I’m sitting here in my favorite Borders, watching tiny dust particles dance in slices of sunlight. Waiting. I’ve been waiting for nearly an hour now, nursing a cup of coffee–black–and a small danish. And although it gives me a chance to look over some of the paperbacks I’ve picked up, I’m still irritated. My interview is late, and I’m sure I was specific about the time.

Just as I’m about to leave, I see her coming. Even if I hadn’t, I would’ve known by the sound of bodies turning and the low murmur of men’s voices.

Disa had entered the room.

She was in little-girl pink today, in a dress that showed long lengths of leg and heels that would make my nose bleed. But she’s all smiles as she sits at my table, ordering an expresso from the waiter who trampled several patrons to get to her and left drool on the table in his wake.

“Am I late?”

I bare teeth in something resembling a grin, trying to be professional. “No problem. I haven’t seen you since I finished writing WOLFE’S GATE for the HOWL anthology. You’re looking well.”

Disa continues to smile. I’ve stated the obvious, of course, so why should she return the compliment? She parks a tiny pink purse on the table before me. “We’ll have to make this quick. I’ve got other plans.”

“I am a professional,” I mutter, flicking open my notebook. “I am, I am…” :uzi:

“You said something about your readers getting to know me?”

“Yes. Let’s start from scratch, shall we? Sooo…Disa. I hear you’re a slut.”

She chuckles, eyes glittering green. “Everybody’s gotta be good at something.” Pressing the cup to her pink lips, she sips. “You’ve been listening to Red.”

It was true. I had. And I confess that I favor and believe in my heroine. “You’re saying it’s not true?”

“Of course it’s true. I love hot sex. Raw power. Wild men. And werewolves even better.” She leans forward, ash-blonde hair raining over her shoulders. “They’re bigger. Stronger. Harder than most regular men. What’s not to like?”

I gulp my cold coffee. Who could argue with that? “Tell me about the men–er, wolves. The life. The compound. How it’s a microcosmic metaphor for the way modern man must struggle against the forces of nature and–”

“You wanna know about the sex, right?”

“Damn straight.”

“It’s like nothing you can imagine. You’ll have to get Grayson to invite you sometime.” She takes a deep breath. “Day after day, a constant stream of hot, hungry men. They come to pay homage to Gray, yes. But they’re always eager and ready for some fun on the side. And the nights! Omigod!! One after another, sometimes more than one at a time, they come for you. And I do mean come, for days, sometimes weeks at a time.” She licks her lips, smiling again. “As I said–what’s not to like?”

I consider tossing my cold coffee against my heated face. “And what do you think of Gray?”

She straightens in her chair. “Grayson is the Alpha male. He’s built like a god. Strong. Passionate. And honorable, dammit. But let me tell you, Raine…he’s got this really huge, thick–”

“I think I’ve got enough info for my readers,” I interrupt, flustered.

Disa stands, laughing. “Maybe I’ll send you an invitation to the compound. Maybe. Next time the moon is full. Maybe you’ll learn even more about werewolves, in depth, than you know now. Maybe.”

I watch her go, thinking. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I’ll go. Maybe it would be good for me to do more…research.

After all–I am a professional. :thumbsup: