Enchanted Dreams Part 3

"I guess so!" he agreed emphatically. He turned to her hair, picking up a lock and examining it as he twirled it between his fingers. "And I would say that the air-conditioning in that place is set to the perfect temperature and humidity for hair. Just look at the condition of this curl!"

She turned her eyes as if to examine it with him. "Humph," she said, pretending to ponder the matter as if she had no idea that there were at least four different hair products forcing it to perform in such an exceptional matter. "I never noticed that before."

"Yeah. Those are some great working conditions you've got over there." His attention now turned to her face. She watched his eyes as they took in everything from her delicately shaped eyebrows to her shimmering lips. "Great working conditions," he repeated thoughtfully.

While it delighted her to hear these things, every single word only served to prove that she had been right. But she only smiled.

"I think I f.u.c.ked up more than I realized," he said quietly. And she could feel herself melting for him all over again in spite of everything. But the little voice inside her head cried, "Don't! You'll only make it end faster!"

And she suddenly realized that it was not his fault or hers. It simply was. And she no longer wanted to talk about it. Why rail against what is? To accept things as they were was to truly live and experience life. To fight against those things was to prevent it. She looked at Dan with appreciation. The least she could do was accept him, and in order to accept him she must forgive him. And for the first time in her life she was able to accept and forgive herself, as well.

"What are you thinking?" Dan asked her.

"I was thinking that you look pretty good yourself."

"Well, unlike you, I actually had to work at getting presentable," he joked. "Shaved and everything, see?"

Maryanne laughed.

They were back on good terms again, and they flirted and talked and laughed just like always.

But even so, later that night, when it was time to go home, Maryanne felt like being alone.

"Can I just come over and tuck you in?" he asked.

"I don't know," she hedged. "I'm not sure I'm up for it."

"Listen," he told her. "I really want to be with you tonight-no, it's not about s.e.x, I don't even want s.e.x-but I want to be near you...to hold you. Come on. Can I, please, can I, huh?" He began to whimper like a puppy until she relented, laughing.

"Okay, maybe just for a little while."

And he was true to his word, simply wrapping her in a blanket of warmth as he snuggled up next to her in the spoon position.

"Shhh," he interrupted when she tried to move or speak. "I don't care how much you beg or plead, you are not getting s.e.x!" She laughed, all the more amused because his raging erection was conspicuously poking into her back. "Now just settle down and go to sleep."

But all of a sudden Maryanne didn't want to go to sleep. She wanted Dan. And she was in a dangerously indulgent mood regarding wants; it was a mood to not only satisfy those wants but to surpa.s.s them.

She wiggled her backside into him enticingly and smiled when he groaned.

"Come on," he begged. "Play fair."

She moved against him again, more persistently this time. His hips automatically jutted forward in response. She continued to rub up against him rhythmically, slowly maneuvering herself until his erection found its way in between her legs. And still she kept undulating her hips back and forth over him, enjoying the exquisitely tantalizing foreplay.

She could feel his heartbeat pounding in time with hers, but neither of them was in a hurry to put an end to the delicious torment. They knew the moment would come when all of their movements and gyrations would at last cause his erection to find its own way into her. And when it finally did, only then did Dan clamp his arms and legs around her body to hold her firmly in place as he mindlessly drove himself into her. Their bodies, which were entwined together as one and still lying down sideways, were periodically propelled forward in time with his thrusts. Maryanne couldn't move so much as an inch, Dan held her so fully restrained. But she was content, for the moment, to simply bask in the pleasure of having him exactly where she wanted him. All of her instincts rose up within her, curling and mingling with her most intense desires. "Listen," her instincts seemed to be saying. "Listen to your heart and accept what is."

She pa.s.sively allowed him to hold her during this exquisite a.s.sault for as long as she was able, relishing each and every deliciously agonizing moment of delayed gratification that it brought. The pleasure she would gain from prolonging and extending her own satisfaction would be immense. And in the meantime, she enjoyed every single thrust of his body into hers, delighting in the feel of him as he took her with reckless abandon. And she could tell that he was in no hurry, either, but, rather, he was in a mood to take his time and savor every stroke right along with her. She let her hands run over his strong, muscular arms, reveling in the way they so fully restrained her. She loved the feeling of being momentarily powerless and completely surrendering to the man that she loved.

