Today on the blog we have Caitlyn McFarland, talented author of the upcoming Crimson Dusk! She’s here with a real treat for everyone, a scene right out of her Daughters of the Shattered Moon series. But, why don’t we let Caitlyn set the scene instead. She does it so well.

This scene doesn’t appear in Crimson Dusk, but it could. In it, the female lead, Rue Calloway, a rebel whose goal is to keep her community alive, tries to decide whether the male lead and her enemy, Protectorate soldier and werewolf Asher Quinn, might not make a better ally. Maybe he will—if she can stop herself from slapping the smirk off his face long enough for them to work together. Trust me, he deserves it.

Rue

I enter the small room on the bottom level of the mine where I’ll be interrogating Quinn, and immediately regret agreeing to speak to him alone. The space is filled with his scent—leather, steel, and something citrusy and woodsy that makes me want to breathe in again, deeper.

“Red,” Quinn says, referencing the ginger curls I’m wearing in two inside-out braids pinned up at the back of my head. Even though I’m the one with the drawl, he drags out the nickname in a low, luscious voice. “We meet again.”

He reclines indolently in his chair, which he’s got tilted back with one knee braced against the sturdy wooden table. He’s fair-skinned, tall, and lean, made of hard planes and sharp, unforgiving lines. Except for his lips. Those are full, just as luscious as his voice, and currently curved into a smirk. Chestnut hair tumbles over eyes the same bright blue as a freshwater spring. He wears heavy boots, dark pants, a gray t-shirt, and a red leather motorcycle jacket that matches the red leather braided around the hilt of the sword he wears on his hip. A sword I tried to take, but which he can apparently summon with magic.

Despite his smirk, there’s no humor in his eyes.

A man this terrible should not be this pretty.

“That’s Strike Leader Rue Calloway to you,” I say, voice mild.

“Yes, ma’am.” He interlaces his fingers behind his head and fixes me with a grin, as if he’s not at all in danger of becoming a prisoner here. In reality, the only reason I haven’t thrown him back in the cell with the silvered bars is that I owe him my life. A fact that grates on my nerves.

I drop into the chair across from him and slap a notepad on the table, then poise my pencil above it. I ask, “Name?” even though I already know.

“Asher Quinn.” He bounces a little in the chair as I write. The wider his smile gets, the more my irritation grows.

From his posture, the man is begging to be ogled, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of letting my eyes trail down the length of his neck or the breadth of his shoulders and chest. I keep them on the paper in front of me, instead.

“Rumor has it you’re the personal assassin of the warlord himself. You expect me to believe you’re turning coat now, after—how many years have you been doing this?”

“Oh, I don’t know. A decade or so?”

“Ten years?” I lift a brow, forget I’m avoiding eye contact, and study his face. He doesn’t look that much older than me, and I’m twenty-four. “What, did you start when you were in diapers?”

He scoffs. “I’m twenty-seven. Or am I twenty-eight?” He lets the front legs of his chair smack the floor, leaning over the table toward me, eyes roving over my face. “Were you hoping to rob a cradle, Strike Leader? Sorry to disappoint. Though if you want to steal me away, I wouldn’t stop you.”

I narrow my eyes. “That was hyperbole, Quinn.”

But I’m impressed. He was already working for the notorious warlord of the Fall Line Protectorate as a teenager, and he’s still alive? How powerful is he?

“My mistake, Strike Leader,” he says. “I’ll try not to be so literal.”

I suppress an eye roll. “Yeah, I’m sure you’ll be the picture of cooperation.”

“I can be…compliant.” His voice drops low. “For you.”

I scoff. “You admit to being the warlord’s favorite assassin and fixer for half a decade. Just months ago, you raided the rebel village under First Arcanist Eli Whitlock’s orders. Why should I believe you’re turning on the Protectorate now?”

Quinn’s eyes turn icy, and I finally see him beneath his lazy mask. The Warlord’s Blade. The killer everyone fears.

“That’s my business,” he answers at last.

“Not if you want to fight on my squad,” I retort.

