This is actually the dedication for the both Modern Werewolves out as well as the others that will start with “The Secret of…”
The dedications are for the smaller series within the larger world series. Either way the series are loosely related. Same world, but the “series arc” isn’t strong. It’s more the themes/concepts change between the series markers.
The first group is Crazy Alphas.
The dedication for Crazy Alphas is
::Dedication:: Crazy Alphas of Modern Werewolves
This series is dedicated to the only true mated pair I know, even if one died: Dorothy Bowers and William Bowers. She gave me the story background needed to prove true mates can exist. If not for them I may have stopped looking for my own true mate.
(Since this book was published, my grandmother has also passed away.)
For one thing, Dorothy and William Bowers were my grandparents. I never met my grandfather on that side. He died long before I was born. So everything I heard was only story told by people who loved him.
What’s truth? I don’t know. What’s fiction? I don’t know.
I grew up listening to tales of my grandfather wooing my grandmother. She was always a strong person. She never planned to follow the typical route of marriage and kids.
Not once in her young life did she think she’d get married or be a mother.
However, my grandfather showed up. They fell in love. He begged for her hand in marriage. As much as they tried to refrain from kids, their connection was very much sexual. Five kids happened.
My grandmother never regretted anything with the relationship. Not once did she ever give me bad stories about him. He was this hero in a romance story. That’s how I always saw him.
I never met him. He died when my mother was a senior in high school. I wasn’t even considered back then. More than a decade before I was born, he left.
I don’t want you thinking my grandmother treated everyone with such care. She didn’t. The stories she told of her second husband, the grandfather I met and never got along with, were less than appealing. Between the lack of care her husband offered and the stories, I always looked at “Bill” as half villain. No, he was never my grandfather. There was never a time I called her second husband “Grandfather”. Because he wasn’t. My grandfather had died a heroic death.
William Bowers was this please everyone, boost everyone, be there for everyone person. He supported his sisters, his wife, everyone he could. He was this better than good person.
He died because he worked in a intense job. One that needed him at top marks at all times.
And he helped someone middle of the night because they needed it.
The lack of sleep plus high stress job plus his not quite quality health made his heart give out.
He had a heart attack that killed him before he reached fifty.
Every single story that included him made him the hero.
So he is the reason I can believe in true love and soul mates and hopeless romance and all the good things are possible. Because my Grandmother found hers. He existed.
That means I can believe it exists too. I can search for mine. The perfect counter partner. Not the perfect person (not that I would’ve believed her when I was little), but the perfect person to make me stronger. The one I can boost to be even greater heights.
The person who I can teach to soar.
I can mother everyone. And I do. You’ll see me wandering around offering those motherly boosts everywhere to everyone.
Where can I find my match? Who are they?
I only have to recall my grandparents to remind myself to not give up hope. They’re out there. Somewhere. Probably locked in a closet.