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“Hmm? Oh, nothing,” the other woman replied, her demeanor softening. She smiled warmly and patted Gwen’s arm. “I’m sure it will all be fine, peaches. You just need to get some rest. How about I bring you up some snacks later? The girls came over this morning for cards, and you know we always have too much food.”
“That’d be great,” Gwen replied, feigning appreciation. Miss Jones’s friends were an entertaining bunch, but none of them could cook a quiche or a cookie that didn’t have the consistency of old tires. Not that Gwen had room to judge. Her culinary expertise consisted of boiling water and mostly not burning frozen chicken nuggets.
“Make sure to get some rest,” Miss Jones repeated as Gwen made her way up the stairs.
“I will,” she said over her shoulder. Jinx meowed.
The moment Gwen pressed her back against the closed door of her apartment, she let out the heaviest sigh she’d probably ever sighed in her life. Weary to the bone, she dropped her purse on the floor and fell into a faded green recliner by the window—her perch—forgetting all about her chocolates. Gwen peered deliriously out the window to the dreary sky above. “At least someone cares enough about you to ask,” she grumbled to herself.
She’d been in the system since she was two. Since the car accident that had left her with a deep crescent-shaped scar over her right eyebrow and suddenly motherless. There’d been no one else. No dad. No extended family. There hadn’t even been any photos. All Gwen had left of her mother was a simple gold necklace, which held a single tiny ruby and a vague memory of a woman with long brown hair, freckles, and a sweet smile.
Gwen had grown up jumping from foster home to foster home, never bothering to get attached to anyone because she always knew it wouldn’t last. Sure, she’d had friends over the years, but never very close ones. Even her dating life had been mostly casual, except for Nathan. She grimaced at the thought.
Unwilling to give Nathan any more space in her brain, Gwen tried to focus on something else entirely. Someone else entirely, to be precise. Even when she was awake, he haunted her. The shadowy man from her dream. The way he smelled, of sandalwood and spice. The way her body flushed under his touch. Gwen’s skin prickled at the memory, and a little skitter of nervous energy rushed through her.
Every night for the last two weeks, Gwen would drift off to sleep and find herself standing in the middle of a hazy forest, surrounded by a circle of stones marked with weird symbols. The scent of the trees was so strong she could nearly taste it on her tongue. Chilled, damp air lingered on her skin, but it was her nerves that caused her to shiver. Something deep in the forest moved within the mist. A dark blur followed by whispers. She watched the trees, her dread growing with each shallow breath. A hand fell on her shoulder, and Gwen jolted with a gasp.
His face was blurred by dark shadows, but it didn’t matter. She knew him. His calloused fingers delicately brushed the edge of her cheek, and she savored the warmth left in their wake. The comfort that simple touch brought her. “I’m here,” he told her, his voice dark and rich.
Gwen nuzzled into his hand, her heart thrumming violently against her ribs as he ran his thumb over her bottom lip. He was so warm. The insidious presence in the forest stirred closer, the voices swirling around them like formless specters. Gwen ignored everything but him. His scent, his touch. As long as he was here, she knew she would be okay. She knew she would be safe.
“It’s time, Gwendolyn,” he said, gently cupping her cheek. She breathed him deep into her lungs, spice and tree. He leaned in so close, she could feel his breath on her cheek. “Wake up.”
Her eyes flew open.
She was in her apartment.
It was dark.
She’d fallen asleep.
A light fog now glowed faintly orange in the streetlight. With a stuttered breath, Gwen shifted in her chair. Her heart pounded wildly, the phantom scent of tree and spice lingering. The shadow man had never spoken in her dream before. That was new. It had been—intense.
It was frustrating that some fantastical, shadowy apparition could get her so worked up. Some dream.
With each deep breath, Gwen expected her nerves to ease. Instead, an eerie feeling crept over her, tiny prickles of awareness. She turned sharply to look around the small, dark room. For several seconds, she sat still. Watching. Listening.
“Is someone there?” she stammered.
No one replied.
Gwen swallowed a lump of dry air. Everything seemed normal. She was paranoid—that was all. Overtired and jumpy. She continued to stare anxiously into the pitch black of the small hallway that led to her closet of a bedroom. Nothing moved in the darkness, but she couldn’t shake that feeling. The feeling that she wasn’t alone. A shudder cascaded through her, all the way to the marrow of her bones, followed by a jolt of panicked adrenaline. She’d left the window in her bedroom open. The one that led to the fire escape.
Gwen leapt from her chair—instinct overriding thought—and scrambled for the door. She had to get out! She had to run! She had to?—
Her hand was only an inch from the handle when a familiar scent coiled around her. Sandalwood and spice. She stopped short, her shoes squeaking on the wood floor.
What are you doing? Run! her brain screamed. But Gwen stood frozen, her breath shallow and labored, her hand hovering over the handle, her blood pumping in her ears. Trembling and still a little delirious, she slowly twisted her body toward the dark hallway, even though she knew she was being nuts. Knew she was going to get herself murdered.
She blinked, her wide eyes lingering on the span of shadow, trying to adjust to the darkness. It seemed empty. Then she saw it. A shift. So slight she thought it might be her eyes playing tricks on her. But the shift twisted into an outline. An outline of a person. Her breath hitched.
“Hello, Gwendolyn.”
All her blood rushed to her toes. The words were carried by the rich, gravelly voice of a man. A voice she now recognized.
The second he stepped out of the shadows and into the dim light, she was sure her heart had stopped. His eyes were locked on hers. Eyes Gwen hadn’t been able to see in her dream. Eyes that seemed to gaze right through her. Eyes the color of frost.
Chapter Three