Their bodies moved together in perfect harmony, with hers gracefully arching upward in time with his thrusts like a well-ch.o.r.eographed dance, and neither one wanted it to end. They remained entwined this way for the better part of an hour. But Maryanne's desire, which had merely been simmering so far, was suddenly about to erupt into a boil.

She began to struggle against him. Her hips were first to buck and thrash, and then her arms and legs followed. When he loosened his hold on her, she moved up onto her knees, clutching his hips to hers as she went so he would not leave her for a single instant. Her growing excitement as she now took control spurred him on even more. He glided his hands lovingly over her body, caressing her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and teasing her nipples. He let his fingers roam lower until they found her swollen c.l.i.toris and began prodding and teasing it mercilessly. She used her thighs to propel her body up and down on him in time with his thrusts. As his hands moved over her, so, too, did hers reach behind to caress him.

Maryanne moaned loudly with pleasure as she pumped her hips over Dan's rock-hard erection. She felt the giddying sensations of her impending o.r.g.a.s.m rising up in her, causing her to become even more reckless in her utter abandon. She clutched his hips in her hands, pulling him into her even as she pushed backward, making his thrusts go deeper. Her nails dug into his flesh as she held him, but her aggressiveness only further inflamed Dan. He, too, became more impa.s.sioned, and his fingers on her c.l.i.toris became more forceful, coaxing and prodding the little swollen nub relentlessly. With his other hand, he pinched her nipples ruthlessly.

Maryanne's hips kept thrashing violently, even as the heady sensations of her o.r.g.a.s.m began to erupt within her. In a sudden frenzy, she turned her face toward Dan's, and he immediately captured her lips in a pa.s.sionate kiss. Her hands flew up around his neck and she clung to him so that she could kiss him more pa.s.sionately. Her cry of pleasure was m.u.f.fle by the kiss, but suddenly Dan's head flew back in ecstasy as his own release hit him. In that very instant, Maryanne's fingernails bore into the back of his neck, effectively paralyzing him. His body continued to e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.e even more vigorously as she plunged her teeth into his neck and ripped out a large portion of his flesh. He could do little more than stare in disbelief as she began to devour him. She ate with relish, suddenly oblivious to everything else but her incredible hunger. Dan could not move or speak. His final moments were spent in an unfathomable paradox between the ultimate pleasure and the most unthinkable horror.

When Maryanne's hunger finally waned, Dan's head had all but been severed. She moved away from him, strangely at peace. It was, she told herself, for the best. There was no more self-loathing or regret. She had finally learned to accept herself, and ironically she had Dan to thank for that.

Maryanne sat on the edge of the bed, slender and straight-backed, with her head tilted slightly forward in that timid way that she had, and her hands clasped in front of her as if in prayer. She allowed herself to rock lightly from side to side, now that she was alone. She thought about the future. Unfortunately, it meant that she would once again be obliged to change her appearance and move on. But even that did not worry her overmuch. A chameleon who could blend into any environment was also an integral part of who she was. She could suddenly see the wisdom and harmony in everything that occurred around her. She would never again struggle against her own instincts or pine for a different existence. This was how things were, and from now on she would accept her reality for what it was. To struggle against it was, to Maryanne's way of thinking, living in denial. She smiled humorlessly when she thought of the myriads of sad, empty females who allowed their inner selves to be depleted by this fallacy of holding one man's interest and affection forever.

But she would never share her insights with anyone again. Doing so had only accelerated the process and brought about a quicker end. At all costs, she must learn to enjoy love for as long as possible before it was inevitably lost to disenchantment.

Dying For It.

For the most part, they're like you'd expect. Or at least I found this to be so. I followed one of them for weeks and, although I was often shocked, I was hardly ever genuinely surprised.

