Thursday, 1 October 2026

The Crucible by Aoibh Wood

NEW RELEASE

Book Title: The Crucible

Author and Publisher: Aoibh Wood

Cover Artist: Rebecca Frank

Release Date: September 28, 2026 (InkColors) / October 5, 2026 (Amazon, Kobo, and wide)

Tense/POV: First person, present tense, single POV (Mora), with a brief closing interlude.

Genres: FF Fantasy/Romance (adult sapphic romantasy; dark academy elements)

Tropes:  Enemies to lovers, forbidden love, hidden identity, slow burn, found family, morally gray love interest, sparring as flirtation, knife-gifting as a love language

Themes: identity and self-determination, loyalty vs. duty, surviving institutional cruelty, chosen family, queer joy (queernorm world — no homophobia)

Heat Rating: 4 out of 5 flames

Length: approx. 147 000 words

It is Book 1 of a planned series — the central romance arc resolves in this book (no romance cliffhanger); the wider series plot continues.

Goodreads

Buy Links

InkColors (early release, Sept 28)

Amazon (preorder, delivers Oct 5)

Additional wide retailers live on October 5 

What the Empire forges, the heart unmakes.

Blurb

The Crucible: the Empire’s brutal war academy, where the Aethyr-touched are forged into weapons and attachment is a crime.

Aethyrim like Mora Dray don’t enroll. They’re delivered.

Property of the Empire. Trained to kill. Culled when they break.

Mora walks through the gates with quick knives, a closed mouth, and a secret that will hang her if anyone looks too closely. So the plan is the one that’s kept her breathing this long: be nobody. Head down, scores middling, name off every list. She has invisible down to an art.

Nobody warned her about Liora Skaggs.

Violet-haired, knife-scarred, a Fourth-Year who teaches First-Years how to survive their own knives — lethal by training, worse by reputation, the most dangerous woman in the Crucible. Everything about her should read as threat. Instead, she looks across her crowded training yard and sees Mora for who she is. Not the quiet candidate. Not the middling scores. Her.

And being seen by Skaggs doesn’t feel like the death sentence it should.

It feels like the first time anyone’s ever said her name.

What Skaggs offers isn’t kindness. It’s a blade flipped into the dirt at Mora’s feet and an unspoken order to pick it up. After that, every rule bends. Keep quiet becomes stand out. Stay hidden becomes midnight matches in borrowed leather. Stay alive, stay alive goes out the window somewhere around the first sparring session that ends dangerously close to desire.

But they’re both property, and property isn’t supposed to want things. Wanting Skaggs is the first thing Mora has ever done just for herself, and she is stupid with it, reckless with it, starving with it.

Beyond the walls, the war she was built for is creeping closer, dragonfire is no longer rumor, and the Empire’s version of the truth is fraying at the edges.

Her secret could get her killed.

Skaggs almost certainly will.

She can’t get enough.

Excerpt 

Setup: Mora Dray, days into her first year at the Empire's war academy, is called into the pits for close-quarters combat assessment. The Fourth-Year running her ring is Liora Skaggs.

Skaggs is wearing a Mournborn knife on her hip, just like the one I’m carrying. Instinct has my hand dropping to hide mine, but all it does is get her attention, and her gaze dips. It lands exactly where my palm rests on the hilt and the corner of her mouth curves upward. Then she stalks over and looks down at me like I’m late for something, hands on her hips.

She has at least six inches on me.

I gulp.

She leans closer and sniffs.

“You, Northern girl,” she says, flipping her knife into the dirt at my feet. “Hand off that blade and follow me.”

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath. I really didn’t want to go first, but I do as ordered, handing my knife to Rendi. “Hold this, please.”

She takes it, her shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.

I shoot her a rude gesture and make my way into the ring. I don’t strip this time. I’d rather she get a handful of shirt than, say, my arm. Or a tit. I like my parts where they are.

“Sir” has already engaged with someone in the other ring, and he’s not really trying very hard. He doesn’t have to. The kid’s slow as fuck and can barely remember to keep his hands up.

Ranson watches them for a minute, then turns to us. “Well?”

“Skaggs,” she says by way of introduction.

“I know,” I answer. “You have a reputation.”

She shoots a look over her shoulder as we enter the ring. “Do I? And what do they say, Northern girl?”

I look away trying to hide my flush, as my heart does that thing it does when a pretty girl looks at me like that. Kitty looked at me like that, and we ended up in bed ten minutes later.

