Olander chuckles again, though it’s more serious now as his gaze pierces me. He’s got nice eyes, a sort of hazel-meets-spring-green with a ring of gold around them. 

 Built like a Nordic strongman, he’s well kept with a trim blond beard and neat blond braids, and dragons shaved into the sides of his head. Beads of silver adorn those braids, glinting in a light source I only now realize is a flowing, magical white light that lingers around the apex of my cell.

 “You gave a lot of energy to Bjorn when you pushed all your power into him through your bonds before you passed out.” The Captain is serious now as I finally eat slower.

 Less like an animal and more like a person who’s been starving for days.

 “Was he able to do anything with it?” I ask as I watch Captain Olander. I know he was friends with Bjorn in the past, but I don’t know how far that friendship extends, since Bjorn has been outcast from his clan for over a hundred years. 

 For what reason, I have no clue.

 “He was, actually.” The Captain nods, a glimmer of approval in his eyes now as they shine gold with his dragon. “Bjorn was able to heal his wounds with what your power gave him. Not only that, but he could rise and knock his father in the mouth with a fucking doozy of a haymaker, in just his human form. Knocked out one of Jarl Oggi’s dragon-fangs before the Jarl put Bjorn back on the floor. Nearly bit Bjorn’s head off to make him surrender.”

 “Damage?” I breathe, barely able to sense my First Drake right now through our mystical Bloodbonds, though I do feel with relief that he’s alive.

 As is my Second Drake, Ström—somewhere nearby.

 “Minimal.” Olander Mortensen gives me a knowing glance. “Bjorn got a few scrapes around the neck when the Jarl put his entire mouth over his head and bit down, but only to subdue him. Jarl Oggi would never kill his pride and joy, not like that, at least. If he’s going to kill Bjorn, it’ll be public, in a way that’ll let no one forget the sacrifice he made to support the strength of the clan. Not just one child born of his loins, but two.”

 I realize as he speaks that Captain Olander played me back in the dragon-cairn. I had thought Bjorn was in mortal danger from his father, then; but the Captain had known all along he wasn’t. 

 He told me Bjorn’s father would kill him if I resisted capture. I shake my head now as I realize Captain Olander Mortensen is not just a big motherfucker of a dragon. He’s also smart. 

 Something to watch out for—or secure to our aims, if we can.

 “So you warning me to be still so I didn’t make the Jarl kill his son was just a play inside the cairn, wasn’t it?” I ask him as I lift an eyebrow. 

 “I had to get you to cooperate somehow, didn’t I?” Captain Mortensen says with a teasing but frank glint in his eyes now. “Can’t have the Hög Skjaldmær of our entire Blood Dragon Lineage getting killed on my watch because she pissed off my Jarl. Sorry, not sorry.”

 “It was a clever move. Well played.” I concede now, because it really was a good way to stop me from struggling in the moment, and drawing the furious attention of the Magnussen Clan Jarl.

 One of the biggest, scariest Blood Dragons I’ve ever met.

 “Where is Bjorn?” I ask now, feeling him nearby, but not close enough that we can connect our powers.

 “In a different tower. Jailed and manacled, the same as you. Along with the Eriksson Jarl-Heir, though I don’t think that one’s going to stick.” 

 “Why not?” I grill the Captain for any information he’s willing to give me right now. 

 “Let’s just say that Jarl Oggi Magnussen doesn’t want a war with Jarl Jorg Eriksson, not right now.” The Captain chuckles, amused. “The Erikssons are our neighbors to the east and have tricks up their sleeves in battle. But you would know that… having already life-mated to the Jarl-Heir of the Eriksson Clan. Not to mention the drake who should have been Jarl-Heir to ours.”

 “You can feel our life-bonds? Me, Ström, and Bjorn?” My eyebrows lift. It’s not usually possible to feel another dragon’s life-mate bonds, only one’s own. 