Vincent was friendly, agreeable and bright. I always observed him from a safe distance, it's true, but his magnetism could be felt from far off. And you could see it, too, from watching those around him. They were always perfectly at ease and utterly charmed. Men and women alike found him irresistible. He had a healthy glow in his cheeks that belied any pernicious habits, dietary or otherwise. He might have been taken for a vegetarian.

I started following Vincent the very first night I discovered him. Before I was even fully conscious of it, parts of me were already tracking him from across the room.

Over the years, I had become quite a recluse. Not that I was ever the sort of person to win a popularity contest, but lately I had become more withdrawn. It wasn't by choice, really, but more from a lack of social skills-in this field I had potential that never really got developed. I was too shy. And I was never any good at casual conversation. The trendy topics always seemed inane to me, and I could never think of anything to say when they came up. And even on those rare occasions when I did manage to think of something clever to contribute, I could never get it out successfully. My timing was usually off, so that my comments came too early or, more often, too late. Either that or I would suddenly become so timid, speaking so self-consciously and with so much anxiety, that the whole point would become lost in the utter awkwardness of my manner. In those moments, it was actually a relief to have my voice drowned out by someone louder and more confident. Eventually, I gave up. And my quietness, which might have made a more attractive woman appear demure or mysterious, rendered me all but invisible. I blended into the woodwork as inconspicuously as any ordinary knot or other imperfection. But although I am painfully shy and awkward around people, I still enjoy being around them. My need for human companionship is so strong that it doesn't even matter if no one notices me. I'm usually content to simply watch those around me.

This, and other more recent developments, had created a great restlessness in me by the time I found Vincent. I still remember the moment I first saw him with a vividness that has more clarity than the actual event, which took place in a kind of haze of orange lighting distorted by wispy vapors of cigarette smoke. I was sitting in a dim corner of a crowded bar. It was a noisy, run-down little hole-in-the-wall with low ceilings and outdated acoustics. On that particular evening, I was glad for the noise. Every now and then a waitress would stop and say something, which always surprised me because I had come to believe that I really was becoming invisible. I was halfheartedly sipping at a lukewarm hot toddy. The jukebox, which carried a wide variety of pop songs from every culture, was playing a tune that caught my attention. With each chorus refrain, it kept repeating the same unsettling idiom over and over again, and I felt my face grow warm with mortification as I waited fretfully for it to end. The strong, male voice, with its rich Southern tw.a.n.g, crooned out-rather insensitively, I thought-the words, Lonely women make good lovers.

As I listened to the song I couldn't help wondering how this popular country-music star, who no doubt had his choice of beautiful women, happened to know this. It was true, of course, which was why the song caused me so much discomfort. I knew firsthand how rare and extraordinary a thing a lover is to a lonely woman. All of her pent-up fantasies and cravings only grow stronger with the long periods of privation, building an enthusiasm in her that is difficult to contain. Naturally she's eager, as the country singer so aptly pointed out. She cannot help but feel appreciative. She is able to feast sumptuously on trifles scarcely capable of tempting more fortunate women. At least that was something, then. How could a woman who receives more than her fair share of attention comprehend the pleasure of, say, simply being noticed? Can the mere thought of a lover's touch cause her to tremble when there are men reaching for her at every opportunity? I have seen women turn away from a lover's caress in contempt, and it is the men, in those cases, who know of the pleasure I speak.

The men in the bar that night, however, did not appear the least bit interested in the country singer's advice. As always, they cl.u.s.tered deferentially around the most desirable women. I recognized their yearning enough to sympathize. But the women were distracted, although they laughed and flirted mechanically. One man in particular had fully captured their attention. He had captured mine as well. The influence of his charm was inescapable. I had been watching him with interest throughout the night.

There wasn't any one thing that was especially unique or exceptional in Vincent's appearance or personality. He blended in with other men brilliantly, and even had a peculiar ambiguity about him that caused you to wonder, after the fact, what it was that impressed you so much. In his manner-and I came to know it well in the weeks that followed-there was something completely and utterly charming. As well, I found his character to be extremely well-rounded. He was in every way confident, yet often humble. He was kind but not susceptible. He was amusing but never foolish. Of his attributes I could go on and on. The closest thing to a flaw that I was ever able to detect in him was his penchant for shallow relationships. He had an untiring apt.i.tude for developing new acquaintances, but he never allowed anyone to come close to seeing the full spectrum of his personality. I understood the necessity of this, mind you, but I wondered that he never seemed dissatisfied with these fleeting connections, realizing, as he must have, how easily someone like him could have developed a closer bond. That he could capture a woman's heart was certain. If he were ever known, he would most certainly be loved. Isn't that what every living thing desires?

