R.D. Foster | Updates

You Thought This Was Over?

R.D. Foster — Thu, 30 Apr 2026 00:00:00 +0000

Season One of Dragons of Blackmoor has been such an incredible journey to write, and I just want to say how much I love and appreciate everyone who has taken a chance on this series.

To every reader who has stuck with Melissa, Xylar, and the rest of Blackmoor through all seven books, thank you. Truly. Your support means more than I can put into words.

And the best part? This series is only going to grow from here.

Season Two promises more action, more betrayals, more heartbreak, more forbidden tension, and a deeper look at just how dangerous family can be. We’ll be saying goodbye to some loved ones, welcoming new faces who make an unforgettable entrance, and yes, there is a marriage proposal coming that is honestly one of my favorite moments in the series.

Blackmoor is far from finished.

And assuming all goes well, Dragons of Blackmoor just might be making its way to your favorite streaming app.

Thank you for trusting the process, Para-Cuties.

Love,

R.D.

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Technical Issues and Book 7 Update

R.D. Foster — Mon, 9 Mar 2026 00:00:00 +0000

I wanted to give you all a quick, honest update on why things have gone quiet. My laptop had a major power failure, and even with a new high-wattage charger, it’s not waking up.

I dabble in troubleshooting, so I’m actually going to attempt the hardware repair myself today to see if I can get it back online. The good news is that the manuscript for Throne of the Dragon Sin is safe. The bad news is that I can’t access my professional tools like Vellum until the hardware is fixed.

This means the release will be pushed back slightly. I’m pushing to get back to Chapter 50 as fast as I can. Thanks for sticking by the Thorne and Moore family while I get this sorted out.

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The Moores and Thornes are Back. Get Your First Look at the First Episode Reveal! 🐍🗡️

R.D. Foster — Fri, 6 Feb 2026 00:00:00 +0000

Six books of blood, betrayal, and found family have all led to this. The Season One finale of the series is finally here, and in Blackmoor, the stakes have never been higher. Life might have hit the pause button for a moment, but the Moores and Thornes don't stay down for long—and neither does the story.

Step back into the mists of Oregon for the beginning of the end. Witness the first sparks of the fire that is set to consume everything you’ve come to know.

Dive into the official first episode reveal of Book 7 below.

Collin

Season 1 Finale | Episode 26: The Broken Pieces

I was seated on the ground outside the shop, my back against the weathered wood, Salis’s weight settled in my arms as if this had always been where we were meant to end up. Pale light slipped across the front windows, catching the glass at certain angles and ignoring the rest.

It reflected shapes more than details—suggestions of shelves, jars, order—while the space around us remained bare and cold. The air bit at my skin, sharp and unmoving, like it had no intention of letting anything pass.

Salis was heavy in a way that had nothing to do with size. His skin had gone gray, stripped of warmth, stripped of the life that always made him feel brighter than whatever place he occupied.

I ran my hand through his hair slowly, carefully, as if repetition might change something. It didn’t. The ache only deepened, sharp and unfamiliar, like something essential had been taken from me and replaced with a hollow space that refused to settle.

I remembered Olivia standing in the Summit’s living room, the way her voice lowered as it slid into my head, smoothing everything else out.

“Kill Salis,” she’d said. “The moment you’re sure you two are alone.”

The dread had been immediate, unmistakable, tightening in my chest and staying there with every step that followed. I’d felt it the entire way—felt that something was off—and I’d gone through with it anyway.

My vision blurred as the glass in front of us smeared into light and shadow again. I shook my head, lips trembling as I leaned closer.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, even though I knew he couldn’t hear me. “God, I’m so sorry.”

That was the part that broke me—not just that he was gone, but that I’d never hear his voice again. Never hear the jokes meant to soften things, never feel the world lighten just because he was there.

Somewhere nearby, something metal rattled once in the wind, then went quiet again.

Salis hated silence like this. He never let things sit long enough to rot. If something hurt, he poked at it until it either bled or laughed. Usually both.

I didn’t realize how much I’d depended on that until the quiet stayed.

The memory pushed in again, sharp and unwanted, my body carrying out the command even as I fought it from the inside. I remembered screaming in my own head, tearing at myself, trying to stop what my hands were already doing.

Even now, my hands didn’t feel like mine. They remembered something I didn’t want them to know.

I remembered the tear slipping from my eye when Salis asked me what was wrong, the way his voice softened like he was already trying to make space for whatever he thought I was carrying.

In my head, I was begging him to run. I kept hoping Melissa or Xylar would get there in time. I hadn’t even cared what happened to me. Anything would have been better than letting it happen.

I remembered the moment my hand plunged into his chest, the way my fingers closed around his heart before I tore it free. The look on Salis’s face still burned the worst—not fear, nor anger, only hurt. Confusion.

A need to understand that I couldn’t give him. He died in my arms, and that look stayed fixed on me, like he needed me to explain myself even as everything left him.

It was the last thing he ever gave me, and it branded itself into my mind deeper than anything else that night. The weight in my chest only grew heavier, like the world had decided I deserved more guilt than I could already hold.

Tears finally spilled free, warm against Salis’s cheek as I bowed my head. I sniffed, the sound too loud in the stillness around us, the only thing breaking the quiet of a town that hadn’t woken yet.

I’d stayed there all night, never once leaving his side, clinging to the idea that there was still time to fix this. Blackmoor was soaked in magic. I’d seen it bend things it had no right to touch.

I stayed clinging to that thought longer than I should have. There had to be hope—for him, for us—even if I didn’t deserve it. Hope sat there anyway, stubborn and cruel, refusing to leave even when it should have known better.

My hand trembled as I wiped the tears from Salis’s face, careful even though it didn’t matter anymore. The blood on my fingers had dried sometime during the night, stiff from hours in the open air.

And when I dragged my thumb across his cheek it caught slightly, like my skin had forgotten how to be human. I swallowed hard and kept going anyway, because stopping meant looking at what I was doing—at what I’d done.

The silence didn’t break gently. It cracked under the sound of two sets of footsteps, the right of me, close enough in stride that I could tell they were together.

My body tensed on instinct even though I didn’t lift my head. I stayed staring at Salis’s face like it was the only thing keeping me upright, like if I looked away I’d lose him a second time.

Then Emilee’s voice cut through, sharp with exhaustion and disbelief.

“Do you believe me now?” she asked. “Or do you still think I was overreacting?”

A beat later, Xylar spoke, and somehow his voice carried weight even without raising it.

“Collin,” he said.

The way he said my name could’ve almost been mistaken for something close to sincere, and I hated that my chest reacted to it at all. I didn’t respond.

I didn’t give him the mercy of an answer, not when he couldn’t come close to understanding what it felt like to be trapped inside your own body and forced to ruin the one person who never deserved you at your worst.

“Wait—Xylar,” Emilee said, urgency tightening her words. “You know him?”

I heard one of them shift closer, gravel scraping near my knee, and I clenched my jaw so hard it hurt.

Xylar didn’t deny it. He didn’t soften it. He said it like it was simply another choice he’d made.

“I was the one who orchestrated his transition,” Xylar said evenly. “The call was mine.”

Emilee let out a tired breath that sounded more like she was holding back a lecture than relief. “Of course you did.”

She drew in another breath, and when she spoke again, her voice changed—less sharp, more practical, like she was forcing herself to focus on the problem in front of her instead of whatever history she’d just stumbled into.

“Your history doesn’t change the situation,” she said, “Collin can’t be here.”

She hesitated, and when she added the next part, her exhaustion turned into a hard edge.

“You’re lucky it was me,” she said. “If a human found him—”

I didn’t need Emilee to finish the sentence for it to land. If a human had found me like this, it wouldn’t have just been my problem—it would’ve exposed everything in Blackmoor that had fangs or magic.

That kind of attention never stayed contained. It spread, and it destroyed whatever it touched. I kept my eyes on Salis, like looking up would make it harder to stomach.

“Besides, I already get enough trouble for being seen with you. I don’t need to add to it,” she added on.

“I couldn’t go inside your shop,” I said finally, my voice low and rough. “Your boundary spell won’t let me.”

The memory surfaced without warning—the night we’d tried to cross the threshold, the way Emilee had stopped us and told us she’d placed it specifically to keep vampires out.

I swallowed and went on, forcing myself to say the next part. “You helped us once. You didn’t shut the door.”

That was when I looked up. They were standing a few feet away from me, close enough now that I could see Emilee clearly, and I didn’t bother hiding where my hope was aimed.

“Can you fix this?” I asked. “Can you bring him back?”

I already knew better than to look anywhere else. The witches made that clear long before this—either too afraid of the Thornes to get involved, or unwilling to lift a finger for someone who didn’t offer them something in return.

I had nothing they wanted. I wasn’t leverage or power or a step forward on anyone’s gameboard. I was just a vampire asking for something that didn’t benefit them.

Emilee glanced at Xylar before looking back at me, her expression shifting into something that might’ve been sympathy.

“Collin, that was different,” she said carefully. “I shared information, not involvement.”

Emilee shook her head slightly, already bracing herself.

“I don’t have that kind of power,” she said. “And even if I did, resurrection is forbidden.”

