Caleb paced in the parlor, his head throbbing. He hadn’t bothered turning on any lights, his werewolf-enhanced vision acute without the extra illumination.
Mae Clair opened a Pandora’s Box of characters when she was a child and never looked back. Her father, an artist who tinkered with writing, encouraged her to create make-believe worlds by spinning tales of far-off places on summer nights beneath the stars. She snagged the tail of a comet, hitched a ride, and discovered her writer’s Muse on the journey.