Joan Morven does not pen a love story—she spins an unapologetic, lyrical road to hell and challenges you to plead for mercy. Declan is the beginning of her new dark romance series, and it does not back down to darkness—it sweeps you in with it, its arm around your throat, and breathes into your ear, "you'll love the burn.".
Viviana laments, alone and adrift when her father—a black journalist consumed by deadly stories—bites into the dust under questionable circumstances. Her safe existence crumbles as she is kidnapped and put in Declan's way, a ruthless enforcer whose name is tainted by blood and deception. But this is no typical damsel-in-distress story.
Declan does not care about Viviana. Saving, possessing, or avenging her is something he has not made up his mind about yet. It is not an episode of simple answers or flamboyant rescue. It is dirty and ugly, an affair of blatant suspicion, manipulation, and risk of being scorched with the hot waters of exposure. With each new revelation regarding her father, the astutely constructed shell that each individual wears thickens.
The book, though, begins as a plunge. Piece by piece, Joan Morven peels away the armor of trauma, lust, fear, and wild desire that surround them. Secrets rip their way to the surface. Alliances are shattered. And over it all, Viviana and Declan are bound together by a desperate, almost-animal attraction that neither can possibly comprehend or control.
Declan
Declan isn't your typical alpha. He's darker. A man tempered in violence, betrayal, and loyalty tainted by blood. The product of a crime empire where only the strong survive, he's built walls of emotion that are fortification, not border. But underneath his tightly clenched reins is something very broken—a man wrestling with his need to protect and to kill.
His conscience isn't gray - it's ash. He knows he's a monster, and he wears it. But when it comes to Viviana, he begins to unravel. He's crazy and guilty, twin opposites to everything he does. Controlling, balancing on the line between love and possession, not always nice, not always decent, but damn if he isn't irresistible. To see Declan fight his demons is to see a hurricane attempt to romance a candle flame.
Viviana
Viviana is no wallflower. She starts the book grieving and finishes the book gasping—but not broken. Her power isn't fists or rage—it's resolve. She's a woman who has had to play a game whose rules aren't her own body, mind, and soul, captive. She won't lose herself, though.
Her psychological depth inside is profound. She winces. She shudders. She's frightened. But she questions. She resists. And in resistance's quiet spaces, she reflects Declan's pain. Her emotional awareness is a power in a world where bullets travel faster.
The depth that makes her interesting isn't the trauma—she's got enough of it. It's that she wrestles with it.
It is not love. It is a practice in control disguised as obsession. The imbalance is deliberate—psychological domination presented as sexual interest. Declan defines the cards, the guns, the boundaries. but Viviana creates something far more dangerous: truth, honesty, and the ability to make him feel.
They burn each other alive. One moment soft, the next violent. Their connection is defined by push-and-pull: protector vs. predator, desire vs. revulsion, safety vs. fear. Watching that evolve is the heart of the story. And you’ll feel every tremble, every gasp, every jagged kiss that tastes like surrender.
Side Characters
Characters like Connor, Declan's battle-brother, and Áine, Viviana's missing half, exist not only to world-build but to reflect and complicate on the central couple. Connor brings humor and loyalty—a reminder, subtle as it may be, that some monsters love tenderly. Áine is a ghosty presence, reminder of loss and concealed truths.
Even the villains—faceless crime lords, corrupt handlers, cunning insiders—are well-drawn, their menace woven through the psychological maze Viviana navigates.
A book full of questions, this is. Who is doing what to whom? Are you freely choosing if you have been coerced into doing it? Joan Morven never answers you plainly—but makes you breathe the question.
Viviana's a search for asserting herself. Declan's about choosing whom he wants to become once the blood's dry.
The romance is always tainted. It's dirty, it's possessive, it's poisonous. But there is a hum of something sad human underneath the filth, some frayed need for contact.
Are you ever forgiven once you've sunk below sin? The book's about how far we fall and if a person is redeemed. and by whom.
Sorrow is not incidental business—a whole story is moved by it. Viviana's loss is what she is, is what probes her, is through which lens she sees Declan, the world, herself.
Joan Morven writes as if she's bleeding on the page. Her writing is rich and atmospheric and emotionally rough. She does double POV (Declan and Viviana), and it's a laceration into their minds like a slash from a razor blade. Her writing is poetic and almost sometimes prose in the sections where it gets graphic. She doesn't shy away from the gore, the sex, and the mind torturing—instead employs them as emotional topography.
Pacing is tight. Tension never lets up. The emotional beats hit hard, and the steamy scenes? Dark, dominant, and purposeful—they reveal more about the characters than words ever could.
She excels at inner monologue, showing psychological warfare in action. And she doesn’t hold your hand. You’re meant to squirm. You’re meant to ache.
Declan isn't your run-of-the-mill dark romance novel. It's beautiful and grotesque and brutally unapologetic. It doesn't tiptoe around the morality. It head-on addresses it, and it drags you along with that, wondering whether monsters can be loved—and if it even matters when they are.
Overall rating: ★★★★★
Writing Style: ★★★★★
Characters: ★★★★★
World-Building: ★★★★☆