She didn’t look away when she said it. There was no hesitation to push against. Just a closed edge. That was how I knew it was the end of the conversation.

Her words landed wrong, twisting something sharp in my chest until it felt tight and dark. My jaw clenched as I looked between the two of them, the space they left around me suddenly feeling intentional.

“So that’s it?” I said. “He’s just gone—and no one’s even willing to try?”

Neither of them answered right away. The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable, like they were searching for the right thing to say and coming up empty.

I watched as Xylar finally took a step closer, his expression shifting into something measured before he spoke.

“There is a way things are done in this town, Collin,” he said, his voice calm in a way that made my stomach tighten. “A balance that has to be kept. That doesn’t lessen what Salis meant—or what this cost you.”

His words landed between us like a lid snapping shut. Whatever Salis had been—to me, to this town—he was suddenly a problem to be contained. My grip tightened on Salis before I realized I’d done it.

Xylar crouched down in front of me then, close enough that I couldn’t avoid him, his steel-blue eyes locking onto mine.

“Let me take care of Salis—”

“No,” I cut in, already pulling back as far as I could without dropping Salis.

I leaned away from him, dread curling tight in my chest because I knew where this was going. “Take care of him how?”

I studied his face, searching for the indifference I’d seen before, the kind he wore when people became problems instead of people.

“By burning him?” I said, the words tasting bitter. “So you can pretend he never existed—just to protect your town?”

Xylar shook his head slowly, his gaze lingering on me like he was measuring the damage instead of pretending not to see it. He placed a hand on my shoulder anyway. I stiffened at the contact.

“That will never come to pass,” he said. “Not while I still draw breath.”

He kept his hand there as he continued, his voice steady.

“You have my word, Collin,” he said. “I will see to it that his name is etched into the very stones of this town. Blackmoor will not be allowed to forget him.”

His grip tightened slightly, grounding, deliberate. “This won’t go unanswered. Salis was family.”

“No—don’t you dare.”

I knocked his hand away before he could say anything else, the word coming out sharp enough to surprise even me.

I rose to my feet and lowered Salis carefully to the ground, easing him down instead of letting go like he was nothing. I made sure his body rested with intention, like intention could still mean something.

I looked back at Xylar, the anger settling into something colder.

“You don’t get to decide that now,” I said. “It’s too late to call him family.”

My eyes flicked to Emilee as she took a cautious step closer, positioning herself like she was ready to intervene if this tipped any further.

I shook my head and turned back to Xylar, refusing to soften what needed to be said.

“Let’s be honest,” I continued. “In this town, if you don’t have the right last name, you’re just collateral damage.”

I’d seen how easily names disappeared once they stopped being useful.

Xylar didn’t defend himself. He didn’t react to me pushing him away, didn’t correct me or challenge the accusation.

I didn’t know why that bothered me more than if he had—and I didn’t care. Even if these were the last words I ever said, I wasn’t going to let anyone pretend this was anything more than what it was.

Xylar straightened slowly, his eyes never leaving mine as they narrowed just a fraction. I hated myself for what I was about to say, hated that it needed to be said at all, but the words were already there, pressing at the back of my throat.

“All I’ve heard lately is protect Irene. Protect Melissa,” I said. “That’s your family.”

My hand lifted before I realized it was moving, pointing back at my own chest. “I was the one screaming for someone to listen when it came to Salis. And nobody did.”

My gaze dropped to the ground as the feeling twisting inside me grew darker, uglier by the second.

“He only had me,” I went on. “There was no army. No powerful witches. No immortal Sins.”

My voice thinned, but I didn’t stop. “Me.”

I looked back down at Salis then, and when I spoke again, it came quieter, like saying it any louder might fracture something I couldn’t afford to lose.

“And when he finally gave me something worth keeping,” I said, “This place took that too.”

Silence followed, heavy and unmoving. I stayed where I was, my eyes fixed on Salis’s body, knowing even as the last words left me that there was no point in saying any of it.

Nothing here was going to change. Somewhere along the way, the pain stopped crashing into me all at once, settling into something distant and controlled.

Not because Salis’s death was behind me, but because I no longer knew what to do with the pain when it had nowhere left to go. I looked up and saw Emilee swipe at her face, blinking hard like she could stop the tears if she didn’t acknowledge them.

It didn’t help. Nothing did.

My gaze moved between them before settling on Xylar.

“If this town is the only thing any of you care about,” I said, my voice steady in a way that felt foreign even to me, “then I’ll make sure everyone loses it.”

The shaking stopped. That scared me more than anything else.

I didn’t bother waiting for a response. I took one last look at Salis, then I was gone, the distance ripping open between us as I sped away without looking back, the promise settling in my chest with a clarity that left no room for doubt.

If this town was built on what people were willing to protect and who they were willing to sacrifice, then I already knew what came next. If this was all anyone cared about, I would burn it down and let the truth survive whatever was left.

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✨ New Trailer Teaser: Crown of the Faithless ✨

R.D. Foster — Thu, 4 Sep 2025 00:00:00 +0000

The crown was never meant for the faithful.

I’ve been quietly working behind the scenes on my upcoming dark romantasy project, Crown of the Faithless, and I’m beyond excited to finally share the very first teaser trailer with you.

This isn’t just a story of town and betrayal — it’s about dangerous love, the price of power, and what it means to choose your own destiny, even when the world demands your ruin.

The full book is still in the works (and trust me, it’s keeping me up at night), but I couldn’t resist giving you a glimpse of what’s coming.

🎬 Watch the teaser trailer below:

Embedded Youtube video removed, see original post to watch.
If you love your fantasy with a touch of romance, betrayal, and that dark edge where every choice costs something… you’ll want to keep an eye out for this one.

Make sure you’re subscribed to my BookSirens newsletter: https://booksirens.com/author/J0HSJDQ/MSZP4ZD so you don’t miss updates, sneak peeks, and early access when release day gets closer.

Because this crown doesn’t belong to the faithful. It belongs to the faithless.

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Full Chapter Reveal: Crown of the Faithless (Book Five in Dragons of Blackmoor)

R.D. Foster — Fri, 22 Aug 2025 00:00:00 +0000

It’s finally here.

The opening chapter of Crown of the Faithless—Book Five of the Bloodwrought Cycle series—is ready to be shared, and I couldn’t be more excited to finally let you step back into Blackmoor with me.

For those who’ve been following Melissa and Xylar’s journey, this book raises the stakes higher than ever before. Old enemies resurface, loyalties are tested, and the fragile balance in Blackmoor threatens to collapse. But first, the morning after the Founder’s Banquet…

Grab a cup of tea, find a quiet corner, and sink into the first chapter.

Chapter One - After the Banquet

Melissa

The morning after the Founder’s Banquet felt different from the three years I’d celebrated it in Blackmoor. Something in the air carried a shift I couldn’t quite name. Sunlight stretched across my room in soft ribbons, catching on the silver trim of my bedspread and scattering faint patterns on the walls.

Even the quiet chirp of birds outside felt brighter, as if the world had decided overnight to turn itself toward me instead of away.

I sank into the familiar scents of the house as I dressed for school, chamomile and rosemary drifting from the kitchen like they belonged to us, as though they’d chosen our walls to cling to instead of anyone else’s. The perfume of it wrapped around me—steadying, grounding.

I let myself believe, just for a breath, that today might be different.

At my vanity, I brushed a hand across the neatly scattered palette of powders and lip gloss, a ritual more than a necessity. The mirror caught the strands of my hair still undone and the tired curve of my smile.

Blackmoor might thrive on reputation, but here in the soft morning light, it was easier to forget the weight of expectation pressing against my shoulders.

For the first time in a long while, I didn’t feel like a ghost walking through someone else’s story. I felt… awake.

I never wanted to be the kind of girl who got giddy over someone. That wasn’t me—or at least, it wasn’t supposed to be. But with Xylar, it was different. No matter how I tried to steady myself, the memory of last night kept unraveling inside me, tugging at every quiet place I thought I’d locked away.

Our night together hadn’t been just another blur in Blackmoor.

I had given myself to him, fully, flaws and all, and he hadn’t turned away. My thoughts kept circling back to the dance in the empty market district—the way he’d placed my hand over his heart as if it meant something, as if he was letting me in on a secret he didn’t dare say out loud.

He hadn’t said he loved me back. I knew that. But I saw it anyway—in every word, every glance, every time his arms closed around me like I was something worth holding onto. It all felt too perfect to be real.

The dance, the sound of that blind saxophone player carrying through the night, even the way I whispered my confession. Like a dream stitched together out of moments I was afraid wouldn’t last.

I caught my reflection in the mirror as I dragged the brush through my hair, and my thoughts slipped back to the rest of our night after the dance.

The way he’d made my first time feel—careful, unhurried, like every second mattered. Not like before, when his hands had been searching for Athena’s mark, edged with tension he couldn’t quite hide. Last night was different.

He touched me as if I was something to memorize, every inch mapped like he couldn’t bear the thought of letting go. And I knew it wouldn’t be—not if I had any say in what came next. Because his touched hadn’t been the only thing lingered with me, it was also his words.