 “It… simmers in the air around you. Stretching towards them.” A strange look comes into his eyes. He sniffs the air near me and I see the gold in his eyes roar.

 The fiery gold of his drake.

 Clearly, Captain Olander Mortensen has some of our Blood Dragon extra-sensory gifts in his power. In another clan, he might have become a shaman rather than a warrior. 

 Here in Magnussen lands, every young drake or drakaina becomes a warrior from birth. The Captain’s unique abilities are something I note, however, if we need to use them later.

 “So are you a friend of Bjorn’s?” I challenge him now, finishing my plate and pushing it away, though I’m pretty certain I already know his answer.

 “I serve my Jarl,” he says, though he gives me a clever eyebrow lift. “I am not willing to treat a possible contender for the entire Blood Dragon Kingship badly while in my care, however, Hög Skjaldmær. You’ll get what you need here, within reason. As long as it doesn’t cross my Jarl’s orders… I shall treat you with the deference your royal station requires until the King can be contacted to sort all this out.”

 “I need my cell phone,” I say at once, then, knowing the Captain is going to play ball, albeit carefully. “And some proper warrior’s leathers, preferably from my own things. And I need to see both Bjorn and Ström, to see if they’re alright. Immediately.”

 “Two of those things I can do.” The Captain nods, though a warning look comes into his eyes now. “Your drakes must stay separated from you until the Jarl brings you all before him for questioning. I’m sorry, but those are his direct orders. He doesn’t want the three of you together until—”

 Captain Olander Mortensen cuts off, smiling wryly and shaking his head. He pushes up to standing, gazing down at me. Not one to be left sitting in the presence of drakes, I push up to standing as well, though my body is still so exhausted from everything that happened in the dragon-cairn that I barely make it.

 The Captain doesn’t reach out to steady me as I wobble. Fierce approval shines in his eyes that I need to face off with him, even though I can barely keep my feet. I see a smile tease his lips, and I know I’ve impressed the Magnussen Border Captain. With a low chuckle, he turns to go.

 “I’ll get your cell phone and your things. Be right back.”

 Before he can leave, another thought hits my mind. The entire reason we went into that dragon-cairn in the first place was left behind there.

 A place I can’t get back to now that the Magnussen Jarl is onto us.

 “The contents of the stone altar in the dragon-cairn?” I ask the Captain quickly, needing to know. “What happened to it?”

 “The Jarl confiscated it. All of it.” Captain Mortensen frowns now, though he tells me what happened to the strange arcane items and scrolls that were in that altar, which once belonged to my Bloodwalker ancestor. He turns back, a curious look on his face. “That’s what you went down there to find, wasn’t it? Everything in that altar.”

 “It was.” I nod, not seeing any reason to not tell him. “We need those things, Captain. To stop something truly heinous. A terrible creature I’ve been charged to investigate by the King himself.”

 “You’re on an investigation for the King?” Captain Mortensen’s eyebrows rise now as he blinks. “Why didn’t you say that before? That changes things.”

 “We have a Blood Seal from the King that confirms our passage through any territory we need to enter on our hunt, which is in the pocket of my vest from the cairn,” I say firmly now, knowing that being on an investigation for the King trumps whatever bad beef Bjorn has with his father and vice versa. It even trumps breaking into a forbidden heritage site, though Magnussens are deeply superstitious about their dead and wouldn’t see things that way.

 Still, it’s a card I can play, and a good one.

 But there’s been a rebellion against the King; a number of his Jarls pulled their personnel from his military and Kingsguard six months ago, citing that they didn’t like King Huttr Erdhelm’s foreign policies regarding our historical enemies, the Ice Dragons. 

 The whole thing has been a shitshow for months, leaving the military wanting and the Kingsguard crippled as they trained new people. It’s compromised security across the Lineage, allowing a massive blast to happen on an Ice Dragon-settled island, which started all this bullshit. 

 I know Jarl Oggi Magnussen was not one of the Jarls who pulled his clan’s support from the King, but he’s also one of the most powerful Jarls in the entire Blood Dragon Lineage.