From among the beauties that were eyeing Vincent that night, he selected a rather-I felt-shallow and insipid woman. She had little to offer of either charm or substance. Even worse, there was a meanness about her that should have offended a man like Vincent. She was rude to those around her and even cruel to the waitstaff. I didn't know Vincent at the time, of course, but even so, she seemed so opposite to him that I wondered how he could tolerate her.

This was what triggered my curiosity, and it held my interest throughout the night. Watching Vincent interact with the woman, I became more and more convinced that he felt little more than antipathy, if not outright dislike, for her. He was, of course, charming and courteous-Vincent would never be needlessly cruel-but his aversion was evident. I could see it in his expression and detect it in the ironic tone of his remarks.

When they finally left the bar, together, I found myself following at a leisurely pace. I had no particular plan, nor was I working very hard to keep them in my sight. I was not in the habit of following people. I just kind of hovered in the distance, drawn as if by some kind of invisible force. I think I sensed that something peculiar was about to happen. The two of them being together seemed to foretell it.

It was remarkably easy. The woman happened to live in a nearby apartment and, it being a balmy night in the densely populated city, it was not surprising that they walked. Many times since that night I've hailed cabs and actually uttered the words, "Follow that car," which ill.u.s.trates the strength of the force that drew me to Vincent. But there were usually other people scattered about, livening up the dark streets. Just like at the bars, I blended in seamlessly on city streets, with hardly ever a soul noticing me.

I wish I could tell you something novel and exceptional about the way it happened, or to perhaps add some small nuance to the legends and folklore. But it is novel and exceptional to actually watch it happening in real life, right before your eyes! I can a.s.sure you that the event was abundantly exceptional and even shocking as it is. I suppose people will always need to embellish an event, no matter how extraordinary it is. To the folklore I have nothing to add. The most remarkable thing, from my point of view as I peered in through a small opening in a curtain, was the ease with which it was carried out.

There is a remarkably powerful force at work, a force that, once begun, is absolute and unstoppable. The force seemed to emanate from Vincent, seeping from his pores and fluidly engulfing the woman in its influence. Vincent became like something not from this world once his desire was unleashed. It would consume everyone and everything, even Vincent himself, in its ultimate need to be satisfied. And that's really what it appeared to me to be-some kind of inescapable, raw and powerful need. I was awestruck by the intensity of it. In my ignorance of what was about to occur, I remember scrutinizing the woman again and again, studying her to see what I had missed, but I could find no reason for the incredible animal pa.s.sion that suddenly overcame Vincent. It was as if his very entrails had been clenched in a grip of iron until the pa.s.sion was appeased. A red-hot fire burned behind his eyes, and his breath poured forth from raging nostrils. Oh, how I envied the woman in that moment!

But as Vincent's pa.s.sion continued to escalate, I became alarmed. The intensity of his desire was frightening to see. It was clear that it was not just s.e.xual desire that I was seeing, but some kind of rapacious need. It would consume her; of that I was suddenly certain. Even she appeared to recognize this, and she seemed to acquiesce under the inevitability of whatever it was as she simply handed herself over to him. It was as if she said, "Here, you need me more than I." How can words express what I witnessed that night?

