Growing up in a petri dish of a small town filled with the children of academics, C.B. Cole was exposed to a staggering variety of cultural and educational opportunities from an early age.
For her high school years, she attended a posh boarding school. Her experience there and a fantastic English department has fostered not only a love for writing, but also gave her plenty of material of which to draw upon.
C.B. Cole did not realize that she wanted to write paranormal books until she met her husband, whose sincere affection for the horror genre fascinated her. She also is incredibly interested in myths, fairy tales and other fantastical stories.
C.B. Cole is not only a paranormal junkie, but also a die hard Star Wars fan. She lives in Western North Carolina with her family where she can be found in the family owned fly shop.
Winter, out now, is an adult paranormal romance:
One hour and thirty eight minutes. That is precisely how long it took for him to get her to finally meet his eyes. And when she did, he still did not affect her the same way as the others. But he did get her attention, just not in the way he had wanted. She just stared. That was all.
That girl down there in seat 12 A was different. He could tell that much even through the blinding stage lights and violent screams for his attention.
She saw him. There was a sizzle between them. Something intangible but present.
But more than that, he thought she might have actually seen him. Not the rock star, not the performer but him. That might be a problem. Humans weren’t supposed to see him. It just wasn’t possible. Unless . . .
He looked back to the band, giving them the signal that this would be their last song, but when he turned back, the girl in 12A was gone, fighting her way through the crowd, clinging tightly to a thin red headed boy.
His first thought was, She is leaving.
His second thought was that he hated that red headed boy for no good reason.
Dugan, his lead guitarist, gave him a strange look, shaking his head and Shade shrugged apologetically in response. He had learned that after all these years he wasn’t all that good at letting things slip through his fingers.
There was something there. Something about that girl. He knew it.