Winter's Shadow Read Free Page B

particular care to infuse the Madonna’s face with the appropriate blend of beauty and piousness.
    Her sense of dread momentarily forgotten, Winter moved closer for a better angle of the stained glass.
This was the one!
Winter was suddenly filled with confidence that this particular shot all but guaranteed the extra credit she needed to pass the semester. Harry Francis would sing her praises to Principal Sorensen, and Winter would be released from probation. She might even be able to use the image in her personal portfolio, which was currently limited to a few shots of the lighthouse on Whistler’s Peak. As long as she didn’t mess it up.
    Adjusting the exposure to retain the vibrant colours, Winter raised the camera to her eye, carefully framing the window in the viewfinder. Her finger began to depress the button but froze mid-action. Winter’s breath caught in her throat.
    She wasn’t alone.



Chapter 3

    Winter slowly lowered her camera, careful not to make any noise. Through the broken pane of the stained-glass window she could see the remnants of an ancient graveyard, all but hidden by the tall grass and weeds that had crept in from the surrounding woods. Blackened tombstones rose above the grass here and there like strange fungi, weathered by the elements and the passage of time. Standing over one of the graves, dressed in a simple grey suit, was a young man.
    He was angled away from her so she couldn’t quite see his face, a bouquet of wild flowers in his hands. Slowly he knelt and placed the flowers at the base of the gravestone, with a degree of reverence that told her how much he cared about the person buried there. As he straightened, a gust of wind blew through the trees, buffeting hisclothes and freeing the black curls from his brow. Winter could see his face more clearly.
    He was beautiful.
    Her eyes traced the contours of the man’s superbly wrought face, searching for a flaw and finding none. His skin was a deep golden brown, his bone structure startling in its perfection: high cheekbones, straight, slightly tilted nose and a sculpted jawline covered in fine stubble. By far his most striking feature was his eyes, which glittered like emerald stars in the shadows of the graveyard. Winter thought she detected a sadness about him, a haunted quality shadowing his features, which made his beauty all the more striking. And she couldn’t look away!
    Something about the man demanded her attention, calling to her on an instinctual level. Winter’s pulse quickened, her body flushed with heat, but she was only vaguely aware of these physical responses. It was as though watching the man had lulled her into a kind of dream state. Her thoughts slowed, any lingering fright at realising she wasn’t alone faded away. Nothing seemed to matter but the stranger.
    She bumped against the window ledge, the sensation bringing her back to herself. Had she been trying to walk towards him? Troubled by this lapse in self-awareness, she quietly stepped out of view. What was wrong with her? She was spying on a stranger, observing what was clearly a private moment, but she couldn’t help herself. Even now the urge to peek around the window frameat him was maddeningly strong. Too strong to resist. His beauty demanded her attention.
    Winter stealthily leaned around to watch him again, a question finally occurring to her – what was he doing here?
    The church was far enough from the road that it was unlikely a person could stumble across it. Besides, Winter was certain the only pathway here started at the Heritage Centre, and a wanderer wouldn’t have been able to pass by without Mr Denning seeing him. The old man hadn’t mentioned to Winter that there was going to be anyone else down at the church today, which led her to believe he didn’t know about the handsome stranger. The man was as much a trespasser in this forgotten place as Winter.
    Winter raised the Nikon and framed the stranger through her lens. There was little