I wasn't surprised-I was expecting it by this time, actually-when I saw the first flash of descending teeth, milky white and flawlessly sharp. Vincent held his victim wrapped securely in his arms, fully captive, albeit willing, as he spread precarious kisses over her lips and face and throat. There was a frightful light in his eyes. The woman was flushed bright pink from her forehead to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She clung to him in a kind of pa.s.sionate frenzy. He paused for a moment, appearing to undergo some inner struggle, but it was easy to see that he had long since lost the battle. Even his features appeared to harden and congeal, making his gestures and movements seem forced and beyond his control. His fangs once again captured my eye, shimmering ominously in the light. At first, Vincent only brushed them lightly over the woman's skin-so lightly that it caused tiny goose b.u.mps to rise over her flesh and a shiver to run down the length of her. A large vein was pulsing conspicuously from her neck to her temple. Although she could not possibly have known what was coming, she seemed to tremble with premonition. A single thread of saliva traced a shimmery trail behind the deceptively gentle fang as it caressed the throbbing vein for several long moments.

Vincent appeared to be falling under some kind of a hypnotic spell, and I saw his eyes roll up into his head as a look of pure euphoria came over his face. Then, in one quick, fluid movement, he buried both fangs deep into the engorged vein in the woman's neck. I could hear his groan of satisfaction from where I stood outside the window. He drank deeply, pulling in with his jaws and gulping greedily in an incredible feeding frenzy such as I had never seen before.

I have since learned that the human body can lose up to forty percent of the ten or eleven pints of blood it holds before shock sets in. At that point blood flow and oxygen is reduced, causing organs to break down and malfunction. Among the first of these organs is the brain. Consciousness is altered as a kind of lethargy blankets the brain. This is when the victim truly capitulates to the will of the vampire, readily and even eagerly. I have seen it time and again since that night, and I've come to believe that there is no more pleasant way to die.

With that first bite, Vincent fed for a period that was about as long as a person can hold his breath. I know this because I had inadvertently stopped breathing when I saw his fangs pierce the woman's neck, and I remained that way while he drew her precious lifeblood out of her. About the time that I was compelled to resume breathing or else faint, he, too, suddenly threw his head back and gasped for air. In time, I was able to estimate that these first feedings comprised somewhere between two and three pints of blood, which was not enough to kill the victim.

The woman had neither struggled nor uttered a sound. She appeared shocked and dazed. Dark red droplets of her blood shimmered on Vincent's lips. With his initial thirst momentarily quenched, he was once again composed, although still highly impa.s.sioned. He bent forward to kiss the woman's lips. This time, he kissed her more gently, almost tenderly, as he slowly and smoothly stripped away her clothes. She acquiesced to him entirely, yielding to his will as if she were under a spell. It was as if she had but one objective, and that was to honor his every last request. With what life she had remaining, she seemed determined to do her best to achieve this, and she only stirred when it a.s.sisted his efforts for her to do so.

At last she lay sprawled out before him, bare and pale and beautiful, as he, in turn, undressed. Naked, he took her to him, gently at first, but more savagely as she egged him on. She, too, was becoming more impa.s.sioned, seemingly reviving with her desire. She clung to him fiercely, provoking and urging him in turns, and becoming increasingly demanding. In a sudden turn of events, it seemed that she was now the aggressor, thrusting herself violently against him and digging her fingernails into his back. And Vincent, temporarily sated, acquiesced to her every whim, feeding off her responses and allowing her to dictate his movements. She struggled against him with her arms and legs, thrashing and tearing at him one moment and then clutching him in the next. He yielded to her completely, becoming deceptively patient and tender and sweet.

But I could see that his pa.s.sion, which appeared to rise and fall in ever ascending waves that rushed and flowed like moods, was escalating again. He began to a.s.sert himself once more, grasping her hips to hold her still while he bartered for a kiss, or teasing her mercilessly until she did whatever else it was that he desired. I could see the terrible hunger steadily building in him throughout their lovemaking, and I became apprehensive as I continued to watch. He leaned down to kiss and lick her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, lapping hungrily at them with long, lingering strokes of his tongue. I knew his need could overtake him at any moment and I shuddered as I waited for what was to come. The woman, too, seemed to sense something approaching, and she clung to him with a desperate little cry. But he kept both of us in suspense for much longer than I expected, taking his sweet time while leisurely lapping at her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and circling his tongue aimlessly round and round the pink tips. It seemed that he would wear her skin away with his tongue, he worked at her b.r.e.a.s.t.s so fervently. I watched anxiously for that glimmer of white to descend from beneath his rosy lips yet again, and it did shortly thereafter. But this time, Vincent only grazed on the feast spread out before him, carefully piercing one nipple and then the next for a small sampling from each. The woman writhed beneath him, overcome with what must have been incredible sensations, I supposed. I waited breathlessly for her response, but to my surprise, all I saw in her countenance was pleasure. The incisions from his bites appeared to be so clean and precise that they hardly even left a mark, and the bleeding stopped almost immediately after he withdrew.

