Chapter 1

1

In the dead of night, in the dead of winter, even Chicago slept. Fresh snow blanketed roads, sidewalks, lawns. Snowplows wouldn’t be out for hours yet, which left streetlights catching the flecks within the crust and scattering them in a silvery glitter across the city. Gideon sat at his bedroom window, curtains thrown open to the now cloudless sky, and wished for brief seconds that he wasn’t cooped up inside. This was a night for hunting. The air practically begged him to come out and play.

The blankets rustled behind him. Silently, he turned his head and watched Emma’s pale form rise from the bed’s sanctuary. Though it had been a month since her return, she had yet to cut her hair. It fell in thick, dark blonde waves to her waist, obscuring her naked curves. Gideon thought it made her look both younger and more seductive, but he kept that opinion to himself. He and Jesse didn’t comment on the changes in Emma since her rescue. They were too relieved she was back to dare disturb the balance.

Jesse still slept in the middle of the bed, the blankets twisted around his waist. Both had fallen asleep naked, spent from an early night and hours of slow fucking. The scent of come still hovered in the air, but Gideon had refused to give it power and distract him from his vigil. Tonight was his turn. He would not allow his baser desires to get in the way.

Emma didn’t speak. She stepped noiselessly to her dresser and rifled through the second drawer. As Gideon watched, she slipped on panties, then sweats, then sat down topless on the floor to pull on socks. Her hair hung over her face, hiding it from view. The delicate arch of her spine was smoother now than it had been only a few weeks earlier. No knobs, no visible ribcage. Slowly but surely, she was gaining the weight she had lost. Nobody knew exactly how much time had passed in the other dimension for her, but it was enough for her to have dropped nearly twenty-five pounds. In some ways, she had been just a shell when Jesse had rescued her. They were finally seeing the light at the end of that particular tunnel.

Gideon remained motionless while she finished dressing. She straightened, and her baggy T-shirt caught the hard peaks of her nipples. No bra. Sometimes she wore one, sometimes she didn’t. At her full health, Emma’s breasts were ripe and luscious, and not wearing a bra during the day wasn’t really an option. But she wasn’t quite there yet. Soon, perhaps. Not now.

She went into the adjoining bathroom. Without shutting the door or turning on the light, she used the toilet and washed her hands. Familiar rituals, both of them. Jesse stirred at the sound of water running into the sink, but not enough to realize Emma was no longer in bed with him. If he rolled over, he would know. He might even wake up and join Gideon. They did that occasionally, though they had set up the alternating schedule to prevent both of them being zombies during the day. Good intentions. He prayed they weren’t their downfall.

When Emma finally went for the bedroom door, Gideon rose from his chair. He was already dressed, already prepared as he followed her out into the hall. She turned right, toward the stairs, her fingertips gliding along the wall for guidance. Light from a downstairs lamp that had somehow been forgotten sent long shadows skittering up the walls. Emma’s silhouette loomed taller, thinner, than her solid form. Her hand resembled a spider, finding its way along an invisible web.

Still, she never said a word. He didn’t know why that always bothered him. Maybe because it made her seem like a ghost, like everything they had gone through to get her back had been a dream, and he and Jesse were stuck in some delusion together while Emma was still bound helpless against her will in another dimension. Or worse, that she really was dead, and this was their own personal hell. Gideon hated how silence made her so much more ethereal. It worked to his advantage on nights like this, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

At the bottom of the stairs, Emma paused. Gideon halted halfway up. She cocked her head, as if listening for something, so Gideon did the same.

Heartbeats. Four of them. Emma’s. Jesse’s. Dominique and Michelle’s in their wing of the house. They were the pulses that breathed life into his existence, the reminders that he wasn’t alone. Even Michelle’s was welcome, though he would never in a million years tell her that.

The refrigerator in the kitchen kicked in. Ice cubes fell into the tray. Emma would never have heard the latter.