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.

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