Enter to Win a Paperback
Copy of FEEL THE BURN
Dragon Kin #8
By: G.A. Aiken
Releasing November 24, 2015
Zebra
Blurb
War makes strange bedfellows.
I, Gaius Domitus, one-eyed rebel dragon king of the Provinces, know that better than most, since I have to fight off half my ungrateful family on a regular basis to keep law and order here in my lands. But I never expected to have to consort with a barbarian human woman.
Kachka is beautiful, if you like them fierce—and of course I do. But she keeps complaining about how spoiled and decadent I am, and how a feared Daughter of the Steppes has no time for foolish dragons. I think she likes my eye patch, though. It is quite dashing. With death always at our tails, we take our passion like we take our allies. As they say, love the barbarian you’re with…
BUY NOW
Amazon | B & N | Google Play | iTunes | Kobo
Excerpt
The
Mad Queen of Garbhán Isle’s scream of rage echoed out
over the silent valley, sending birds from trees and small animals
deeper into their burrows.
“Then
the gods help us all if they find whatever they’re looking for before we do.”
The
Mad Queen of Garbhán Isle’s scream of rage echoed out
over the silent valley, sending birds from trees and small animals
deeper into their burrows.
Her
rage was a horrifying wonder to behold because it was always so raw. So
unmistakably vicious. Truly, there was nothing more terrifying than to see that
rage directed at an individual or full army. But, at the moment, there was no
individual or army for the queen to direct her rage at. They were long gone.
Thankfully,
the queen did not redirect her anger toward those closest to her. That was why
they all willingly fought by her side. Because as mad as the queen might be,
she was never wantonly cruel.
One
of the few beings willing to try to reason with the queen when she was in a
rage moved her mare closer. The female wasn’t human, although she was currently
in her exquisite human form. No. She was a She-dragon. Her long white hair
draped over the entire backside of her horse, her sharp blue eyes aware of
everything around her. Yet if you didn’t know the truth about her, you wouldn’t
guess that under that slim bit of human flesh rested a large white dragon that
could render a man in pieces with one swipe of her claw.
“Annwyl?”
she called out. “Annwyl?” she tried again.
But
the queen couldn’t hear her or anyone. She was too busy beating the trunk of a
tree with one of her swords. It wasn’t helping, though. The action wasn’t
wearing her out. If anything, it was just making her more pissed off.
The
She-dragon glanced back at the squad of soldiers. She seemed embarrassed. Her
pale cheeks turning red. But they were the Queen’s Personal Guard. They
understood Annwyl the Bloody better than anyone. They saw her in battle. They
saw her in quiet times. They saw her at her worst and best. The only one who
knew her better than her personal guard? Her mate, the black dragon, Fearghus
the Destroyer.
“Annwyl,
this isn’t helping.”
The
queen slammed her blade into the ground and rested her hands on her hips, her
head down, her breath coming out in hard pants.
“I
know that,” the queen finally barked at the white Shedragon. “Don’t you think I
know that?”
“I
think they were looking for something,” their general announced as he walked
away from the remains of the temple.
General
Brastias was a hero of many wars and in charge of Annwyl’s armies. He could,
like many generals before him, send men out to do this sort of thing while
enjoying the comfort and safety of Garbhán Isle, the seat of power of the
Southlands. But his continuing loyalty to Annwyl and the She-dragon, Morfyd the
White, was so very strong that he still rode with them on missions like this.
Morfyd—one
of the Dragon Queen’s offspring, so actually a princess—looked down at her
mate, her hand brushing her horse’s neck to soothe its tension. “Looking for
what?” she asked Brastias.
“I
have no idea, but the interior has been torn apart.”
“Perhaps
they were just leaving a message.”
“No.”
Annwyl shook her head. “They want something.”
“Annwyl,
they’ve been destroying temples for months now. Let’s not make this into some
kind of crazy conspiracy when they’re simply trying to damage your reputation
among your people.”
“It’s
more than that. I know it is.” Annwyl yanked her blade out of the ground and
slammed it back into the empty sheath she had strapped to her back. “None of
this is working,” she complained, stomping toward her battle horse,
Bloodletting. “They’re always ahead of us because we have no idea what they
plan to do next.”
“So
what do you suggest? We already have spies—”
Annwyl
grunted. Not because she was mounting that vicious stallion of hers, but
because she didn’t want to hear anything else from anyone.
“I
don’t want to hear about Dagmar’s and Keita’s legions of spies. This isn’t
about politics, Morfyd. This isn’t about propaganda. This is something else.”
She
looked over the remains of the burned temple, greengrey eyes glaring out from
under thick light brown hair. “I’m tired of this, Morfyd.”
“Annwyl—”
“I’m
tired of this.”
“Don’t
do anything stupid.”
Another
grunt as Annwyl turned her horse around. “Give them proper death rites,” she
ordered, motioning to the temple priests, who’d been tortured before they’d
been killed. The cult that did this torture and murder called it “purifying.”
It was reserved for those who refused to join them in their devotion to the god
called The Eyeless One, Chramnesind. “Then burn the bodies.”
“What
are you going to—?”
But
Annwyl and her horse had already charged off. Brastias nodded at a few of the
men, those who’d ridden longest with Annwyl and were already well-acquainted
with her bouts of rage, silently ordering them to follow their queen. Not to
keep her safe . . . but to protect anyone unfortunate enough to cross her path.
Especially since the queen didn’t look or act like a royal. In this state, it
was easy for her to misinterpret a small argument between farmers as some kind
of rebel attack.
“What
if she’s right?” Brastias asked his mate while the rest of the men dismounted
and went to work. “What if this isn’t about simply making her look bad?”
The
She-dragon shrugged deceptively slim shoulders.
“Then
the gods help us all if they find whatever they’re looking for before we do.”
Author Bio
Originally from Long Island, New York Times bestselling author
G.A. Aiken has resigned herself to West Coast living, which involves healthy
food, mostly sunny days, and lots of guys not wearing shirts when they really
should be. Writing as Shelly Laurenston, she is also the creator of the
wickedly funny Pride series for Brava. For more info about G.A. Aiken’s
dangerously and arrogantly sexy dragons, go to www.gaaiken.com.
Thank you for hosting FEEL THE BURN!
ReplyDelete