Thursday, February 23, 2023

#CoverReveal...Unforgiving Dreams...#MM #Fantasy #PNR


Book Title: Unforgiving Dreams (D’Vaire, Book 35)

Author and Publisher: Jessamyn Kingley

Cover Artist: LJ Anderson of Mayhem Cover Creations

Release Date: March 9, 2023

Genres: MM Fantasy/Paranormal Romance

Tropes: Fated mates

Themes: Love, overcoming the past

Heat Rating: 3 flames

Goodreads Series Link

Amazon US  |  Amazon UK 


Fifteen thousand years ago, the Fae realms crumbled. A decade ago, Noble Protector Drekkoril D’Vaire of the Light Fae woke after spending many millennia in a dreamless sleep. Upon waking, he discovered his people no longer exist. A goddess revered by the Fae had changed them into elves and sprites with no memory of the past. Thanks to a wonderful, supportive family, Drekkoril healed from the ordeal. Now he wants to find the other half of his soul.

Valiant Defender Daravius of the Dark Fae wanders from place to place, trying to put food in the bellies of his tiny family. With little knowledge of any language still spoken and no resources, Daravius’s existence is meager. Each night, he uses a spell to travel to the destroyed realm that once carved deep scars into his soul; night after night, he must relive the horror. Although Daravius wants more for his loved ones, he is lost.

Expert trackers locate Daravius and his family, and they bring the trio to D’Vaire for sanctuary. Within minutes of their arrival, Daravius and Drekkoril learn they are mates. Drekkoril rejoices and yearns for a future together, but Daravius is terrified and desperate to avoid uniting their souls. Only Fate knows which man will get his wish.

There were strange sensations fluttering through Daravius as they walked through a short hallway. The second they turned the corner into a massive room with a fireplace, the prickling of his senses went into full-blown overload. Previously lacking any sexuality, Daravius was surprised when his cock hardened in his black trousers and the beautiful blooms of t’rio llaexila flowers sprang into his mind. They were wildflowers from the Fae realm with cream-colored petals—an exact match to the clothing of a man standing in the space.

It was not the clamoring of his body that had tears threatening, but the immediate recognition of who Bétea had chosen as Daravius’s v’airsell nioll. A bemollo like himself, the stranger was also the leader of the Light Fae and the same as Daravius—the last of his kind. It was too bad it was the fault of Daravius and his people, who had destroyed the man’s realm. How could Bétea do this to the Noble Protector? And how in the world could Daravius fix it?

Daravius refused to accept it, and it changed nothing. Self-loathing filled him, and Daravius knew without a doubt he could not stay. For reasons he was unable to explain, the Noble Protector smiled and took two steps toward him. Daravius braced himself for the man’s justifiable rage and wondered yet again why Bétea hated him so.

“Valiant Defender Daravius of the Dark Fae, my near obsession with wondering where you were finally makes sense to me,” the bemollo commented in Fae’is with a deep, courtly bow. “I am Noble Protector Drekkoril D’Vaire, and it is an honor to find myself matched by Bétea.”

If Daravius was confused by his words, it was nothing compared to everyone else, who stood quiet for several seconds as they processed what the Noble Protector had said.

Then the silence was disrupted by a shout, and the light fairy did a strange jump. 

“Are you saying he is your v’airsell nioll?” Drekkoril’s fairy yelled.

Grand Warlock Dra’Kaedan D’Vaire grinned. “This is wonderful, we need to celebrate.”

Daravius’s fairy, Xakiok, slipped his hand into Daravius’s and squeezed. 

“Take a breath,” Xakiok whispered. 

Daravius forced air into his lungs and was reminded that the reason a bed was being added to Drekkoril’s space was because as v’airsell niolls, they had to share at least half of the hours of the day together. How could Daravius spend so much time in the Noble Protector’s company? Daravius must find a way until a solution presented itself, since cutting those hours could lead to sickness or death.

“Have no concern, I am overwhelmed too,” the Noble Protector said and took another step closer to Daravius. Although he wanted to run, Daravius planted his feet and met the swirling gold-and-cream eyes of his v’airsell nioll. The man’s brilliant white-blond hair was streaked with ivory and intricately braided and beaded away from his handsome face. 

From Xakiok’s brief memories of Sindrell, Daravius recognized the noble clothing—a long, nearly sheer tunic partially covered with a vest, and tall, buckled boots—as traditional clothing. The fabric of his pants and footwear differed though, and Daravius wondered if it was Faedrekan skin. It dawned on Daravius how foolish he was to never consider using shed scales for clothing, and instead only consuming it for his almost nightly jaunts to his former realm. 

Being so close to the man was disconcerting, and his intoxicating scent was making Daravius light-headed. His greedy gaze traced the swirls of cream decorating what little of Drekkoril’s skin was left exposed. Daravius admitted to himself he was wildly attracted to the Noble Protector, but those base instincts were yet another reminder of how unworthy he was of him.

“May I teach you to understand English?” the Noble Protector asked quietly after Daravius stood there staring up at him for countless moments.

Daravius cleared his throat. “I would welcome the knowledge, my thanks, Noble Protector.”

“I am Drekkoril,” he insisted. “I learned from a powerful sorcerer in our D’Vaire family—who, like you, holds mastery over dark magic—that it is possible to contain a spell in a ball you may absorb at your own pace. All you must do is connect with it. I apologize that my light sorcery will cause you and yours pain, but hopefully it will be well worth it.”

Drekkoril created three ivory balls and handed them to Daravius. Daravius passed two to Xakiok and Zarasha, and ignored the sting of the spell as his brain swiftly processed the language.

“Not every word translates,” Daravius murmured.

“No, it does not, but we can still understand each other well. It has always pleased me that v’airsell nioll is not a direct translation to their word mate, but never more so than today.”

At a complete loss both emotionally and verbally, Daravius frowned and wished for an immediate escape, but there was none to be had. Or at least not yet, Daravius promised himself.

About the Author . . .

Jessamyn Kingley has published over thirty titles and refuses to pick a favorite among them. With an extraordinary passion for her characters, she enthusiastically adds tales to her D’Vaire series and avidly re-reads them whenever her schedule allows. After decades living in the Washington, DC area, she now resides in Nevada with her husband and their three spoiled cats. When she is not writing or adding new ideas to her beloved notebooks, she is gaming with family and friends. 

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