The doorbell rings, and standing on the step is a visitor, one who wants a cuppa
or two and a chat. I canâ€™t 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 questionsâ€”plus, 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. Itâ€™s a good job people canâ€™t 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
â€ślife thingsâ€ť for a short while then my mind switches off and Iâ€™m 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, â€śWhat?
Youâ€™re LEAVING us like this?â€ť
Yes, theyâ€™re that real to me, my characters. â€śAnd yes,â€ť I whisper, like some
deranged, mourning waif, â€śI left you and Iâ€™m so sorryâ€¦â€ť
â€śWhat was that?â€ť my guest asks.
â€śWhat was what?â€ť I slap on a puzzled expression and reach for a cookie. I donâ€™t
want the cookie. Or, if Iâ€™m honest, I do, but at my desk, where crumbs will fall
in between the keys and I donâ€™t care because Iâ€™m too busy reading what Iâ€™ve
â€śYou said something, didnâ€™t you?â€ť My guest frowns. Oh, how my guest frowns.
â€śWhat, me? Good Lord, no. I didnâ€™t say a thing.â€ť Iâ€™m 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.
â€śOh.â€ť An extra hard frown now from the person perched on my couch. â€śRight.â€ť The
frown disappears and the eyebrows go up.
â€śOkay. Anyway, as I was sayingâ€¦â€ť
I feel awful, but itâ€™s rather like white noise. I hear what my guest is saying,
and I answer in all the right places, and I know Iâ€™m terribly rude for not giving
my full attention, but my boysâ€¦ Theyâ€™re 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 canâ€™t do anything until Iâ€™m back at my desk.
Sandwiches are made, the visit extending to lunch, and Iâ€™m worried it will
stretch on into mid-afternoon, where hours have been lost and my boys are still
there, getting impatient, wishing Iâ€™d chivvy the guest along. Along to the door,
where theyâ€™ll leave and Iâ€™ll rush back into my office and save the day.
More conversation. More character mutterings. More coffee.
Time drifts by.
â€śWell, itâ€™s been lovely to see you, but I must get going,â€ť my guest says.
I can hardly shout hooray and run around the room whooping, but thatâ€™s what I
want to do. â€śOh, righty ho.â€ť
The guest has gone, the door is closed. I run so fast to my office that Iâ€™m out
of breath by the time I flop into my chair.
â€śOh, thank God youâ€™re back,â€ť my characters say. â€śHonestly, did you have to leave
it this long?â€ť
I stare at them, my beautiful men, and widen my eyes, realizing exactly how
compromising a position I left them in. â€śIs that a banana in your pocket or are
you pleased to see me?â€ť
My characters scowl.
â€śWell, I thought it was a funny joke,â€ť I say, blushing a bit.
â€śWe didnâ€™t. Now please, please place your fingers on the keyboard and put us out
of our misery.â€ť
And I do.
Sydney has always enjoyed writing. â€śThereâ€™s 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 pageâ€”dreams for a better planet where love isnâ€™t questioned
but accepted by all.â€ť
When Sydney isnâ€™t writing, thereâ€™s plenty of reading to be done. â€śI canâ€™t imagine
not reading every day. It would be weird not to have a book to hand because Iâ€™ve
always had one nearby. Life without reading isnâ€™t something Iâ€™d like to
contemplate. The thought brings me out in hives.â€ť
Sydney lives in a peaceful area where the hustle and bustle of the city doesnâ€™t
figure. â€śI 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
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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 fromâ€”or whether heâ€™s a wolf or lion. All he knows is he has animal
inside him and the urge to shift. Unfortunately, shifting hasnâ€™t been an option.
He just canâ€™t manage to do it.
Until he meets Christianâ€”a man Evan is drawn to but doesnâ€™t 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 heâ€™s found him, he isnâ€™t
prepared to walk away, even after learning what Evan has been doing while theyâ€™ve
With Christianâ€™s arrival comes Evanâ€™s epiphanyâ€”his 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 heâ€™d
thought of as a friend, isnâ€™t 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 riskâ€¦
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