“No chance of being kidnapped by pirates now,” Esen said, with a faint note of regret in her voice.
Raif pulled himself out of his gloom. “I pity the pirate who tries to capture you.”
“Because I’m dangerous?” she asked hopefully, sweeping her hair over her shoulder in what he suspected was meant to be a rakish gesture.
“No,” he said, summoning a smirk of his own. “Because Tarn would eat them.”
She slumped, pouting a little. “Dragons don’t actually eat people, you know.”
“I’m sure he would make an exception.”
So, I have news, which sadly doesn’t involve being captured by pirates, although both dragons and sheer relief are involved. Resistance, the sequel to Reawakening has been accepted by DSP Publications, Dreamspinner’s new imprint, and will be released at the end of next year. DSPP are going to be producing books where the genre elements are stronger than the romance plots. They’ll be moving Reawakening over there as well, hence the slightly longer than usual run-in time. I think it’s going to be a really good move, and I’m very excited about the prospect.
I also signed a contract for a contemporary short story this weekend, which will appear in Dreamspinner’s Random Acts of Kindness anthology, which is due out early next year, I think.
As the snippet above might suggest, I’m also all fired up and have made a start on the third book (working title: Recovery). This one will be all about Raif, because he deserves a book, and a dragon, of his own.
As my mind is full of dragons right now, I wrote a little scene from the Dragon War. It’s a double drabble, because I’m too wordy for the usual kind, and tells how it all began, before the dragons fell into sleep…
20 Years Before the Fall of Eyr
The sound of wings roused the dragon from his pleasant snooze, but it was the alarmed shouts of the sentries that made him dwindle into his human form and hurry outside.
His youngest brother was reeling through the sky, every beat of his green wings clumsy and shuddering. Tarnamell drew upon his flames, ready to rise up and catch him.
But green wings dissolved into arching flames. Fire fell onto the landing platform and became Sharnyn’s human avatar. His eye was blackened, his usually perfectly curled hair clotted with blood, and his fine clothes torn. The anguish in his eyes as he looked up alarmed Tarnamell.
“My hoard,” Sharnyn choked. “My hoard!”
Tarnamell drew him to his feet, embracing him. “What happened?”
Sharnyn shook in his arms. “The Shadow in the mines, the darkness… It came out of the caves… Eyr’s gone… Astalor… It killed them all—everyone in the valleys! They were mine, and they are gone from the world.”
Tarnamell tightened his arms. “How?”
“Monsters,” Sharnyn gasped, clinging to him. “Horrors. It’s marching on Shara. Please, help us!”
“We will burn it from the world,” Tarnamell promised and held his brother while he wept for his lost hoard.