It’s Just the Way My Brain Works....

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Drew Tao left the Black Hills in disgrace, banished by his father. He has spent the last ten years a lone wolf, living on his own. Called back home, he finally gets the chance to set things right. If such a thing is possible....

Betty Holden has hated her mate every day for the last ten years for abandoning her and their pack. She’s been running things in Los Lobos, and she has no intention of letting Drew Tao slip back into her life like nothing has changed—even if she has never been able to resist him.

Can there be forgiveness? And can he protect her when another enemy arrives?

I was asked recently what inspires me to write shape shifter paranormal romance.  After giving it some thought, I finally came up with an answer.  It’s just the way my brain works.  Every once in a while, I get asked to do something a little different, usually from an anthology I’d be a fool to say no to.  So I do it.  And I have found my creative process is almost painful when I’m not world building a paranormal story. 

My brain wants to control things, wants to set the elements, wants to invent the world my characters live in. I suppose I’m just Alpha that way. 

I write paranormal characters because I’m a control freak.  Kind of like my hero in my latest release, Wolf’s Return, which is the first book in Decadent Publishing’s new series called The Black Hills Wolves.  In it, Drew has had to let go of things for ten years and it has been hell. 

I understand him perfectly. 

Wolf's Return excerpt:

The rain pounded on the roof of the white center hall colonial, a strong, loud rhythm Drew Tao had come to associate with New Jersey in the early winter. Cold, windy, and gray without any snow to bring beauty to frigid air. But none of that mattered. Not when he could be indoors working. It could be one hundred degrees and sunny. When he was working, he hardly noticed. Finishing his task mattered more than anything else.

Drew stepped back to survey the entertainment unit he’d spent the last two days building for his client—a couple in their early twenties had commissioned his custom work for their sixty-inch flat-screen television. They would be happy with what he had created. He’d left ample space for every accessory they wanted and some places for the wife to display decorative touches. All oak, as they’d requested.

He smiled; finishing the piece was a good day’s work, and he took satisfaction in knowing the few useful skills he had in this human world could make others happy. His hands tingled. It was almost time for him to move on. Staying in one place for too long made his wolf-side twitchy. When things started to feel too much like home, he suddenly craved his pack.

And the spirits knew he’d never have that again.

The phone in his pocket vibrated, and he ignored it. Several clients were waiting to hear from him about whether or not he’d be able to work for them in the next couple of weeks. Since he needed to move on, the answer would have to be a resounding no. He could wait a few more hours to send his regrets.

It vibrated again, and he groaned. “Pushy client.” Maybe he’d dodged a proverbial bullet by deciding it was time to go.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and looked at the message. It wasn’t a number he recognized, but he never stored any names. What was the point? Anyone calling or texting constituted a temporary client who became a temporary acquaintance during his time with them. No one worth remembering—no possibility of friends or family.

He’s dying.

Drew forgot to breathe for a second.