Also those of my own—pulled from a place deeper than fear, more honest than anything I’d said before. I wasn’t going to keep taking whatever the world decided to give me. Not anymore. If I wanted something, I’d fight for it. Especially if what I wanted was him.

Part of me wanted to hold on to the memory a little longer. The other part couldn’t wait to spill it to Riley. After everything last night, I wanted her to hear it first—while she told me about her own.

I hoped she’d gotten the kind of news that would finally move her closer to her goal of making a name for herself. If anyone deserved that, it was Riley, and I was determined to help her get there.

The thought left a pinch of guilt in my chest. Riley had carried me through more nights than I could count, and I’d let my own mess keep me from doing the same for her. This time I wasn’t going to let my own problems keep me from showing up for her.

I clipped in my hoop earrings, the mirror catching a glimpse of my steadying smile, when the faintest sound stirred behind me—a swoosh, light as breath, followed by the brush of air across my skin. I didn’t need to turn to know. That presence was as unmistakable as the warmth it carried with it.

My lips curved before I even faced him. Xylar leaned against my desk, hands braced as if the room belonged to him, a small smirk tugging at his mouth.

“Hello, Witchling,” he said.

“Xylar.”

I rose from my seat, the word escaping more like a breath than a greeting. I closed the space between us and wound my arms around his neck, kissing him without hesitation. As always, he didn’t pull away.

And with that simple truth, every shadow of doubt faded—the night before hadn’t been my imagination.

It had been real.

I pulled back just enough to catch a breath, my forehead still close to his. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon. I figured Vivian would have you and Will locked in some endless recap of the banquet.”

“The banquet went over quite smoothly,” he said, his smirk sharpening. “So smoothly that even Vivian has been left without complaint—though I’ve no doubt she’ll invent a reason or two before the week is out.”

He gave a small shrug, eyes flicking over me with that unhurried appraisal. “But considering you appear perfectly safe, I’d say any lingering issues from last night are no longer my concern.”

I shook my head, a short laugh slipping out. “You’re not worried about another Moon Gala disaster? Because I really don’t think I’m cut out for another supernatural babysitting shift.”

The memory tugged at me—Jessica Richmond, frightened and stumbling under compulsion, Will deciding that Xylar and I were apparently qualified to keep her in line. Which, of course, ended with us losing her entirely for nearly an hour.

I didn’t hate spending that time with Xylar. What I hated was that it came packaged with Jessica—the same girl who’d made my first year in Blackmoor feel like an initiation into hell. Thankfully, college meant I only had to see her at lunch, and even then, I did my best to forget she existed.

Xylar didn’t answer me right away, as though the question had pulled him somewhere deeper. When he finally spoke, his tone was steady, almost casual.

“I’ve no doubt the vampires seized last night as an opportunity to wedge themselves into matters they don’t belong in. Once I uncover what it is, I’ll deal with it—if, of course, it interferes with my own plan.”

My brows knit, suspicion tugging at me as I studied him. Around him, my guard had a way of slipping, my shoulders falling into something almost lazy.

Still, I pressed. “And what plan is that, exactly?”

His brows lifted slightly, amusement threading through an otherwise bored expression.

“At present? Escorting a certain witch to school. Though I feel I should warn you…” His smirk curved, low and deliberate. “I don’t intend to take no for an answer.”

My smile bloomed again, playful as I tilted my head in mock thought. “So, you’re picking me up and actually going to class? Either someone compelled you… or you secretly miss me.”

Xylar didn’t so much as blink. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t flinch—as though he’d already weighed the words long before I spoke.

“I didn’t come here because I missed you,” he said evenly. “I came because the thought of someone else holding your attention makes me want to tear them apart.”

Heat crept into my cheeks, the kind I couldn’t force away even if I wanted to. My smile stayed, stubbornly etched in place as I shook my head, unwilling to let him see how much those words cut through me.

The words should’ve scared me. Maybe they did. But somewhere in the space between fear and heat, I found myself wanting to believe him.

“Are you always going to be this honest with me?”

It wasn’t a complaint. If anything, it meant more than I could ever explain. In a world split between normal and supernatural, truth was rare. And trust—even rarer.

Plus, it was almost unfair, the way he could make me feel like I meant everything with nothing more than a look. Maybe I needed to practice keeping a straight face—pretending I wasn’t fighting a smile every time he cut past my walls so easily.

His smirk returned, one brow lifting in that infuriating, irresistible way. “Would you prefer I lie to you?”

I gave a playful shrug. “Maybe.”

He laughed low in his chest, the sound curling through me. Then he leaned in, lips hovering near mine long enough to steal the breath I hadn’t even taken yet—before claiming it with a kiss.

I melted into it, tugging at the lapels of his jacket as I guided him toward the bed. The fabric slipped from his shoulders under my hands, my fingers tracing the hard lines of muscle, pausing at the inky mark winding up his right arm. I wrapped myself lazily around his neck, unwilling to let him go, even for air.

His hands slid beneath my shirt, his thumbs teasing just under the edge of my bra. His skin was cold as ever, but somehow he’d never felt warmer against me.

A single knock came at my door—so soft I almost thought I’d imagined it—before it cracked open and Uncle Edgar’s voice drifted in. “Hey Kiddo, you planning to make it to the university today? If not, I’d understand, after the whole Selene thing, but—”

He stopped cold the moment his eyes landed on us.

For a second, he just… froze. His gaze widened, then narrowed in the kind of way that said he was trying very hard to process what he was seeing. Clearing his throat, he straightened his shoulders.

“Ah. Well… clearly, you’ve got plans that don’t involve lectures today.”

His eyes darted between us once, the corners of his mouth twitching like he wasn’t sure whether to frown or sigh. “I’ll, uh… forget I saw this. We’ll talk later, alright?”

Without waiting for an answer, he pulled the door closed behind him, the sound of his retreating footsteps echoing down the hall.

I groaned, pressing both palms to my forehead. Heat rushed to my face as I buried it in my hands. If there was a hole in the floor, I would’ve gladly disappeared into it.

For the first time since moving back to Blackmoor, I wished I had my own place. If only dorms existed here, if only my bookstore paycheck stretched further than tuition. Privacy. Freedom. Neither belonged to me. Not here.

“Great,” I muttered, my voice smaller than I meant it to be, edged with frustration. “Now I get to look forward to the world’s most awkward talk about having a guy over.”

Xylar tilted his head, his voice dripping with mock ease. “I doubt Edgar cares that you’ve got a guy in here. He cares that the guy happens to be me.”

He let the words linger, savoring the weight of them, before a quiet laugh slipped past his lips.

“Anyone else, and he’d pat them on the back and remind them to keep the door shut. But with me? He’s likely downstairs pouring himself a drink, wondering why his niece had to go and choose a Thorne of all people.”

A laugh escaped me, soft and dry. “Oh, don’t flatter yourself. He’d probably be just as horrified if it were the pizza delivery guy.”

His steel-blue eyes locked on mine then, cutting through everything else in the room. The way he looked at me… I could never get tired of it. My smile lingered as I lifted my hand to his cheek, the cool of his skin grounding me.

“Hopefully one day, he’ll see what I see in you.”

Xylar’s thumb brushed along my cheek, his touch softer than I expected from someone like him. I drew in a breath, steadying myself before I spoke. “If my uncle’s not okay with this… then maybe we should at least try to respect that.”

His gaze never wavered, voice dropping to something low and unshakable. “If that’s what you wish, I’ll play along. But understand this, Melissa—his opinion won’t change what I am to you.”

I nodded, no words needed. Because he was right. It wouldn’t change for me either. Not only because I loved him, but because he’d become one of the few people I’d chosen to keep close.

It still hurt, knowing my mother had chosen to stay away. But when I thought of Irene, of Edgar, of Riley—and now Xylar, Will, and the others—I realized I wasn’t defined by her absence. I wasn’t empty because of her choice. I already had a family. One that chose me back.

Pushing up from the bed, I ran a hand through my hair, still trying to shake off the heat in my cheeks.

“We should probably get to school,” I said with a small, rueful smile. “Before my uncle changes his mind and decides I need a curfew… or a list of house rules taped to my door.”

What almost passed for a smile curved across his lips. “If it’s rules he wants, he’ll be disappointed. I’ve never been one to follow them—especially when it comes to you. And I don’t intend to start now.”

I stood, a quiet laugh slipping out, though my chest felt warmer than I wanted to admit. “Honestly, I’m surprised you haven’t gotten me to break any rules yet.”

We stepped out of my room, the door clicking shut behind me. Xylar slowed just enough to glance down, his smirk tugging as he slid his hands into his pockets.

“Oh, I will,” he murmured, his voice low and unshakably certain. His gaze caught mine, lingering. “The only question, Witchling… is which rule you’ll enjoy breaking first.”

I shook my head, fighting another smile. Somehow, I knew things were only going to get wilder from here.

Loving someone from the most dangerous family in the supernatural world was one thing. But today—today felt like the beginning of something heavier. With the Moon Festival behind us, there was nothing left to keep people like Vivian from circling closer, while the rest of Blackmoor decided whether to fight the vampires or bring down the Thrones.