 His warriors unsurpassed—if he ever decided to challenge the King.

 “I’ll bring your things, and you can find your Blood seal,” Captain Mortensen says then, watching me. “Don’t let anyone take it from you. Bring it with you when you have your audience before the Jarl; you must be the one to show it to him, in public, for him to consider it. The Jarl is a dragon who considers the pressure of public opinion in his rule. You’ll need that when you talk to him. The more ammunition you have to hit him with in front of his court, the better.”

 “Thank you,” I say now, grateful for the advice. “And the things from the cairn?” 

 “I can’t bring them to you, but know that they are safe.” The Captain nods as he watches me. “But… why do you need those things, Hög Skjaldmær? They’re nothing but a pile of oddities; historical, yes, but empty of whatever magic they once contained. And the scrolls are downright illegible; they’re all written in some dead language nobody here can decipher. Why are they so important for this investigation of yours?”

 “I don’t know yet.” I scowl now, knowing the Captain speaks the truth as I sigh. “I honestly don’t know what might aid me in killing the Black Dragon of the Usurper from that pile of magical trash. But something in there is valuable to our hunt; the Ancestors told me so.”

 I don’t tell the Captain my uncertainty about exactly who has been speaking to me from our Blood Dragon Ancestors. But my mention of the Ancestors at all has the Captain on very high alert now. Lifting an eyebrow, he peers at me.

 His eyes flaring all gold now with the power of his dragon.

 “The Ancestors themselves have charged you with this hunt? Not just our King?” he asks.

 “They have,” I respond, hearing an echo of all those dead voices screaming in my ears, like when I was down in the dragon-cairn. Kill it! They shriek at me. Because whatever the Black Dragon of the Usurper is, it decimated tens of thousands of Blood Dragons in its time, giving them terrible deaths. 

 And my ancestor created it, with my same Bloodwalker magic in her veins. 

 That knowledge sickens me now, even as it straightens my exhausted spine. I face the Captain down hard, knowing I do my Ancestors’ will as I hunt this evil thing to the ends of the earth and back, besides resolving my own need to see it die. 

 Wherever I need to go to kill it, I will, permission or not, trespassing or not. Captain Olander Mortensen sees that determination in me. He gives a slow nod.

 Then sets his fist to his chest—in a Blood Dragon salute.

 “Hög Skjaldmær, Bloodwalker of the Ancients,” he says now, with reverence, “I will fetch you the things you need. I will do everything in my power to help you in your Ancestor-bidden hunt. Though I cannot cross my Jarl. I hope you know that.”

 “I understand.” I get it that the superstitious nature of the Magnussen Clan makes the Captain deeply reverent of our Ancestors. “But how did you know I was a Bloodwalker? Lots of our shamans can contact the Ancestors.”

 “Yes, but only Bloodwalkers take multiple mates.” Captain Mortensen’s fist is still on his heart. “And a Bloodwalker’s power only calls to the strongest drakes; which is why I feel your magic calling to me. Like many Magnussens of station, I was trained in our Blood Dragon mystical arts. Bjorn and I grew up together and trained together in the Magnussen Border Guard. We also trained with the famed Bloodwalker shamaness Maryse Allbright when we were young. I knew the feel of her power, then. Just as I know the feel of yours now.”

 “Maryse is dead,” I say then, feeling like he should know, as some deep instinct fills me. “She was killed by this demon I’m chasing, the Black Dragon Usurper of the ancients.”

 “I had not heard that.” The Captain’s voice is deadly soft now, as sorrow sweeps his eyes. Tightening his fist, he pounds his heart once, twice, thrice, in a gesture of Blood Dragon mourning.

 “Kill it for me,” he says softly now, so softly it makes me wonder what his relationship with Maryse actually was long ago. “Kill whatever it is you’re chasing, which gave Maryse her demise. I will do… anything in my power to make it happen.”

