I’m an international, multiple award-winning author with a passion for the voices in my head. As a singer, songwriter, independent filmmaker and improv teacher and performer, my life has always been about creating and sharing what I create with others. Now that my dream to write for a living is a reality, with over a hundred titles in happy publication and no end in sight, I live in beautiful Prince Edward Island, Canada, with my giant cats, pug overlord and overlady and my Gypsy Vanner gelding, Fynn.

Reluctant Princess

“Syd,” I say. “If I were to step down as heir, would there be a place for me here?”

She reaches out and takes my hand again. “Without question,” she says. “Any time, come as you are, you betcha. And hell no. Yes, because I miss you and love you and it’s not the same without you. The kids adore you, life is better when you’re here.” She looks away from me, up at the star-filled sky. Her sorrow is a living thing between us, my wolf snuffling at it and whining. “And no, because you are so much more than a servant to anyone. And if you came back, I’d worry it was for the wrong reasons.”

Seven years have passed since Charlotte took her place as heir to the werenation. Still unmated and resisting her position, she longs for freedom she will never have, and life with a mortal man she loves. When a powerful new pack appears, Charlotte is instantly suspicious. Cicero Caine and his weres aren’t exactly what they seem. But the arrival of old enemies and a rising threat to all werewolves throws the wereprincess into the middle of a vast conspiracy, challenging the very foundations of what she’s been taught to believe.

Lychos Cycle

The front of the restaurant is gaudy, the paint bright red and gold, the colors of Mother Russia. But it's chintzy, old and unrepaired. A dive, Syd would call it. I keep my head down, blonde hair covered in a black wool toque, hands shoved in the pockets of my leather jacket. Night has fallen, the crisp air feeling of approaching winter, though it's only late September. This close to the Russian border, snow comes early enough.


The street is bustling, making my approach all the easier, the stink of cigar smoke and stale furs brought out of mothballed storage wafting around me. My boots make no sound on the pavement as I weave through the crowd to the restaurant front, eyes carefully observing the two hulking men outside the front door. Standard Mafia bodyguards in long, black leather jackets, one bald, the other dyed blond with shoulders as wide as the doorway. I don't have to look for bulges under their clothing. They are armed, no question.


Chapter 38: Iosif