Leigh Evans

Leigh wurde in Montreal, Quebec, geboren, lebt aber mittlerweile mit ihrem Ehemann im Süden von Ontrario. Sie hat zwei Kinder, adoptierte drei Hunde und hat eine ganze Herde von Katzen. Abgesehen davon war ihr Leben relativ ereignislos - bis sie 50 wurde. Denn statt sich einer Midlife Crisis hinzugeben, beschloss Leigh, ein Buch zu schreiben. Ein bisschen spät, aber lieber spät als nie.
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Hier ein kleiner Ausschnitt aus ihrem ersten Buch The Trouble with Fate:
"Shit," he said. "Your eyes."
Instinctively, I slapped my hands back over them.
"They're glowing green," he said in awe. "I can see it right through your fingers."
Yes, of course my eyes were glowing green. I'd waited all my life for my first flare - that pivotal moment in life when everything shifts, and you accept the full weight of your destiny. For some Fae of noble birth, it happened when their magical talen kicked into high gear, for others their flare sparked at the sight of the child, the grandchild...their lover. It was that instant in time when you realized your own true thing - the thing you were born to do. I had flared. I'd finally done it, and the bright light beaming from my eyes wasn't Mum's cerulean blue, nor even Alpha-dog blue. I lowered my hands. Oh Fae Stars, the inside of the whole car was lit neon green.
"Only Alphas have the flare," he said slowly.
"Well, as it happens, so do Faes, born of royal blood." I turned to him. "I am Fae. See me flare."
As soon as my eyes locked on his, an answering white-blue flame deep within his eyes sparked to life. Wicked light, seductive and abrasive. Yield, it demanded. I stretched my eyes open and held them wide, resisting the gut-deep urge to let my gaze drop before his.
I'd wasted too many hours coming up with words to describe just what shade of blue his eyes were. Mediterranean blue is how I remembered them. Deep set. Surrounded by a thick ring of stubby black eyelashes. They weren't Mediterranean blue; they were Trowbridge blue. Right now, they were lit with the Alpha-blue flame of his blood kin, and were beyond my ability to describe.
A stupid exercise, description. It's a memory game for a yearning, dreaming heart. It's something you play, waiting for the light to change, trying to find the right word, as if that would somehow return you to that moment, help you live that feeling again. Maybe one day, I'd go back to finding the right word, but right then, caught in the heart trap of pure feeling, I was only aware of what the blue flame in his eyes meant to me. It was power, it was desire, it was a fight and a promise.
It was everything.