 As he says it, I see love shine from his eyes now. Captain Olander Mortensen was never chosen as one of Maryse’s mates when he was young—but I see how he wished he was, back when he was training with her. 

 Love lost pummels from him in waves before he puts it away. His gaze is barren now, bleak, as he stares at me. He gives me one last deep nod before turning and walking away.

 And I know we have an ally in Jarl Oggi Magnussen’s court.

 Even if he can’t come out openly to save us.

All content copyright Dragonlight Publishing LLC 2024. All rights reserved. No portion of this content may be reproduced without the author’s written permission.

PRE-ORDER IS NOW OPEN! Get ready for Singe My Nights: Dragons of Blood and Bone #2

Hey everyone!

Get fired up! PRE-ORDER IS NOW AVAILABLE for Singe My Nights: Dragons of Blood and Bone #2. 🔥

Release date is March 15th.

This is a hot one, and there’s also a special giveaway this time. ❤️‍🔥

For three days only, Friday, 3/15 – Sunday, 3/17, a link will be available in the back of your ebook to enter the Launch Weekend Giveaway for a chance to win signed paperbacks PLUS a $25 Amazon gift card!

Don’t wait to grab this new book, because the giveaway ends Sunday at midnight!

If you pre-order now, Singe My Nights: Dragons of Blood and Bone #2 will be delivered instantly to your Kindle Friday, March 15th. 

It will also be FREE in Kindle Unlimited, and available in ebook and paperback on launch day. 

Reserve your copy on Amazon today!

This book was so much fun to write and I can’t wait to hear what you all think. Your support means the world to me. 🤗

Get ready for the heat!

XO Ava

COMING MARCH 15th! Singe My Nights: Dragons of Blood and Bone #2

I’m so excited!

I’ve finally finished up the last edits on Singe My Nights: Dragons of Blood and Bone #2 and it is HAWT!

Rikyava’s story with her Blood Dragon mates is really turning out to be a scorcher, and this book has one of the best endings I’ve ever written… :)

Release date is Friday, March 15th, and the pre-order will open two weeks before that.

This book will be available in ebook, paperback, and Kindle Unlimited, and I anticipate 5 or 6 books for the series.

Enjoy this first sneak peek at the beginning of chapter 1!

And get ready for the heat!

XO Ava

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CHAPTER 1 – HOME

Rage burns the dragon blood inside my veins and always has. Few things soothe it; the ocean is one of those things, as I stare out over the shining water below. I remove my motorcycle helmet and gloves as I stand on the Swedish headland; the crash of the ocean eases my inner fury. Gulls whirl and call on the rocky bluff, and a cold spring wind whips my long blonde hair in its braid. 

My sleek black Ducati stands beside me on the bluff; as I wait in my motorcycle leathers, I hear two more bikes roar up the winding coast road. Their engines cut and I feel more than hear two drakes dismount in the gusting wind, coming to me.

One my bound Bloodmate.

The other mine, but not Bloodmated to me yet.

Bjorn Magnussen’s energy roars like a forge fire as he comes to stand beside me on the promontory. My First Drake smells like good cigars and peat whiskey with honey in it, plus a scorched flavor like battlefield char as the wind blows his scent to me. 

His six-four, massively fit body vibrates with anger in his black bombardier jacket with its lambswool collar, dark jeans, and boots. His palpable anger fixes upon the fishing village of Jurggadden, nestled in the inlet’s jagged cliffs, as he stares out over the cove. 

  As he echoes my fury, both of us raging at what we’ll face there soon.

Ström Eriksson feels like the ocean wind, however, as he comes to stand at my other side. Perfectly built in his tawny bike leathers, Ström’s energy is like the brisk north wind as those gusts tease my hair. No less intense than Bjorn, Ström’s dragon-power feels like the vibrancy of a rushing river. His scent is like glacial river water with elderflower in it as it hits my tongue, brisk and fresh. 