I couldn’t afford to rush back into things the way I had before. Not if I wanted to survive what was coming. But when the moment came… I already knew the question I’d be asking myself.

The same one Xylar had left me with. Which rule I’d be willing to break first. Because this time, it wouldn’t be about what the world handed me. It would be about what I chose.

* * *

The first wing always felt longer when you were being watched. My shoes clicked against the polished floor as I made my way toward Nathan’s classroom—204—with Xylar at my side. He walked like he always did, with that quiet confidence that said nothing could touch him.

I wished I could mirror even a fraction of that. But the stares were impossible to ignore—the sharp, cutting ones from the girls, the curious ones from the guys. Xylar drew attention whether he wanted it or not.

Dragon Sin of Lust. A Thorne. And just… Xylar. Standing next to him only reminded me how out of place I felt, like stepping back into senior year as the new girl with no anchor.

Back then, at least I’d had Riley. She was the one who made that first day survivable. But this morning, she wasn’t here—and the silence where her voice should’ve been was starting to gnaw at me.

No call, no run-ins, nothing since the Founder’s Banquet last night. The silence left a weight in my chest I couldn’t shake.

I slipped a hand into my bag until my fingers closed around my phone. No new messages. My stomach dipped a little as I opened our thread anyway, scrolling to the last text Riley had sent: You bailing on me again, or are you actually going to this party with me?

I’d never answered. Not after the way the night had gone with Xylar.

Biting my lip, I typed quickly: Where are you? You know we don’t have today off, right? Call me.

The sigh that escaped me was heavier than I meant it to be.

Beside me, Xylar’s voice broke through, low and steady. “Is there something I should be concerned about?”

I hesitated, staring down at the blank screen like an answer might appear if I waited long enough. Maybe she was hungover, running late. But it didn’t sit right.

Riley never risked her perfect record—not when she was already mapping out her future as a marketing coordinator and swore one missed class could ruin her chances.

And she didn’t just show up. She over-prepared, arrived early, made sure I never slipped behind. If she was silent now… something was wrong.

I tapped my phone against my palm, eyes drifting but not really focusing.

“I don’t know… maybe I’m overthinking it,” I admitted softly. “Still trying to decide.”

My gaze flicked to Xylar just as he started to speak, but the sound of hurried footsteps pulled my attention down the hall. At first, I thought it was just another student running late. But then I saw who it was.

Salis. Concern etched across his face, and beside him—another guy with the same look. Handsome in that unfair genes way, but what caught me more was the mark on his arm. The same as Salis. Vampire, without question.

A crease pulled at my brow. The numbers were growing, faster than I’d realized. And from the way both of them looked, their concern wasn’t random.

It was aimed straight at me and Xylar.

My grip on my phone tightened, a ripple of unease running through me. If something had happened last night… if this was connected… Riley’s silence pressed heavier against my chest. And then, unprovoked and unwanted, Markham’s face surfaced in my mind—like a warning I should have seen coming.

Salis and the other guy skidded to a stop in front of us, both of them carrying the same look—like they had news but couldn’t decide which one of them should be the one to speak it. The air between us tightened, and I tried to break it before it strangled me.

“Did something happen?” I asked, eyes on Salis. “Because you both look worried.”

He shook his head too quickly, the corners of his mouth twitching like the lie was fighting its way out. “What? No. Everything’s fine. Totally fine. Why would something bad have happened?”

I arched a brow. “Maybe because you were running toward us like madmen. Usually people don’t sprint down hallways unless something’s gone horribly wrong.”

My gaze slid toward Xylar, half-expecting him to back me up—or at least confirm I wasn’t imagining the tension. But when I looked at him, his attention wasn’t on me at all. His eyes were locked on the other guy, steel burning in the space between them, as if some offense had already been committed in the seconds since they arrived.

And from the way the guy stared right back at him, unflinching, I couldn’t shake the feeling they’d met before.

My attention snapped back to Salis before I could question the way Xylar and the other vampire were practically locked in some silent battle.

“We just didn’t want to be late for class,” Salis said quickly. “Especially not on Callen’s first day.”

His words were for me, but his eyes kept darting between Xylar and Callen—like something was being left unsaid.

“Wait,” I cut in, blinking. “There’s going to be another vampire attending St. Oswald?”

“Class?” Xylar repeated, his voice low with disdain. “Surely you don’t expect me to believe that’s the best use of his time. No… I’d think someone like Callen has far more pressing matters to occupy himself with. In fact, I’m certain of it.”

His voice dipped lower, words curling with a weight I’d never heard in a classroom. It wasn’t a comment. It was a warning. And it wasn’t for me.

Salis, to his credit, didn’t flinch. “Yeah, fun fact—Callen’s officially a transfer student. Turns out the estate isn’t exactly five-star living right now. Things are… let’s call it complicated. Someone should probably check before it blows up into a full-on disaster.”

Xylar’s gaze finally tore from Callen and cut toward Salis, the burn of it sharp enough to make even me want to look away. Callen’s shoulders loosened almost imperceptibly, like he’d been holding a breath too long.

The air between them was so sharp I almost flinched, even though their fight wasn’t with me. Still, part of me wondered how long it would take before I became collateral.

I frowned. “Complicated how?”

Salis only shrugged, throwing on his best grin. “You know vampires. Drama’s kind of the hobby. Nothing you need to stress over.”

But his brows betrayed him, lifting in that way that meant he was anything but carefree. His grin stayed in place, but his eyes kept flicking toward Xylar like he was counting seconds until he could walk away.

Before I could press again, Callen finally spoke, voice calm but steady.“Still, some drama deserves privacy. He and I will speak when the moment’s right.”

The words landed heavier than they should have, like an invisible line had been drawn and I was standing on the wrong side of it. To me, it sounded like a vampire throwing weight around. But from the way Xylar’s gaze sharpened, I knew there was more I wasn’t hearing.

Salis jumped in fast, as if to cover the crack Callen had just let slip.

“Anyway, we should probably get to class before the bell makes it obvious we’re late. Melissa, you don’t want to start a record, right?” His eyes flicked from Xylar to me, pointed. “We should go.”

“Wait—hold on, you can’t just drop that and drag me off—” I tried, but Salis was already guiding me down the hall, his hand firm on my arm.

And when I glanced at him, I caught the look he gave Xylar. A look that promised the conversation wasn’t over.

I didn’t know what they were hiding, but I planned to find out—about the new vampire, about his connection to Xylar, about whatever the three of them thought they could keep from me. It wasn’t even five hours into my morning, and already my “normal” was being swallowed whole by everything that wasn’t.

When I glanced back, Xylar was still glaring at Callen, irritation carved sharp into his expression before he finally pulled him away in the opposite direction. A weight pressed down in my chest, the kind that whispered I wouldn’t be seeing Xylar again today.

And if Xylar was being pulled into it, then maybe Riley already had been too.

The thought sank its claws in, and no matter how I tried to shake it, I couldn’t. Riley had a way of finding the edges of trouble. And this time, I was terrified she’d found more than she could crawl back from.

✨ That’s the beginning—but only a glimpse of what’s coming in Crown of the Faithless.

The choices Melissa faces in this book will redefine what it means to fight for love, for legacy, and for survival in Blackmoor.

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📣 Cover Reveal – Book 5 of the Dragons of Blackmoor Series

R.D. Foster — Wed, 13 Aug 2025 00:00:00 +0000

The Bloodwrought Cycle continues…

The race is on for the bones of Omari. Loyalties will fracture. Secrets will burn. And one heart will stop beating—at least, for a while.

In the shadows, unlikely bonds form, dangerous alliances take root, and old debts come due. From the streets of Oregon to the quiet halls of St. Oswald, every step forward brings the players closer to betrayal… and to each other.

When the final die falls, not even an Original Sin will be safe.

Crown of the Faithless — coming soon.

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When Lucien Speaks... Blackmoor Listens

R.D. Foster — Mon, 4 Aug 2025 00:00:00 +0000

Embedded Youtube video removed, see original post to watch.
A Voice for Markham—Read by Andrew Lees

Actor Andrew Lees lends his voice to one of Blackmoor’s most refined and sharp-tongued characters in this exclusive excerpt from Dragons of Blackmoor Universe.

While this reading is presented in audiobook style, Andrew’s delivery captures the elegant cadence and subtle edge that define Markham—equal parts wit and quiet danger.

If you’ve met Markham on the page, now you can hear him brought to life.

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THE WAR IS COMING. ARE YOU READY FOR BOOK 4?

R.D. Foster — Wed, 30 Jul 2025 00:00:00 +0000

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Prepare For A War

R.D. Foster — Thu, 10 Jul 2025 00:00:00 +0000

Prologue

Wren

The city never bothered to hide what it really was—especially not here. The buildings leaned into each other like they’d grown tired of standing alone, bricks marked with age and tagged by every kid who thought their name deserved to be remembered. The air carried a damp weight, the kind that clung to your skin and made everything smell faintly of rust.

Rain had come earlier, but it hadn’t washed anything clean. If anything, it stirred up the kind of dirt that never stayed gone for long. I didn’t flinch when the overhead wires crackled or when a car engine backfired three blocks over.

