The shelves themselves wouldn't have given Bale much pause, but it was the items placed on the shelves that stopped him in his tracks. They were lined with the little wooden statues Faith loved to collect. Kachina dolls, she called them. He had fucking dolls on his walls.
“Home so soon?”
Bale glanced toward the bathroom, his heart skipping a beat as his gaze took in his mate.
She was standing in the doorway, wrapped only in a very skimpy towel and watching him with a lazy smile, as if she'd just woken.
162
Madelyn Ford
“I was just getting ready to jump in the shower. Why don't you join me?” she purred, and his pulse accelerated exponentially. Tossing a bewitching smile over her shoulder, she then moved out of sight.
Bale threw his coat on the bed, the dolls quickly forgotten, and strode across the room, an eager grin lining his face. His heart—his soul—waited just beyond that door. Jet thought he was pussy-whipped, but Bale knew the truth. With his mate at his side, he had found salvation. Faith had saved him.
Madelyn Ford
In 2006, a dear friend gave Madelyn a copy of Laurel Hamilton’s
Guilty Pleasures
, and she was stunned that books about vampires were actually being published. Where had she been all these years? Lost somewhere in the land of the Little Mermaid, most likely. Suddenly insanity hit and she thought, “I can do this!”
Well, sadly for her husband and three children, sanity never did return and now Madelyn spends most of her days immersed in a world of her own making. The stories and characters are clamoring to get out of her head; filling her days (and nights) putting pen (yes pen) to paper in the effort to silence the voices (he he).
Now trying desperately to ignore the ever growing mounds of laundry and the children screaming for dinner, the stories just keep coming.
Her husband blames Kris. You can, too.