He leans back in the chair again, crossing his arms and tilting his chin up to look at me from beneath hooded eyes. “Your squad? They’re assigning me to you?”

I bare my teeth, unable to hide my irritation. “The Circle decided that even though you are a potential ally, you are still a threat. Until you’ve proven trustworthy, rebel leadership wants you handled by someone competent.”

A slow smile curves one corner of his mouth. “That’s fine by me.”

“What, no sexually charged innuendo about my competency?”

He huffs a laugh and shrugs one shoulder out of his jacket, lifting the short sleeve of his shirt so I can see the scar that slashes across the defined line of his bicep. That’s right. I winged him with a bullet during the raid, while he was kidnapping my superior officer.

“I’ve been on the receiving end of your competency, Strike Leader,” he says. “I’m not going to question it.”

My lips press into a flat line. “Mmhm. At least I left an impression, I suppose.”

“You have no idea.”

Something in the way he’s looking at me makes my mouth go dry, and I have to swallow. “Stop avoiding my question, Quinn. Why do you want to join the rebellion now?”

He settles his chair flat again and runs his tongue over his teeth, regarding me thoughtfully. “The truth?”

“That’s preferable.”

He exhales through his nose. For a moment, his gaze jumps from mine to the corner of the room. I follow his look, but there’s nothing there.

He shakes his head. When he speaks, the smugness has left his tone. “Five years ago, my sister died. I thought I knew who was responsible, but I was wrong. Now I have the names of the people who did it, and I’m going to make them pay.” His eyes meet mine, intense and so blue, I feel like I’m trapped inside them. Drowning in them. “They happen to be the same people you’re rebelling against. I just need your help to get close.”

This man has personally wronged me. He is one of my greatest enemies. But he’s also one of the best warriors the Protectorate has.

In the last few months, a sickness has swept through the rebellion, leaving us magically weak. Even me—my fire mage magic nothing but a prickle under my skin, the secret, hidden werewolf half of me nothing but a whimper deep in the recesses of my mind.

I hate Asher Quinn, but if we’re going to win this, I need him.

I hold out my hand. “Welcome to the Rowan Ridge rebellion.”

His long fingers curl around mine. A jolt of heat travels from the place our skin makes contact all the way to my chest. From the way his eyes flash, he feels it too.

He grins, an expression that’s all sin and heat and wicked promise. His touch lingers as he says in that low, dangerous voice, “Thank you, Strike Leader. I’m yours to command.”

Want to know more about Crimson Dusk?

Burn or be burned.

Asher Quinn lives for vengeance. The man who murdered his sister still breathes, hidden behind walls too high to climb—and Asher’s ready to bring them down in fire. But when a mission gone wrong lands him in rebel hands, his fate—and his fury—collide with a woman who’s every bit as dangerous as he is.

Rue is half wolf, half secret, and all defiance. The rebellion’s fiercest fire mage and the runaway daughter of the enemy they’re sworn to destroy, she’s built her life on hiding the truth—and she has no patience for the arrogant soldier who threatens to unravel everything she’s fought for.

Their alliance is uneasy. Their attraction, undeniable. Every argument sparks. Every touch burns. And when the line between hatred and hunger blurs, Asher and Rue will have to choose between loyalty and desire, vengeance and survival.

But as the rebellion falters and enemies close in, only one thing burns hotter than their rage—the fire that could consume them both.

Passion meets peril in a rebellion fueled by fire and fury. Perfect for fans of dark magic, slow-burn enemies-to-lovers chemistry, and heroines who fight with both heart and flame.

Meet Caitlyn McFarland:

After spending most of her adult life in UT, Caitlyn McFarland has returned to the Midwest and currently lives by a lake in Missouri with her husband and three daughters. She has a Bachelor’s degree in linguistics from Brigham Young University. When she’s not writing romantic fantasy, Caitlyn can be found wandering the woods, crafting, or playing TTRPGs.

You can find her at her website, as well as on TikTok, Instagram, and Bookbub