Blackmoor taught its own kind of instincts—you learned which sounds to worry about and which ones were just trying to keep you jumpy.

I knew this street.

I knew the cracks in the sidewalk and which steps creaked in the stairwell behind the old laundromat. Places like this weren’t supposed to unsettle me—not when I’d been walking them since I was too young to understand what danger really meant.

But tonight… there was something different about the quiet. Like a conversation someone stopped the second you walked in. Like breath held too long behind closed doors.

I tugged my jacket tighter around me, not because I was cold but because I knew better than to leave myself exposed. The past few nights had been quiet—unusually so—but that didn’t mean anything good. In a place like this, silence never came empty-handed. It brought something with it.

And whatever it was, I had the sinking feeling it was already watching me.

I slipped one earbud in and let the music carry me, not because it helped me relax—but because it gave the world a volume dial. Some nights, you just needed to turn it down.

The shortcut I took wasn’t charming, but it saved time. A cracked alley that ran behind the gas station, past the back of the liquor store, and emptied out just a few blocks from my apartment. The chain-link fence was still bent from the last time someone tried to climb it drunk, and the lamplight didn’t quite reach the middle stretch.

But I’d walked it a hundred times. Enough to know where not to step and which shadows didn’t mean anything.

Except tonight, I wasn’t alone.

The moment I rounded the corner, I spotted them—Patrick, hunched on an upside-down crate, mumbling through the tail end of a joke. Spence leaned against the graffiti-tagged wall like it owed him something. And then there was Buck, sprawled across the curb like a drunk king holding court.

They weren’t strangers. Just the kind of men you learned to sidestep. Loud enough to make you speed up your walk, but too lazy to actually follow. Usually.

Tonight, Buck stood when he saw me.

“Hey, Wren,” he slurred, swaggering forward with the kind of smile that made you want to peel your skin off. “Didn’t think we’d see you again this late, sweetheart.”

I kept my pace steady. I didn’t give him my eyes. Men like Buck thrived on that—on attention, on reaction. Deny them both, and half the time, they folded.

But not this time.

“You’re always in a rush,” he said, following. I heard the scuff of his boots on concrete behind me. “C’mon, stay a little while. We got a bottle, we got music—what else you need?”

My jaw clenched. “What I need,” I said without looking back, “is for you to stay where you are.”

I knew the second I cut through the alley that I’d made a mistake.

Their footsteps trailed behind me, echoing off the brick like slow, steady warnings. Patrick was the first to speak, something half-mumbled about how I always acted too good to talk. Spence laughed—sharp and empty—as if the sound alone might intimidate me.

I gripped my purse strap tighter and kept walking, head high, heart already tightening in my chest. The exit wasn’t far. Just past the overflowing dumpster and the sagging wooden fence where someone had spray-painted NO GODS HERE.

But I never made it that far.

A shuffle of movement blocked my path, and before I could turn, Patrick stepped in close, eyes glassy with something that wasn’t just alcohol. He reached for my purse.

“Don’t touch me,” I snapped, jerking back and twisting away before his fingers could close around the strap. My voice came out sharper than I intended, but it didn’t matter—not when the other two were closing in behind me.

Spence lit a match and flicked it at my feet. The tiny flame sputtered out on the pavement, but the message was clear enough.

They weren’t here to flirt.

They were here to trap.

“Easy,” Buck drawled, lifting both hands like he was the voice of reason in a crowd of hyenas. “We’re not here to scare her, fellas. We just want to try and get to know her.”

He stepped in close—too close—and brushed his hand along my cheek like he had the right to.

“How about it?” he murmured, that beer-slick breath coiling around the words like a noose. “We’ll show you a real good time.”

I slapped his hand away and drove my knee up hard—right where it’d hurt most. Buck doubled over with a sound that was more rage than pain, and I didn’t wait for him to recover.

“Back off,” I warned, taking a step back. “I’m not in the mood to play nice tonight.”

But Patrick just laughed like I’d told a good joke. Spence followed with one of those low, wheezing chuckles that never meant anything good.

“Shut up,” Buck snarled, still bent over. “Grab her.”

They moved. Not fast, but with the kind of swagger that said they didn’t think I was a threat. That I was just another girl who’d scream and beg and maybe get lucky enough to be left alive afterward.

My back hit the wall. Nowhere to run.

I shoved a hand into my purse, fingers searching blindly for the mace I always kept tucked beneath the inner flap. If I could get even one of them in the eyes, maybe I’d have enough time to shove past the others. Maybe—

Spence was gone.

One second, he was there—grinning, close enough that I could smell his cheap cologne—and the next, he was just… gone. Like something had plucked him straight out of the air.

We all looked up at once, as if expecting to see him hovering there somehow, suspended in a joke none of us were in on.

“Spence?” Patrick called out, turning in a slow circle. “Yo—what the hell?”

A faint shout echoed above, then faded into nothing.

Gone.

Just like that and suddenly, it wasn’t just me who was afraid.

Patrick vanished next.

It wasn’t flashy—just a rough drag to the right, fast enough that I barely caught the motion. A loud crash followed, the sharp clang of a trashcan tipping over and rolling across the pavement.

Buck spun around in a panic. “Patrick?” His voice cracked, his bravado thinning. “What the hell is going on?”

He turned back to me, eyes wide and wild. “Was this you?” he barked. “You set us up or somethin’? Got friends hiding out here?”

I stared at him like he’d lost what little sense he had. “You’re the one who followed me into a damn alley, remember?” I shot back. “How is this my fault?”

The sound of footsteps echoed from the left—unhurried, polished, like someone walking into a party they already owned.

Then came the voice. Smooth. Controlled. Laced with just enough menace to let you know he didn’t bluff. “Three against one in the dark,” he said, tone almost amused. “If you’re gonna be cowards, at least make it interesting. Frankly, I couldn’t watch you embarrass yourselves any longer.”

Buck didn’t say a word.

Neither did I.

Because whoever this man was, he had no fear in his tone, no rush in his movements. And the scariest people are the ones who sound entertained by chaos—like they’ve done this before, and they’ll do it again just to see how the story ends.

And right now, it was pretty clear who the story was about to end with.

Something hit the ground with a thud.

It bounced once before coming to a stop near my boots—round, heavy, and soaked. I didn’t realize what it was until it turned over, revealing Spence’s face. Mouth open. Eyes frozen wide with the kind of terror you didn’t fake.

My stomach turned. I stumbled back, breath caught in my throat as I kicked it away out of reflex. The head rolled sideways, coming to a final rest in the dirt like some grotesque offering.

Buck lost it.

“Jeez—what the hell are you?” he shouted at the man, backing toward the nearest wall like that might somehow save him. “What kind of freak just rips someone’s head off?!”

His voice cracked halfway through the sentence. He wasn’t posturing anymore.

He wasn’t thinking about me either.

To him, I was no longer the smallest threat in the alley. There was a bigger predator now, and Buck had finally figured out he was the prey.

And for the first time, I wasn’t sure if I counted as prey too.

Because there was no way he was just going to let me walk away. Not after I’d seen this.

A second figure appeared like mist unfurling from the shadows. A woman, wiping something dark from the corner of her mouth with practiced ease. She was beautiful in a way that didn’t sit right—like a painting you couldn’t tell was cursed until it blinked.

She glanced down at the head on the ground, then at Buck. “Vampires,” she said calmly. “Particularly nasty ones.”

Her voice was soft, almost pleasant.

“But then,” she added, with a tilt of her head, “so are men who hunt women in alleyways.”

They stepped closer.

The man and the woman—whoever they were—didn’t rush, didn’t threaten. They just moved with a quiet certainty that set every nerve in my body screaming.

Buck didn’t wait to see what they’d do.

He spun on his heel and bolted, shouting down the alley like someone might actually come help him. “Somebody! Help! They’re gonna kill me!”

The voice behind me came low and smooth. “Salis, if you’d be so kind.”

I barely turned my head when something rushed past me like a gust of wind. One second, Buck was still screaming. The next, he wasn’t.

His body crumpled near the alley’s mouth, limp and lifeless, the back of his head landing in a shallow puddle with a muted splash.

A boy stood over him.

At least, he looked like a boy. Couldn’t have been older than nineteen, dressed like someone who’d just stepped out of a thrift store and didn’t care what anyone thought of it. His expression, though—bored, maybe even mildly annoyed—belonged to someone who’d seen more than he wanted to.

He looked from Buck’s body back to the others and let out a sigh. “When you said we were going out tonight, I thought you meant for drinks. You know, blow off some steam. Not,” he motioned loosely to the mess, “murder alley edition.”

The woman gave a flick of her hand, gesturing to Buck’s lifeless body. “If that was truly your expectation, you should have remained at the estate with Markham. He enjoys illusions.”

She tilted her head, eyes flicking over to the corpse. “Though if you're still thirsty… there you go.”

Salis wrinkled his nose and stepped over Buck like he was little more than a crumpled fast-food wrapper. “I’ll pass,” he muttered. “Pretty sure this one thinks deodorant is a government conspiracy.”

I watched them, still frozen where I stood. They talked like this happened every other Friday night—like death was just another bump in the evening plans. There was blood on the ground. A man’s body cooling at their feet. And yet none of them so much as blinked.

