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She came for an ancient harp, but five dragon shifters were waiting—and the bond they forge in fire and myth will seal her fate.
Isobel “Izzie” Rhodes thought her new job at Eldritch Curiosities was a glorified internship—dusty archives, fragile relics and the occasional cursed bracelet. But when her first overseas assignment sends her to Scotland’s mist-drenched Isle of Skye to recover a long-lost harp of draconic legend, she steps into a world she never knew existed.
Hidden within the jagged cliffs and ancient stone of the island are the Sìol Dòmhnaill—five dragon-shifter brothers, ancient, powerful and bound together by fate and fire. For centuries, they’ve waited for the Harp’s call…and the woman destined to awaken it. Fierce and unyielding, they are both protectors of a dying legacy and guardians of secrets that could reshape dragonkind forever.
The Dragon’s Harp blends sizzling romantic tension, mythic stakes, and a richly atmospheric setting. Perfect for fans of reverse harem, Celtic legends, and slow-burn heat, this unforgettable romantasy launches the Eldritch Curiosities series with heart, magic, and irresistible fire.
General Release Date: 23rd September 2025
When Scotland breathed, the land exhaled mist and memory. It curled over the damp stone, clung to the air like something half-forgotten, waiting to be remembered. The wind whispered against Isobel Rhode’s skin, tasting her, testing her, like an unseen presence brushing the edges of her soul.
She shivered, but not from the cold.
The moment the plane set down on Scottish soil, she felt it—something older than history itself. Not just in the weight of the air or the scent of the sea threading through the cracks in the world, but in the hum beneath her skin. A low, thrumming awareness.
Magic.
It had taken her weeks to admit it, even after Margaret Alden had handed her that whiskey, looked her straight in the eye and said, “Dragons are real, Izzie.”
She hadn’t believed it, not at first. But belief would stop mattering when the truth stood right in front of her. Her new boss had promised her that.
Now here she was, standing in a quiet pocket of Glasgow Airport, her boots damp from the rain-slicked floor, her heart pounding like she had just stepped off the edge of the world.
Because maybe she had.
She adjusted the strap of her shoulder bag, fingers brushing the envelope inside—her instructions, her mission, the reason she was really here. But the weight of it was insignificant compared to the deeper truth pressing in from all sides.
This was not just a new country. Not just a job.
She was walking into a story older than the stones beneath her feet. A story of dragons and relics, of power buried beneath time itself.
And whether she wanted to be or not, she was now a part of it.
The scent of rain curled through the airport’s automatic doors, cool and sharp against the recycled air. It was different here—thicker, richer, wet stone and brine, like the breath of something ancient stirring beneath the earth.
Izzie inhaled, the weight of the air settling deep in her lungs.
Scotland.
The word unfurled in her mind, reverent and disbelieving all at once. She was really here. Not just in some daydream fueled by too many late-night history documentaries or reading about it in a leather-bound book beneath the dim lights of Eldritch Curiosities antiquities shop.
The hum of the terminal barely registered—murmured conversations, the rhythmic thud of luggage wheels, the clipped, efficient tones of intercom announcements. It all faded beneath the pulse in her ears, a steady, insistent rhythm that had started the moment she stepped off the plane.
Something was different.
She exhaled slowly, Margaret’s words echoing in her mind. “Everything here has been a test. And you passed spectacularly.”
Her pulse skipped. She didn’t feel like she’d passed anything—more like she’d been shoved through a door she hadn’t meant to open. A month ago, she’d been cataloging dusty grimoires and debating whether she could afford the subway fare home. Now she was standing in a foreign country with a dossier full of classified information in her bag and a sinking feeling in her gut. This wasn’t just a new job. It was a gamble with her entire life.
And she still wasn’t sure if she was playing the right hand.
She stepped deeper into the terminal, slipping into the crowd, but the feeling didn’t fade. That wrongness… Like the air itself was different here, charged with something invisible. It prickled over her skin, humming in her blood.
Izzie swallowed hard.
She’d read the files, pored over every page until her vision blurred, but nothing—nothing—had prepared her for this.
Dragons are real.
The words still didn’t fit in her head properly. They sat there like a stone dropped into deep water, sinking, sinking, waiting to hit the bottom.
She hadn’t believed it. Not at first. Not even after Margaret had slid the photos across the table, each one impossible—men caught mid-shift, golden eyes reflecting light that shouldn’t be there, the blurred stretch of wings too large for human frames.
Not even after reading the classified reports, the historical accounts that felt too detailed to be myth.
Not even after the moment she knew, deep in her gut, that Margaret wasn’t lying.
But here, now, in this place where the air felt too full, too thick, where something unseen curled at the edge of her senses—
She believed.
And she didn’t know if that was a good thing.
A voice crackled over the intercom, breaking the spell. Izzie sucked in a breath, the weight in her chest loosening just enough to move again.
She had a mission. A relic to find. A ferry to catch.
And no time for the ghosts of forgotten myths pressing against her skin.
* * * *
The road stretched before her, a winding ribbon of damp asphalt cutting through a landscape too vast to hold in a single glance. Scotland unfolded in pieces—mist-laced hills, glens tucked between shadowed ridges, the occasional flicker of a ruined castle on a distant rise. Rain smeared across the windshield in lazy streaks, the wipers thudding a steady rhythm against the glass.
It should have felt like any other drive. But it didn’t.
Izzie gripped the wheel tighter, shifting in her seat as the thoughts she’d been avoiding began circling back, relentless as the tide. Things she’d rather not think about, now that she was here.
Dragons didn’t just mate with human women. They claimed them.
The word alone made her stomach knot.
Margaret had been clinical about it, laying out the facts like a doctor explaining an unavoidable procedure. It was a matter of survival. A biological imperative—a solution to a crisis centuries in the making.
Izzie had nodded, taken notes, kept her expression neutral. But inside, something had twisted.
Because it wasn’t just one dragon. It was never just one.
A woman who bonded with a dragon bonded with all his brothers. An entire clutch—born of the same egg season, tied together by something deeper than blood. Brothers-of-the-egg, they were called. And once she conceived, the father of the clutch of eggs she carried became her true mate, whether he was the one she’d fallen in love with or not.
Permanently. Unbreakably.
She exhaled sharply, fingers flexing against the wheel.
It was archaic. It was insane. And it had absolutely nothing to do with her.
She was here for the Harp.
The ancient relic that could lull dragons into sleep, strip them of their defenses, make them vulnerable in a way they rarely were. That was what mattered. That was what she needed to focus on.
Not the way her skin prickled when she thought of them. Of him.
Her stomach clenched.
She didn’t even know who he was. Only that Margaret had said she’d be working with a specific clutch—the ones overseeing this part of the territory. And they would decide how much they trusted her.
By the time she pulled into the ferry lot, the sun had begun its slow descent, barely visible through the mist rolling in from the water. The ferry bobbed against the dock, white paint weathered by salt and time.
And still, that feeling lingered—a slow press of awareness settling against her skin.
She tightened her grip on the wheel and drove onto the ferry, the weight of unseen eyes trailing her every move.
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