I stuff that thought down… hard.

Head in the game, Mora. Head in the game.

In the ring, Skaggs drops into a pretty standard Mournborn fighting stance. I mirror it. I need to make this look convincing, but I need to lose. Probably not hard given the shape I’m in. Trina was outmatched by skill. This girl is on a whole different level.

She steps forward and takes a few half-hearted jabs at my face. I dodge easily.

She takes a few more. They’re a little quicker. I dodge left and right, then have to lean back as she follows with a hook.

My left hand snaps out and catches her in the mouth. Her head rocks back, but I don’t press. I swap my footing, hopping a bit.

As I circle, I catch Brask and Ranson watching us. I don’t pay attention to their conversation, not really, but I can hear them. I catch bits and pieces: “not bad,” and “scary with a knife.”

Skaggs moves in, putting in a lot more effort. Her blows come insanely quick, and the best I can do is retreat, block, or weave my head out of the way. It’s a pattern, though, and one Miriam taught me. I jump and spin-kick as her leg sweeps low. It leaves my boot print on her shirt and sends her to her ass with a loud grunt.

Everyone’s up now, watching us.

It won’t be much of a show. I’m already winded and my shoulder’s killing me. Still, give me a few months of conditioning and healing, and this will be a whole different match.

She rolls up, licking a bit of blood off her lip.

Well. I’ve got her attention.

She barrels in, and I’m down in four hits with a split lip and a vicious shot to the eye that I’m sure will swell shut.

It isn’t flashy. It isn’t even dramatic. It’s efficient and clinical. I lose the rhythm for half a second and she takes the rest of it from me.

Then she drops down on my chest, pinning my arms beneath her shins. Her weight settles like a verdict. She’s not even breathing hard, and her violet eyes lock on mine like she’s waiting to see what I do with humiliation.

Her crotch is practically in my face.

“Make her lick it!” someone calls.

I scowl, ready to spit back something filthy.

Skaggs’ hand settles at my throat. She doesn’t squeeze. She just leaves it there, long enough to let me know she could.

Heat floods me, somewhere between need and humiliation.

Her eyes bore into mine. Not offended, just… curious. Like she wants to see what I’ll do with that cat-call.

My mouth curves. “You’ll have to buy me dinner first.”

Her lips twitch with just the hint of a smile.

Not for them.

For me.

Then my hand slaps the sand.

Gods help me. My head is definitely not in the game… well, not the right one.

She stands and hauls me up like I weigh nothing, then marches me back toward my seat beside the ring. As she scoops her knife from the ground, her gaze flicks to mine. And the spark there is electric. Then she turns away and wanders off to select another victim.

“I couldn’t decide if she was gonna fight you or fuck you,” Sirenna says when I sit down.

I cough to hide my laughter, then pat my chest and whisper, “Be still, my beating heart.”

About the Author 

Aoibh Wood is the bestselling author of The Senator’s Widow — a #1 title in Amazon’s Lesbian Thriller category — and the Cait Reagan urban fantasy series. A veteran of the tech and cybersecurity world, she writes romance, intrigue, and the supernatural with queer women at the center. Her sapphic enemies-to-lovers romantasy, The Crucible, releases September 28 on InkColors and everywhere October 5. She lives with her wife and their cat, Papaya.

Social Media Links

Website  |  Facebook  |   Instagram

Newsletter Sign-up  |  Patreon 

Bluesky: @aoibhwood.com

Twitter/X: @aoibhwood

TikTok: @aoibhwood

Hosted by Gay Book Promotions

Tuesday, 29 September 2026

Dragon’s Ending (Wings Over Albion 4) by Joy Lynn Fielding

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: Dragon’s Ending (Wings Over Albion 4)

Author and Publisher: Joy Lynn Fielding

Cover Artist: Miblart

Release Date: September 24, 2026

Tense/POV: Alternating first person pov/past tense

Genres: Paranormal MM Romance

Tropes: Slow burn, Dragon-shifters, Flirtatious x serious MCs, Academic MC

Themes: Family expectations, Legacy and inheritance, Trust

Heat Rating: 4 flames

Length: 92 000 words

It can be read as a standalone story. It contains spoilers for earlier books in the series. 

It does not end on a cliffhanger.

Goodreads

Buy Links - Available in Kindle Unlimited  

Amazon US   |   Amazon UK

Dragon history was easy. This particular dragon? Anything but.