My mind whispered to run, but my legs had already betrayed me—rooted by something colder than fear.

Buck had tried to run and now his body was already leaking into the pavement.

If what that woman had said was true—if they really were vampires—then I wasn’t just trapped in the middle of some horror story. I was the final girl, standing in the third act, and I wasn’t sure if I’d make it to the credits. After everything I’d seen, it was hard not to believe them.

The man’s voice pulled my focus again. Still calm. Still in control.

“Ease up, Count Angstula. You’re killing the vibe,” he said with a dry edge, like he’d said it a hundred times.

“Three weeks of moping around since the Moon Gala’s enough. You needed air. This is air. Besides…” He glanced down at Buck, then back at Salis. “You didn’t really think we came out just to stretch our legs, did you?”

Salis gave a tired sigh but didn’t argue. His gaze drifted briefly in my direction, and though there was no threat behind it, I still straightened up—unsure if I should look away or hold my ground.

I started easing my way along the wall, slow and quiet, hoping the shadows would do me a favor and swallow me whole. My fingers brushed the edge of my purse, fumbling inside until they closed around the tiny bottle of mace. Not much, but it was something. I took one step—then nearly lost my footing.

The scrape of my boot catching on an empty beer bottle echoed louder than it had any right to. It clattered against the concrete, spinning off into the dark like a traitor announcing my every move.

All three of them turned toward me.

The way their eyes locked on—too still, too sharp—it was like they’d forgotten I was there until the sound reminded them. Until I reminded them.

I yanked the mace out and held it up with both hands like it was a gun. “Don’t—don’t come near me,” I said, even as the words made me feel smaller. “I swear I’ll use it.”

I didn’t even see her move.

One second the woman was beside Dorian and the next she was directly in front of me, her hand gripping my wrist with a force that made my fingers go slack. The mace clattered to the ground.

I winced but didn’t cry out. Not for her.

“Don’t be foolish,” she said coldly, her voice low but edged with something sharper than threat—certainty. “If we wanted you dead, you'd already be lying next to the one who tried to hurt you.”

The woman let go of my wrist, finally, and I pulled it back instinctively, cradling it against my chest. The ache still throbbed, but it wasn’t the pain that stuck with me. It was her words.

“We’re not here to offer you death,” she said, calm as anything. “We’re here to offer you a choice.”

A choice?

My brows knit together as I stared at her, trying to make sense of the sudden shift in tone. “You want to make me an offer,” I said slowly, “but you don’t even know me.”

My gaze flicked to the two who had come with her—Salis, who looked like he was already bored of this conversation, and Dorian who hadn’t taken his eyes off me since I spoke. Then I looked back at her, trying to read whatever twisted version of kindness she was peddling.

“We don’t need to know you,” Dorian said.

I turned toward him just as he started walking over, not rushing—confident. Controlled. His voice was smooth and something about it made my skin prickle.

“But from what we’ve seen,” he continued, “we know enough. You’re a fighter. A person who, even when backed up against a wall—literally—and outnumbered, didn’t fold. You didn’t beg, didn’t break. You stood your ground.”

He came to a stop in front of me, hands tucked casually in his pockets, eyes fixed on mine. Not in a threatening way. Just… steady. Calculating.

“That’s the kind of person we’re looking for.”

The pieces started falling into place.

I stared at them—really stared—as the idea hit me square in the chest. My attention snagged briefly on the sound of a hospital truck speeding past the far end of the alley, sirens cutting through the night like a warning I was already too late to take. Then I looked back at the three of them, my voice slower than I intended and twice as unsure.

“Wait… are you asking me to be a vampire?” The words felt ridiculous coming out of my mouth. “Like, blood-draining, sunlight-hating, sleeping-in-coffins vampire?”

Salis, who had been leaning against the brick wall like he was waiting for a bus, let out a quiet laugh.

“Is sleeping in coffins still part of the PR package?” he asked dryly. “I mean, we could get you one—if you’re into that sort of thing. But trust me, beds are a lot more comfortable.”

I didn’t laugh. I just blinked at him, then turned my attention back to Dorian.

“Why me?” I asked. “You probably passed a hundred people on your way here tonight. A hundred people in this state alone who’d throw themselves at the chance to become what you are. What makes me so special?”

It wasn’t him who answered.

The woman stepped forward slightly, her gaze level. “Because we don’t just want anyone,” she said. “If we did, this town would be crawling with vampires.”

Dorian’s voice cut through the quiet again, steady and compelling in a way that made it hard not to listen.

“Olivia’s right,” he said. “Like I told you before—you’re a fighter. A smart one. Someone who doesn’t just roll over and let life take what it wants. You fight back. Even when it’s messy. Even when it’s impossible.”

He took a step closer, not threatening, just… sure of himself. Sure of me.

“What I’m offering you is power. Not the fantasy kind. Real power. Enough to never be in this position again. Enough to stop men like that—” his gaze flicked to the body slumped nearby, “—from ever laying a hand on you, or anyone else.”

He met my eyes. “All I ask is that you make the smart choice. Join us.”

I looked down, just briefly. Buck’s body hadn’t moved. Of course it hadn’t. That’s the thing about death—it tends to make a point.

The truth was, I had spent most of my life waiting around. Working a job I didn’t love, surrounded by people who barely noticed I was there unless something needed cleaning or fixing or done quietly behind the scenes. I was never the one anyone called strong. I was just… there.

But maybe I didn’t want to be just there anymore.

So what was a little blood… when everything else had already been taken from me?

Salis pushed off the wall with a shrug.

“Or,” he said casually, “you could walk away. If it’s not your thing, we get it. Not everyone wants to be undead and fabulous.”

He offered a crooked smile. “But I’m just saying—there are some pretty cool perks.”

I shook my head slowly—not in refusal, but in something like awe. Or maybe disbelief that I’d already made up my mind before I even realized it.

The silence between us deepened. I could still feel Olivia’s grip ghosting along my wrist, Dorian’s voice threading through every doubt I hadn’t dared name.

Maybe I should’ve asked more questions. Maybe I should’ve run when I had the chance. But all I could think about was how easily they erased the kind of men who had always walked freely.

And for once—I didn’t want to survive it. I wanted to stop it.

“I want to do it,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended. A shaky breath followed as I glanced between Olivia and Dorian. “I want to become a vampire.”

There was no taking it back now.

Dorian’s smile spread across his face, not mocking or smug, just... pleased. Like he’d been waiting for me to say it all along.

“I knew I liked something about you,” he said, and then—just like that—his fangs extended.

It wasn’t like in the movies. There was no dramatic sound effect, no flash of red in his eyes. Just the smooth, natural shift of a predator showing its teeth.

Without hesitation, he bit into his own wrist. Blood welled from the two small punctures, dark and gleaming in the moonlight.

He held it out to me like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t the single most irreversible choice I’d ever make.

“Drink,” he said, voice low. “The next part won’t be comfortable, but when you wake up... you’ll be stronger than you’ve ever been.”

I stared at the blood.

Then at him.

And then—at everything I was about to leave behind.

I didn’t say anything. Just nodded.

Swallowed hard.

Never in my life did I think I’d have to drink someone else’s blood. But if this new life required it… I figured I might as well get used to it now.

The alley felt colder suddenly, like the air itself was bracing for what came next. I could still smell smoke on my coat, and under it—something coppery and sharp. Blood, maybe. Or fear. Hard to tell anymore.

I reached for his arm and lowered my mouth to his wrist.

The taste was warm. Metallic. Too human to feel holy. Too ancient to feel wrong. It slid across my tongue like a promise I didn’t fully understand—but couldn’t turn away from either.

When I finally pulled back, Dorian was still watching me. Still smiling. Like he’d seen this moment a hundred times, and it never stopped fascinating him.

“So... now what?” I asked, though the weight of what I’d just done was already settling in my bones.

“Now for the not-so-fun part,” he said softly, his hands lifting to either side of my face. His fingers were cold—but steady. Reverent, almost. Like I was something sacred to him now.

“Welcome to the family.”

I didn’t get the chance to say anything else.

There was a crack of bone, a flash of pain—

—and then, silence.

The world folded in on itself. And I fell with it.

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The Shadows Stir: The Awakening of Shadows is Coming!

R.D. Foster — Thu, 19 Jun 2025 00:00:00 +0000

Get ready, Bloodwrought Cycle fans! The wait is almost over. Book Three in the series, The Awakening of Shadows, is set to unleash its secrets next week!

You've delved into the gripping mysteries of Blackmoor with Dragons of Blackmoor and navigated the treacherous loyalties in Whispers from the Hollow. Now, prepare to plunge even deeper into a world where ancient feuds ignite, magic holds devastating truths, and the lines between good and evil are impossibly blurred.

In The Awakening of Shadows, Melissa's journey continues as she confronts her burgeoning witch powers and the shocking truths hidden within her family's past. Watch as her complex relationship with Xylar Thorne, the brooding dragon of sin, intensifies amidst new threats and old betrayals. You thought you knew the Thornes, the Moores, and the vampires of Blackmoor? Think again. This book will challenge everything you believe about loyalty, power, and what truly lurks in the shadows.

