So why are dragons so freaking HOT? Funny question coming from a writer of an entire world based on a dragon hybrid race. At the RT Convention in May, I spoke with a bookseller who happened to pick up my postcard on WAKING THE DRAGON, and she thanked me profusely because her customers just couldn’t get enough of dragons. I asked some of my besties in the book world this question and here’s what they said.
Sarah Hegger said, “Power and magic.” A.S. Fenichel—“Muscular and fierce.” Gemma Brocato—“Even when they’re being soft as sin, they are all hard-edged and fierce. Kristi Rose hit the nail on the head (which was EXACTLY what I was thinking) in her reply that dragons “are the ultimate alpha.”
I completely agree, ladies. He will burn an enemy alive for taking his most precious treasure. In dragon romance, that means his woman. And if you thought lions were king of the jungle…puh-lease. Move over, kitty cats. The dragon is the true king of all beasts. As my friend Kristi also said, “their strength is intoxicating.” As swoony romance readers (and writers) we want that man who can smite our enemies, who will protect us to the death, and who will love us with a fierceness that is unparalleled. I do believe my Morgon men (half-dragons) fit this bill. But perhaps you can be the better judge.
So, why do you think dragons are so hot? I’d love to hear what you think. ☺
Juliette is a multi-published author, including her Nightwing series with Kensington Publishing and The Vessel Trilogy with Samhain Publishing.
Find Juliette and her books
Waking the Dragon
Vale of Stars #1
Amazon BN Kobo Kensington
The Gladium Province is on the verge of civil unrest as humans and Morgons, the dragon-hybrid race, clash once more. But amid disorder can also arise passion.
When the bodies of three human women are discovered in Morgon territory—with the DNA of several Morgon men on the victims—it’s just a matter of time before civil unrest hits the Province. But for ambitious reporter Moira Cade, it’s more than just a story, and it may mean risking her own life.
Descending into the dark underworld of Morgon society, Moira is paired with Kol Moonring, Captain of the Morgon Guard, for her protection. Fiercely independent, Moira bristles at his dominance, and defies his will at every turn. Yet resistance proves futile when passion flares between them, awakening powerful emotions within both, body and soul. But as the killings continue, can their fiery newfound bond survive an even greater evil—one that threatens all of humanity, Morgonkind, and Moira’s very soul?...
The beautiful blonde froze.
She peered down the darkened corridor of the cellar beneath the Vaengar Stadium. No one.
The Morgon with black hair and black eyes at the bar had told her the restroom was this way. The only sound was the wafting crackle of the torches. The only sight was long shadows cast by flickering flame. An eerie tendril of fear snaked up her spine. Even half-drunk, something primitive warned her of danger, like the innate foreboding a deer senses when the tiger stalks unseen from the trees.
She shook it off, flipped her long hair over one shoulder, and walked on, knowing the restroom must be just around the bend up ahead.
She stopped again and spun around, unable to tell from which direction the sound came.
“Bennett? Is that you?” A hollow echo of her voice reverberated down the empty corridor. “Stop it! You’re scaring me.” The last came out a faint whisper. A presence—corporeal, malevolent, and drawing closer—plunged her into icy fear. Her pulse quickened. A hiss of wind pressed the thin fabric of her mini-dress to her thighs. The flame on the wall guttered to nothing, then relit anew.
Directly behind her. She whirled and stared up at a massive Morgon man who stood only feet away. A behemoth silhouetted by the flambeau. His pointed wings, half-open and huge, kept the rest of him in shadow, as if the light itself repelled him. She could see nothing but his eyes—amber orbs with serpentine slits, bright as the torch-flame. Her breath hitched in her throat. She fell back against cold stone, scraping her bare shoulders against the rough cavern wall.
He passed near a sconce, the light illuminating hard, angular planes, the ancestral lines of the dragon sculpting his face in stark relief—more beast than man. Her heart thrashed against her ribcage.
“I—I lost my way, I think. I should go.” She gestured in the direction she had come, inching along the wall.
He moved with lethal grace, angling closer in slow, even steps.
Her gaze dropped to his large hand. Claw-tipped fingers spread wide, the sharp nail of the index tapping the stone. She bolted left, only to find a wall of six Morgon men blocking her exit. They’d materialized out of the shadows in silent stealth. Unmoving, watching. Backing against the wall, she swiveled her head from those blocking her path to their master stalking closer.
“What—what do you want from me?” Her voice cracked, primal fear ripping through her gut.
By now, she’d reached the pinnacle of terror, petrified in place. Tangible evil seeped into her skin as the sinister creature loomed, enveloping her in his shadow. Something screamed for her to run, while a compelling power rolling from the beast kept her pinned in place. It was as if his very presence demanded obedience, subservience.
The beast braced one arm next to her head, her panic filling up the confines of their space. He inhaled a deep breath, drinking her fear in like the sweetest nectar.
“Will she serve, my lord?” A voice of authority from one of the Morgons in shadow—sultry but edged like a razor.
Her chest rose and fell, drawing the beast’s gaze. He leaned closer, trailing one claw lightly over her swelling breasts. Viper-swift, he clamped her mouth with his other hand, stifling her screams, and continued his exploration of her naked skin with the blade-like nail. Her rapid pulse beat frantically at the base of her neck.
“Perhaps.” One word, grating and broken. The voice of a monster.
He snaked his claw across the bottom of her throat, then down the line of her cleavage, pressing just enough to scrape the skin, a thin line of red rushing to the surface. Keeping her immobile with his crushing weight, he scraped a drop of blood from her breasts. He opened his mouth, revealing a row of sharpened teeth, the canines most prominent. Reeking of menace and power, he licked the tip of his claw.
“Perhaps.”His voice fell to a raspy whisper. A rumbling growl rattled her bones. A flash of flame and shadow and all was black.
a Rafflecopter giveaway