A drake of bright humor but deep thoughts, Ström is unusually quiet today. I feel his tension, even though I can only sense a whisper of his thoughts, since we’re not Bloodbound yet. Like Bjorn and me, Ström’s considering the fact that a lot of potential enemies could be in the village below us right now.

Everyone who’s anyone, gathering for my mentor Maryse Allbright’s wakes this week. 

At my signal to get going, we break from our trio, donning helmets and gloves and returning to our bikes. I fire up my Ducati, turning it hard and peeling out, back to the winding coast road. 

Bjorn and Ström roar out fast behind me, to head down into the village of Jurggadden. I resist seething up into my rageful dragon now as we head down into the town. Usually a sleepy fishing inlet, this town is nevertheless the hub for the surrounding countryside with its festivals. 

Done up to the nines for Beltane, the village is a riot of flowers, colorful ribbons, and party lights strung from every thatched roof and white silberskrae timber. All the rustic Viking lodge-houses have flowers and streamers overwhelming their ingresses, lights cascading between the houses into the city-center and down the steep, winding causeway to the wharf. 

Beltane is a gay time, the best festival of the year here. The beauty and light of this week’s festivities are only marred by portraits of Maryse around town, draped in colorful streamers and flowers for her passing. 

Black crow feathers and white ones from gulls are woven into those streamers, to speed Maryse’s flight to the Void of Ancestors. She was a pillar of the community, and a member of the Black Dragon Knights, the covert ruling body that commands every aspect of Blood Dragon life, even more so than our King. 

That my drakes and I are part of also—subject to their orders, though we may hate it.

I feel not just my loss but everyone’s now, as Bjorn, Ström, and I park our bikes and cut their engines before Maryse’s traditional lodge-house near the highest edge of town, backed by the cliffs. Flowers engulf the porch, streamers and feathers everywhere; we have to palm them aside to get to the open front door, servants coming and going as they prepare for a family wake tonight. It’s darker inside the lofty hall than out in the bright, spring day. As I enter, I blink to adjust my vision.

And am accosted into a massive bear hug.

Trublut Lakkvie growls with delight, heaving me up and spinning me around before setting me back down. He’s dressed in black tactical gear, combat boots, and a white wolf pelt like always; his kind lavender eyes beam in his grizzled, battle-scarred face. Basically my father since my teens, he’s not even that much bigger than me. The strength in the wiry Trublut is massive, though, as he roars with joy, clapping my shoulders and kissing cheeks.

He crams me into another of his big hugs then, as if we haven’t seen each other in ages. He knew I was coming; I called yesterday telling him we’d be here for Maryse’s send-off, and also to talk with him about a Bloodbonding ceremony she mentioned in her last words to me, to help bond my drakes better and gain more control over my Bloodwalker power. Everything with Trublut is like this, though, as he roars with laughter to see me, despite his beloved lifemate’s passing. 

A heart as wide as the sky—and arms that hold the world.

“Rikyava! Darling girl. You made it. Good, good,” Trublut says in his thick Swedish accent as he grins at me, then winks at my two mates. “And you brought your drakes. Good. A Blood Dragon drakaina should have a few drakes with her for Beltane. Should she not?”

I blush instantly. Trublut has always been very frank about sex, and though I am a grown-ass woman now, it still embarrasses me. I brush my innate squeamishness aside, however. I fuck; I like it. 

And I want to do it with both drakes now lingering beside me. 

As Ström laughs in surprised delight and Bjorn gets uncomfortable, sticking a hand out to Trublut like he’s taking me to the prom, Trublut laughs and slaps them both on the shoulders.

“Younglings! Come inside. You’ve arrived just in time for tonight’s family party. Khosh has the feast cooked already and Vjen and I were just working on Maryse’s send-off net. There is much to do before her send-off to the Ancestors in three days. But first, you must go get changed! Our party starts in half an hour and you do not want to be late to the drinking. Yes?”