Readers have consistently praised the series for its "interesting and gripping" story and "realistic and strong" characters, noting that the MFC (Melissa) is "independent while also realistically falling in love" and the MMC (Xylar) is "everything you want a brooding and protective character to be". Prepare for more of the compelling character dynamics and morally gray choices that make this series unforgettable.

Will Melissa awaken powers she can't control? Will Xylar's protective instincts be enough to shield her from a past that refuses to stay buried? And what ancient evils are stirring, ready to shatter the fragile peace of Blackmoor?

Find out when The Awakening of Shadows arrives next week! You won't want to miss how these shadows awaken!

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Blackmoor Unleashed: Bloodlines, Forbidden Magic, and Ancient Threats Erupt

R.D. Foster — Tue, 10 Jun 2025 00:00:00 +0000

In the enigmatic town of Blackmoor, Melissa, a young woman with newly awakened magical abilities, finds herself drawn into a clandestine world of witches, vampires, and ancient secrets. Her discovery of being a witch from the powerful Moore lineage quickly intertwines her fate with the formidable Thorne family, who strictly forbid the very "Blood Magic" that saved her Aunt Irene from a century-long curse.

As Melissa grapples with her new reality and the dangerous implications of her power, she's forced to join forces with Xylar, a Thorne and powerful dragon, to hunt down a witch implicated in recent deaths within the magical community. This uneasy alliance exposes deeper rifts within the Thorne family itself, as Xylar's brother, Will, confronts him about his questionable loyalties and past betrayals.

Meanwhile, the newly returned Irene, Melissa's aunt, discovers a Blackmoor far changed from her memory – a world where vampires roam freely and ancient evils stir. Her attempts to bridge the divide between the warring factions uncover unsettling truths, including the shocking revelation that Melissa's seemingly deceased mother, Selene Moore, is alive and has been for years.

With dangerous powers resurfacing, long-buried memories threatening to expose hidden histories, and loyalties constantly tested, Melissa, Irene, Xylar, and Will must navigate a treacherous landscape. The choices they make will determine not only their own survival but the fate of Blackmoor itself, as the lines between past and present, ally and enemy, become increasingly blurred.

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📣 Cover Reveal: The Awakening of Shadows (Bloodwrought Cycle, Book Three)

R.D. Foster — Wed, 28 May 2025 00:00:00 +0000

The time has come.

I’m beyond excited to finally reveal the official cover and title for Book Three in the Bloodwrought Cycle—Dragons of Blackmoor: The Awakening of Shadows.

This next chapter marks a turning point in the series. With dark forces rising, old loyalties fracturing, and Melissa caught in the middle of a forbidden awakening, the world of Blackmoor will never be the same.

She wasn't the first to hear the whispers—but she was the one who listened.

As secrets buried deep in the Hollow Vale claw their way into the light, Athena, the ancient witch once sealed away, begins to stir—using Melissa as her unwilling conduit. Coven bonds fracture, vampires resurface with blood-ties and betrayal, and the Thornes are no longer the only power left standing.

Oh, and did I mention Xylar’s ex is back? And she’s not human.

With romance, danger, and magic colliding, The Awakening of Shadows is the most intense, emotional installment yet.

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Countdown to Chaos: Preparing for the Blood Moon

R.D. Foster — Fri, 16 May 2025 00:00:00 +0000

In Whispers from the Hollow, the moon doesn't just rise—it warns.

With the Blood Moon on the horizon, Blackmoor is tightening like a noose. Old legends stir, iron daggers whisper in diaries, and creatures long thought extinct are clawing back into the town’s bloodline. The vampires aren’t just back—they’re organized, angry, and armed with century-old grudges. And if they succeed under the Blood Moon’s crimson light, Blackmoor won’t survive the night.

“I wasn’t just walking back into their world. I was here to end it.”

Dorian’s vendetta runs deep, and he's not alone. Olivia is back, lethal as ever, with mercenaries in tow and her own unfinished business. They don’t need armies—they just need the right moment. And the Blood Moon? It’s more than a moment. It’s prophecy.

“Vivian’s little stunt at the Moon Festival is going to echo. Once word gets out a Moore’s still alive, the ones looking to finish what they started will come crawling out of the woodwork.”

The Thornes—Blackmoor’s ruling family and dragons of sin—are no saints, but they’re also the last line standing between order and chaos. With the Moore girl resurfacing and forbidden magics resurfacing, the game isn’t about politics anymore—it’s about survival.

“The truth was already shifting beneath it.”

As past and present collide, the town’s carefully buried truths threaten to erupt. If the vampires unlock what they’re hunting—daggers forged to kill even dragons—it could mean the end of the Thornes... and everyone under their protection.

The Blood Moon isn’t just a backdrop. It’s a catalyst. A spotlight. A deadline.

And in Blackmoor, everyone bleeds eventually.

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Revenge, Witchcraft, and the Blood Moon Rising: A Look Into Dragons of Blackmoor

R.D. Foster — Sat, 10 May 2025 00:00:00 +0000

Blackmoor is shifting.

Old threats are rising. Ancient power is stirring. And the ones caught in the middle? They're either going to burn—or change everything.

Here's a glimpse into what’s coming. In this exclusive audio overview it unravels the tangled alliances, family bloodlines, and deadly secrets brewing behind the gates of Blackmoor.

From Dorian’s resurrection and Olivia’s brutal return, to Melissa Moore discovering the truth about her legacy, this is your first look into the chaos unfolding under the next Blood Moon.

🎧 Listen below for a spoiler-light breakdown of the key players and conflicts shaping the next chapter of Dragons of Blackmoor.

The Blood Moon is coming. Are you ready?

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The Silence Before the Chaos

R.D. Foster — Tue, 6 May 2025 00:00:00 +0000

Chapter One: Ashes & Echoes

Dorian

The air smelled of dew-soaked stone and fading ash—cold and clean, with the faintest trace of last night’s fire still clinging to the hallway behind me. From this height, Blackmoor looked deceptively soft. Mist coiled through the trees below, blurring rooftops and chapel spires in a haze of pale gold. Morning light filtered through the fog like the town was being remembered inch by inch.

I extended my hand into the sunlight, letting it graze my skin just long enough to recall what warmth used to feel like—before it turned cruel. The heat lingered for a moment, tender, almost nostalgic. The kind that clung to stones in summer. The kind that made you believe mornings were meant to be peaceful.

Then the pain bloomed.

The burning crept in, slow and biting. Smoke rose in thin spirals from my knuckles, and the wind tried in vain to scatter it. I didn’t move. Pain like this, I allowed. It was one of the few things I still chose to feel after resurrection—a reminder of everything I gave up.

“A small price,” I murmured, watching the mark on my arm pulse—faint, but sharp enough to make the world flinch. It recognized I no longer belonged to it. And honestly? The feeling was mutual.

A memory surged—uninvited, sharp around the edges—as my skin began to stitch itself back together. The night I returned. Not from a grave; nothing that dignified. Just dirt. Cold, packed, and forgotten.

Half a century after Tessa killed me.

I still remember the last thing I saw—Tessa’s hand closing around my throat, her grip tightening with that signature elegance of hers. Then she tore. No hesitation. Just a clean, brutal rip—and my head left my body like it was nothing.

No warning. No final words. Just silence, and soil, and five decades of being buried.

My hand tightened around the railing as I forced the memory back down. Death may have dulled the edges, but the pain? The fury? Those stayed sharp—still mine to wield. I planned to use both to finish what I started. The Thornes wouldn’t survive me twice.

When I rose. I spent the next hundred and thirty years chasing ghosts—Moores, specifically—to finish what I started. Names, bloodlines, whispers. And just when I was ready to stop looking... I found one.

“Can you run it by me again—what our master plan is for getting revenge on the Thornes?”

Salis’s voice cut through the quiet behind me, casual on the surface but laced with that familiar thread of doubt.

I glanced over my shoulder as Salis stepped into the room, wearing the same skeptical expression he always pulled when he thought one of my plans was flawed but hadn’t quite worked up the nerve to say so.

I rolled my eyes and turned to face him, letting the smirk rise like it had a mind of its own. “Is this your way of telling me you forgot the plan?” I let the sarcasm hang for a beat, then added, “Or are you just hoping I’ve come up with something more dramatic since breakfast?”

His shoulders lifted in a faint shrug. “I’m just saying...” He hesitated, gaze flicking away. “We lost Rook. And without the journal, it feels like we’re just... stuck here. Waiting for something that’s not coming.”

His voice wavered slightly, a flicker of something softer passing over his face. It was gone in a blink, but I caught it. Saying it aloud cost him something.

We’d finally gotten around to burning what was left of Rook after Salis’s version of a proper send-off. His death hadn’t surprised me. Rook had always been living on borrowed time—a rock and a fang away from dying.

“Please,” I said, waving a hand as if shooing away a fly. “If Xylar hadn’t done it, someone else would’ve.”

Salis’s brows pulled together, disbelief written across his face. “He died for what, exactly?” His gaze swept the room, searching for meaning in its cold grandeur before his arms fell limply at his sides. “So we could be holed up in the old Markham Estate, pretending we still have a shot at this?”

