I am a Master.

You must know this fact to understand my story.

I’m not here to offer you a delightful or cheerful holiday story.

It is not my job to fill up your heart with the festive spirit of the season.

It doesn’t make sense for me to subscribe to the spirit of the season when it’s one of the things I work so hard to extinguish in the courtesans I train.

Rebecca thought she could seduce me into celebrating a holiday she loves.

I don’t want lights and pretty baubles.
I don’t want trees, or wreaths or garlands.
I don’t want presents or the fantasy of a day where nothing bad exists.

She thought she could manipulate me until my heart warmed just enough to allow some festive cheer into the depths of cold, bleak darkness.

I’ve said this once, and I’ll say it again…

She was wrong.

About the Author . . .

Also in the series . . .

Alice Beaumont is running out of time…

Plagued by sleep disorders since her childhood, Alice had grown accustomed to the nightly dreams that terrorized her. She woke up in strange places. She was paralyzed by fear and hallucinations. She screamed each night at unseen specters and evil faces.

When her sister, Delilah, goes missing, Alice’s dreams take on new meaning. A link between reality and fantasy, Alice understands that her dreams hold the key to the mystery of her sister’s abduction.

A hooded woman…
A mysterious and dangerous man…
And a doctor who is determined to help her fit together the broken pieces…

Alice has no choice but to peer deep into the recesses of her mind to discover the clues that will lead her to truth. On a race to save her sister, Alice runs a dangerous maze between the nightmares that haunt her and the monster that waits for her when she finally wakes.

*This title deals with disturbing themes that may be a trigger for sensitive readers.*

Excerpt . . .

Giveaway . . .

About the Author . . .

Words are funny things.

Their meaning, the pictures they paint in the minds of those that hear them: they’re not always the same and to me at least, that makes them meaningless.

Take for instance the phrase ‘black widow’. Those words conjure the image of a spider, an eight-legged creature with the red imprint of an hourglass on its abdomen.

However, instead of speaking of an arachnid, of the resident of a spindly and dew-laden web, the people who whisper those words are talking about something much different.

They’re talking about me.

From what I’m told, I’m called the Black Widow because no man I’ve ever loved has survived.

Yet, I have no memory of any of it.

My new home leads me to the definition of another vague and meaningless word.

It’s a place where I’m supposed to seek refuge.

A place of retreat and security.

It’s a place where I’m supposed to be kept safe because I’m sick.

But the definition for this place is wrong and the word becomes meaningless when you’re tucked away and made silent by drugs and pretty white jackets.

My name is Alexandra Sutton and this is the story of what happened when I was imprisoned inside an Asylum.

About the Author . . .

Also by the Author . . .