As Trublut grips my men’s shoulders, then mine, giving me a kind smile, I finally see the sadness in him. It grips my heart as my own ache returns it; he sees my agony and pulls me into a gentler hug now. He holds me as we breathe together for a moment. 

Then pushes back, cupping my cheeks with his rough hands.

“Yes. Yes.” He smiles. “Let the sadness flow, Rikyava. For if we do not, it lingers in the heart, devouring us. And we need our hearts to be alive, to celebrate with those who are still with us. Let your sorrow move you like a great tide and set you free. Yes?”

“Yes,” I say, even as I smile back tears. I don’t want to lose it right now, but I want to cry for my mentor’s passing. Though I loved her, Maryse and I had been on the rocks these past twenty years, because of how I thought she pushed me away after my sister’s coup against our King. Little did I know Maryse was protecting me from danger; perhaps even from inside the Black Dragon Knight’s High Council, to whom I used to report.

Danger we’re all in now—though we have no clue where it’s coming from.

As we follow Trublut into the house, I put danger and intrigue aside, for now. We’re here to help Maryse’s soul go to the Void of Ancestors with her wakes and final send-off this week; as we enter the house, I see the long, Viking-style lodge hall is much the same as when I was last here a week ago. 

Rustic and comfortable yet elegant, built in a traditional style with a ginormous fire pit in the center and a venting hole far above, Maryse’s abode with her mates is made of soaring silberskrae timbers that create vaults like a ship far above. Suites of rooms sprout off the sprawling main area, with heavily carved white wooden doors; every timber and beam are lovingly decorated with Blood Dragons in battle and celebration. 

Our classic rune-language tells ancient stories of valor as it winds around every pillar, even on to the elegant yet rustic wooden furniture. The hay and cedar scent of the longhouse contrasts with a sharp, musky incense that wafts through the gables from beautiful silver censers that smoke blue-white as they hang from the eaves. 

Bearskin rugs and wool blankets are everywhere on the driftwood-carved couches and chairs; the polished timber floors are covered with massive, woven rugs. Charms of feathers, driftwood, nautical rope, and dragon scale dangle from every vaulted window and door. 

To push back darkness and keep evil away.

A dozen massive trestle-tables are laden with food and drink around the perimeter of the hall now, however, in preparation for tonight’s wake. This evening’s party is only a family affair, but more food is still coming from the kitchens—a veritable feast being prepared for tonight. 

When Blood Dragons party, they party hard; since so many of us die in epic battles thanks to our Berserker nature, we celebrate life rather than mourn death. Only after we have thoroughly celebrated our dead do we send them off to the Ancestors. 

As lively music starts outside in the town, I know tonight is about to get crazy. Because we’re celebrating not only Maryse’s life this night, but also the start of Beltane. The entire village is going to get roaring drunk in an hour or less, as the sun sets.

And I plan on being one of them…

All content copyright 2024 Dragonlight Publishing LLC. No portion of this material may be reproduced in any way without written permission from the author.

PRE-ORDER NOW OPEN! Burn My Heart: Dragons of Blood and Bone #1

Who is ready for a smokin’ hot new series!?

Burn My Heart: Dragons of Blood and Bone #1 is NOW AVAILABLE to pre-order on Amazon – click here to pre-order today!

So many of you expressed an interest in a series for Rikyava, the bad-ass Blood Dragon best friend of Layla Price from the Royal Dragon Shifters of Morocco series.

As I was writing the Royal Dragons series, I found myself really loving Rikyava and was excited to explore her story in a full spinoff series.

I can’t wait to share this first book in her story with all of you!

A spicy, slow-burn reverse harem dragon shifter romance with fated mates, enemies-to-lovers, and a kickass heroine, the Dragons of Blood and Bone series is for mature audiences who like their dragons hot! I am hoping to eventually extend this into a 5-6 book series.

Official release date is Friday, December 1st, 2023.

Get ready for the heat!

XO Ava