My smirk barely faded. I let my gaze drift across the bedroom.

Heavy curtains drawn halfway. Dustless wood gleaming where the sun reached. And the bed—untouched, a monument to a man long gone. Above the hearth, a cracked portrait tilted slightly, catching just enough light to feel watched.

It was ideal—for now. I wasn’t optimistic. I knew the plan wouldn’t unfold cleanly.

Especially with the Thornes finding the Moore girl before I had—and the most unpredictable one already getting too close. Xylar was never the sentimental type. Not back then. Either he’s changed… or she’s changing him.

“Rook’s death didn’t open these doors. Charm did.”

I moved toward the hearth, uncorking Markham’s stash of bourbon. “Back in my day, I would've killed for a place like this at your age.” I tilted my head slightly. Give a line enough space, and it usually lands sharper.

“Yeah. I know.” Salis glanced toward the door, tension still in his voice. “I can still smell the body we lit up yesterday.”

I smirked and raised the glass. “That’s just new home smell.”

He didn’t laugh. Just shifted his weight, like the room suddenly didn’t fit right. I took a sip, watching him from over the rim of the glass. He wanted something I didn’t offer—not comfort, not hope. Just the illusion that this was still a fight we could win.

I placed the glass back onto the hearth after gulping down my drink.

“Look, don’t stress about it.” I rolled my eyes. “So we hit a bump. Not exactly the end of the world.”

“I just think we might be in over our heads with this one,” Salis said, locking eyes with me. His voice was steady, but it didn’t hide the weight behind it.

“What exactly are you suggesting?” My tone stayed light, but my gaze narrowed. I already knew the answer—I just wanted him to say it.

He hesitated. “I don’t know... maybe we fall back. Come at this when we’re not so outnumbered.”

I studied him for a long second before turning back toward the balcony. “If numbers are what you’re worried about, then you haven’t really been paying attention.”

“What, you figured out how two vampires are supposed to bring down a dragon empire?” he said. The sarcasm was there, but underneath it—genuine curiosity.

“You make it sound impossible.” I leaned on the railing, watching the town slowly shake off its sleep. “Any empire’s just reversed Jenga. Pull the right piece and the whole thing crumbles.”

I let the pause sit for a beat. “The only question is, what piece to move?”

My eyes drifted toward the Town Hall—the Thrones’ personal ballroom, dressed up in the name of Founding Family tradition. A monument to their legacy. A perfect target.

“Vivian’s little stunt at the Moon Festival is going to echo. Once word gets out a Moore’s still alive, the ones looking to finish what they started will come crawling out of the woodwork.”

“Okay... how long are we supposed to wait around for that?” Salis asked, his arms folding again. “Another few decades?”

As if on cue, the sound of boots echoed down the hall—measured, unhurried. A familiar rhythm I hadn’t heard in far too long.

“Try seconds,” Olivia said, stepping inside like she owned the room. “You survived the war, Salis. I’m impressed. Didn't think you'd last.”

I turned, eyes landing on her figure with a slow sweep. If you didn’t know her, you’d think she was someone’s high-fashion mistake—a model who took a wrong turn into a war zone. But I knew better. That walk? That gaze? Olivia Clayton was anything but lost.

“Nice seeing you again too, Olivia,” Salis muttered. His tone didn’t even try for enthusiasm.

“Olivia Clayton,” I said, letting the name curl off my tongue. “Still as deadly as ever, I imagine.”

She stepped further into the room with that same fluid grace that made danger look like fashion.

“Dorian,” she replied, her gaze locking with mine, steady and sharp. “I see you managed to charm your way out of death.”

I gave a lazy shrug. “Let’s just say... death has questionable taste.”

“Good to see you two haven’t changed much,” Salis muttered, clearly over it already.

“Of course not,” I said, casually strolling toward them, gaze still locked on hers. “Olivia’s always been like family. Complicated, armed to the teeth, and rarely approved of her taste in men.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly—no smile, no bite. Just that quiet, calculating stillness she always wore before someone ended up bleeding.

“So,” I said, tone smooth, “did you see him yet?”

She didn’t blink. But the pause that followed wasn’t silence—it was control.

“My personal life isn’t up for discussion,” she added, voice clipped. “I’m here because we all have unfinished business with the Thornes.”

She turned slightly, just enough to signal without words. “This time, I brought backup.”

My gaze followed hers as two men stepped into the room—silent, precise in their movements. They didn’t posture. Didn’t need to. The kind of men who were either professionals... or about to prove they were.

“These are my men—Wayne and Nicholas. Trained mercenaries, like me.” Her eyes returned to mine, calm and deliberate. “We came the second we heard the good news. And you know me... I never like to show up unprepared.”

“Prepared, armed, and dramatic,” I said, lips curving into a smirk. “Gods, I really did miss you.”

A genuine flicker of satisfaction sparked somewhere behind my smirk. Olivia always had her own agenda—she probably still does—but when blood starts to spill, there’s no one I’d rather have at my side. And she wasn’t the type to let personal matters interfere with her work—though watching her react to Melissa might just test that theory.

“Did you expect anything less?” she asked, eyes still glinting from whatever game she was already three moves into.

“Not from you.” I slipped my hands behind my back, taking a casual step toward the hearth. “Actually, your timing’s perfect. I’ve got a bit of a reptile problem your men could help handle.”

Her brow lifted slightly. She didn’t ask for details—just waited.

“We needed him for information and shocker,” I dipped slightly, that unconscious lean I always fall into when the punchline’s about to land. “He didn’t have it. Now he’s just a walking tracker to our location.”

Olivia didn’t respond. Just glanced briefly at her men—and they were gone without a word. That kind of loyalty? That kind of instinct? I missed that two centuries ago.

“I guess I’ll go point them toward Erzan,” Salis muttered, already moving like he knew the conversation had shifted without him. “Not like I’ve got a better plan.”

“Appreciate it,” I said without looking his way. The sound of the door closing behind him was smoother than expected.

Once we were alone, Olivia’s gaze returned to mine, sharp and steady.

“They’ll catch up once I’ve seen what I’m working with,” she said, folding her arms with that slow, deliberate poise of hers. “Assuming that wasn’t the main event.”

She never lingered where she wasn’t needed. Not until the knife was already in.

“You do have something more satisfying than cleaning up a half-blood. Right?” She added.

“Always save the best for last,” I said, pacing once in front of the hearth. “I need you to pay a visit to Annabelle—the Historian.”

Olivia’s brow lifted slightly, but she didn’t interrupt.

“See if she’s feeling chatty about those iron daggers.”

If she’s hiding what I think she is, that information is the thing standing between me and the blades that can cut through the Thornes’ bloodline.

Annabelle’s family made a career out of helping the town rewrite its own history—sanding off the bloody parts, burying the real stories just deep enough that no one thinks to dig. But she knows the truth. She always has.

Her gaze sharpened. She didn’t ask which daggers—I knew she wouldn’t. Olivia’s always kept a mental file on the weapons that can kill her targets.

“And if she’s not?” she asked, voice smooth as silk and just as thin. There was already an answer waiting behind her eyes.

“A little persuasion goes a long way,” I said, letting the smirk return as I met her gaze.

“I’ll make sure she talks.” And with that, she vanished—wind kicking up behind her like a finishing move.

Alone now, I crossed back to the hearth and poured another glass of bourbon, slower this time. With Xylar wrapped around the Moore girl, getting to the journal wasn’t going to be simple. But then, nothing worthwhile ever is.

The Thornes weren’t untouchable. They were just too comfortable. All I needed was a sharp enough tool... and Olivia was already carving the first crack.

I took a sip, eyes drifting toward the balcony again. The mist was thinning, the town revealing itself one shadow at a time. It still looked peaceful. Predictable. But the truth was already shifting beneath it.

I turned from the sunrise, from the burn it promised, and faced the room instead. There was no fear left in me—only the hollow calm I chose to keep after death. Pain, I could use. Fear had no place here.

Fifty years in the ground had stripped away everything soft. And Vivian? She’d respond, eventually. I was counting on it. I wasn’t just walking back into their world. I was here to end it.

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What Happens When the Past Isn’t Dead—Just Waiting

R.D. Foster — Mon, 5 May 2025 00:00:00 +0000

Some towns bury their ghosts.

Blackmoor makes deals with them.

When I began writing Dragons of Blackmoor: Book Two, I knew one thing had to happen: the past wasn’t going to stay buried. Not for the characters. Not for the town. And definitely not for the readers.

Because the truth is—nothing in Blackmoor is ever really gone. Not the families who vanished. Not the magic they tried to erase. Not even the people you swore you’d never see again.

In this book, doors open that were never meant to be unlocked. People return who were meant to stay in the ground. And memories resurface… altered, twisted, or completely missing.

But the most dangerous part?

Some of those memories are coming back to bite.

Book Two is about what happens when forgetting was the defense—and remembering becomes the threat. It’s about loyalty tested, identities fractured, and the moment you realize the people you trust most may have rewritten your story long before you were ready to tell it.

Some ghosts knock.

Others kick the door in.

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