Blurb

I was sent to Dragon's Ending to uncover lost dragon history. What I found was Dominic Bedwyr.

The heir to one of Britain's oldest dragon-shifter families, Dominic has a reputation for turning heads and causing trouble in equal measure. He flirts. He provokes. He has an infuriating habit of appearing when least expected and interrupting my research.

And each time I think I've worked Dominic out, he proves me wrong. Because behind the studied indifference, I catch glimpses of someone else entirely. He’s a man born to inherit everything, yet trusted with nothing.

Before long, I catch myself listening for his footsteps. Waiting for him to appear by my side, pretending not to help and somehow making me laugh anyway.

But dragon families are complicated. Dominic’s, most of all.

It's one thing to fall in love with Dominic. It's another to fall in love with the Bedwyr heir.

Excerpt

Dominic tilted his head and met my gaze, amusement in those dark brown eyes, which deepened as I moved my chair away from him slightly. 

“Find what you’re looking for yet?” he asked.

I couldn’t be sure, but I felt that was double-edged. I chose to answer the question and ignore any other meaning. Perhaps he was used to guys simply keeling over into his arms whenever he wanted, but I had no interest in being one of them.

“I’m not looking for anything specific,” I told him.

“You’re sure about that?” he asked, and that lazily amused smile was still in his eyes. Which I was going to stop looking into right now.

Unfortunately, I tore my glance away just in time to notice the way he hitched his hip onto the table. Right next to me, making it impossible not to notice his thighs or think about the fluid ease with which he moved. It was as calculated as everything else about him.

“You know,” he said, “I’m sure I could help you out.” 

I wasn’t always the quickest to pick up when someone was flirting with me, but there was no mistaking the intent in his voice. It had lost its usual drawl, turning low and smooth.

“Can you read medieval Latin?” I asked him. “Because that would be helpful.”

He just looked at me, his lips tugging slightly at the corners. “Does Welsh work?”

“Oh, God, yes.” Because I’d already discovered the limits of my Welsh. Before I could stop myself, I was reaching for the document I’d had to put to one side earlier. “There’s this whole section here—”

 “So what made you decide to start halfway through the records rather than at the beginning?”

My irritation at his interruption evaporated as I realised what he’d said. Surely he couldn’t mean there were even more?

“I haven’t found anything further back than these yet,” I told him.

He shrugged and moved away. To my relief.

“And you’re just hoping something turns up.” He leaned against the shelves like he had every right to be there. Like they’d been put up for that purpose alone.

“That’s the general idea.”

“So what happens when the thing you need to see is actually somewhere else?”

That made me pause. “If you have something to say—”

“I do,” he said, pushing off from the shelves.

Too close again. Deliberately so. My dragon stirred, low and uneasy as he reached out to the ledger in front of me and moved it slightly, just enough to be out of square. It took every bit of willpower not to correct it immediately.

Dominic glanced down at the papers, then back at me, as if weighing whether I was worth the effort.

“Come on,” he said.

I frowned. “Where?”

“You want older than this,” he said.

My attention sharpened despite myself. “What does that mean?”

He watched me for an instant, and I saw that flicker of satisfaction again. He’d got me hooked, and he knew it.

“The castle.”

Phoebe had told me about it over supper. Only she’d said there was hardly anything left. “The ruins?” I checked.

“Unless you’ve found another one.”

“Your father—” I started.

“My father,” Dominic said, very mildly, “isn’t here.”

I hesitated. Rhodri didn’t like information shared without his consent.

“Come if you want,” he added, already turning towards the door. “Or don’t.”

Which was deeply irritating, because he knew I couldn’t resist. I closed my laptop with more force than necessary.

“If this turns out to be a waste of time—”

“You can come back and alphabetise something,” he said over his shoulder.

I stood up, because it was either that or hurl my laptop at his head.

About the Author 

Joy Lynn Fielding lives in a small English market town, where she nurtures enthusiasms for vintage aircraft, horses and gardening. An avid researcher for her books, she delights in uncovering unusual facts and sharing them with anyone within earshot. She insists this has never led to anyone hiding behind the furniture.

Joy writes at the pace her health allows, powered by enthusiasm, optimism and, above all, coffee. She hopes her books offer good company to anyone navigating their own winding paths.

Author Links

Blog/Website  |  Facebook  |   Newsletter Sign-up 

Hosted by Gay Book Promotions

The Crucible by Aoibh Wood