The first book in the Jonathan Stride series, 2005

Darkness was a different thing in the north woods than it was in the city. He had forgotten.

The girl was invisible-no more than a ghost under the midnight sky-but he knew she was there, very close to him. He clutched her warm wrist in his hand. Her breathing was soft and measured; she was calm. Her perfume, always familiar to him, filled his nostrils again, a lingering, unusual essence of spring flowers. Lilac, he thought. And hyacinth. He remembered when that perfume alone, just the smell of it, could arouse him. He had missed her scent and her body. Now here they were-together again.

A fist of dread gripped his insides. A wave of self-hatred washed over him. He didn't know if he had the courage for what came next. Waiting, planning, wanting, he had fantasized about this night. She was so much a part of his mind that when he looked in the mirror, he could actually see her behind him, like a dark raven on his shoulder. But after all the anticipation, he hesitated at the threshold.

One last little game, he thought.

"Let's get it over with," the girl hissed, betraying irritation and impatience. He hated to hear any hint of disapproval in her voice. But she was right-she was always a step ahead of him. They had been outside in the frigid air for too long. The barn was a magnet for lovers. Someone might interrupt them in their hideaway, ruining everything.

He felt wolfish eyes upon him. They were alone, but even so, he felt as if strangers were hiding behind the skeletal birch trees, stalking him. He took a deep breath, trying to rein in his fears. He couldn't wait any more.