The doorbell rings, and standing on the step is a visitor, one who wants a cuppa
or two and a chat. I canβt tell them to go away because my boys in my latest book
need to finish what I made them start. No, that will sound odd and make them ask
all sorts of questionsβplus, it will have me itching to get back to the book and
complete the scene. I do that anyway, itch to get back to a scene when in
company. Itβs a good job people canβt read my mind, really, as being the kind of
person who lives inside my head the majority of the time, I can only focus on
βlife thingsβ for a short while then my mind switches off and Iβm back in the
worlds I create.
The cookies come out after the coffee is poured, and I resign myself to the fact
that my boys are going to have to wait a little longer. I imagine them mid-
sentence, staring around the pages of my manuscript in shock, muttering, βWhat?
Youβre LEAVING us like this?β
Yes, theyβre that real to me, my characters. βAnd yes,β I whisper, like some
deranged, mourning waif, βI left you and Iβm so sorryβ¦β
βWhat was that?β my guest asks.
βWhat was what?β I slap on a puzzled expression and reach for a cookie. I donβt
want the cookie. Or, if Iβm honest, I do, but at my desk, where crumbs will fall
in between the keys and I donβt care because Iβm too busy reading what Iβve
written.
βYou said something, didnβt you?β My guest frowns. Oh, how my guest frowns.
βWhat, me? Good Lord, no. I didnβt say a thing.β Iβm a wicked person for telling
a white lie, but under no circumstances can my guest know that I regularly talk
to the people inside my head. Or that I even have people inside my head. My
second profession is a secret.
βOh.β An extra hard frown now from the person perched on my couch. βRight.β The
frown disappears and the eyebrows go up.
βOkay. Anyway, as I was sayingβ¦β
I feel awful, but itβs rather like white noise. I hear what my guest is saying,
and I answer in all the right places, and I know Iβm terribly rude for not giving
my full attention, but my boysβ¦ Theyβre calling me, and I can see them in my
head, waiting, looking at one another and not being able to do anything but
remain where they are. They canβt do anything until Iβm back at my desk.
Sandwiches are made, the visit extending to lunch, and Iβm worried it will
stretch on into mid-afternoon, where hours have been lost and my boys are still
there, getting impatient, wishing Iβd chivvy the guest along. Along to the door,
where theyβll leave and Iβll rush back into my office and save the day.
More conversation. More character mutterings. More coffee.
Time drifts by.
βWell, itβs been lovely to see you, but I must get going,β my guest says.
I can hardly shout hooray and run around the room whooping, but thatβs what I
want to do. βOh, righty ho.β
The guest has gone, the door is closed. I run so fast to my office that Iβm out
of breath by the time I flop into my chair.
βOh, thank God youβre back,β my characters say. βHonestly, did you have to leave
it this long?β
I stare at them, my beautiful men, and widen my eyes, realizing exactly how
compromising a position I left them in. βIs that a banana in your pocket or are
you pleased to see me?β
My characters scowl.
βWell, I thought it was a funny joke,β I say, blushing a bit.
βWe didnβt. Now please, please place your fingers on the keyboard and put us out
of our misery.β
βGladly.β
And I do.
Sydney has always enjoyed writing. βThereβs something about losing yourself in
another world, where the real one ceases to exist and all your dreams and wishes
can be placed on the pageβdreams for a better planet where love isnβt questioned
but accepted by all.β
When Sydney isnβt writing, thereβs plenty of reading to be done. βI canβt imagine
not reading every day. It would be weird not to have a book to hand because Iβve
always had one nearby. Life without reading isnβt something Iβd like to
contemplate. The thought brings me out in hives.β
Sydney lives in a peaceful area where the hustle and bustle of the city doesnβt
figure. βI left city life years ago. Too stressful for me. I prefer listening to
the swish of leaves on the trees instead of tyres on tarmac. The twittering of
birds instead of the chatter of people. Alone time to reflect and ponder is a
must. A small portion of every day spent by myself is vital to my sanity and
soul.β
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Finding out who you really are is one hell of an epiphany.
Evan is trying to come to terms with who and what he is. After arriving at
Highgate, primed to kill, Evan is left pondering many questions. He has no idea
where he came fromβor whether heβs a wolf or lion. All he knows is he has animal
inside him and the urge to shift. Unfortunately, shifting hasnβt been an option.
He just canβt manage to do it.
Until he meets Christianβa man Evan is drawn to but doesnβt understand why.
Christian is his mate, and has been for a long time. Ever since Evan went
missing, Christian has been searching for him, and once heβs found him, he isnβt
prepared to walk away, even after learning what Evan has been doing while theyβve
been apart.
With Christianβs arrival comes Evanβs epiphanyβhis realization that his animal
will no longer be caged inside him and that he is loved beyond measure. He shifts
and finds out which beast he really is. Along with new emotions and some of his
memory coming back, Evan also has something else to deal with. Someone who heβd
thought of as a friend, isnβt a friend at all. This person is a threat to the
Highgate pack, Dillon in particular, and Evan will do anything to stop his mentor
being put at riskβ¦
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