Meanwhile Vincent's pa.s.sion still kept mounting and rising, and with each advance it seemed to me the woman was in a more and more precarious state. She had somehow revived, but was too caught up in the pleasure to notice the subtle changes in her unique lover. She pressed herself against him almost violently, crying out several times as her body shuddered and convulsed with the power of her o.r.g.a.s.ms. She appeared oblivious of any impending danger. Perhaps she thought, after all, that she had stumbled into the arms of an especially wild and adventurous lover. I bit my lip as I watched him get nearer and nearer the brink of that terrifying need that would erase the last of his control. But as for his victim, the closer he got to the edge, the more her pleasure seemed to intensify.

I gazed at them in a kind of aroused stupor, tormented by the conflicting sensations of envy and l.u.s.t and horror. Strange, unimaginable thoughts raced through my mind. My very life seemed to flash before my eyes with the ideas that were filling my head. They were the fancies of a madwoman and yet I could not halt them. But I was distracted from my thoughts by the sight of Vincent picking the woman up and, with superhuman strength and swiftness, f lipping her body so that she was now lying on her stomach. Without missing a beat, he jerked her up onto her hands and knees and smoothly reentered her from behind. In this final shift, he was now once again the aggressor, and I watched him struggle against his wild, insatiable hunger with the last vestiges of his control. It was clearly beyond him, even I could see that. I think he realized it, too, as he reached his hands around her body and captured her b.r.e.a.s.t.s in his hands. He pinched the nipples teasingly, causing her to cry out with delight, before clasping on to them for leverage. With her now so fully captive in the most erotic of embraces, he suddenly let loose with long, powerful thrusts like those of a piston from a powerful machine. With each plunge forward he seemed to gain power and momentum, so that he was driving into the woman with impossible force. And she encouraged him, crying out with pleasure and actually meeting his thrusts head-on! I watched, transfixed, as they thrashed about like something in the wild, both mindlessly pushing toward the dreaded crescendo. And then I saw that terrible light appear in Vincent's eyes. I gasped at the sight of it. His hips bucked savagely one last time as he threw himself into her all the way, and in the same instant he buried his fangs in the back of her neck. She stared at the wall in front of her with an expression of astonishment. She appeared to be both surprised and euphoric, all at once. I had never seen pleasure shape the features in just that way. Her body rose up in a kind of ecstasy as he simultaneously filled and emptied her. His b.u.t.tocks continued to thrust spasmodically with his o.r.g.a.s.m as he drained the last of her life from her body. When he finished, he withdrew both his p.e.n.i.s and his fangs at the same time. Her final breath was released like a whispered sigh of satisfaction. After a stunned second, she dropped in a heap. Vincent gazed down at her before turning abruptly away.

Suddenly he appeared to be angry. I hid farther in the shadows as I watched him dress in furious, jerky movements. As for me, my mind was once again bustling with strange thoughts and sensations.

I was alarmed and distraught and enthralled, to the point where I thought I might lose my mind. Somehow I was able to accept what I had seen. But as time wore on I realized that I had done more than simply accept it, I appreciated it. I began to consider my discovering Vincent's secret incredibly good fortune. It seemed to me like something nearing divine intervention. I would not go so far as to suggest that it was of a heavenly nature, but I was sure that it came from some otherworldly realm. Warnings of souls lost to the devil came to mind, but for me, the source of this fortune was not even a consideration. There had been so little of opportunity in my lifetime that I felt it would be foolish to look this gift horse in the mouth. Some may consider me evil, but perhaps by the end of my tale they'll have formed a different opinion.

During those weeks when I followed Vincent, I barely existed. It was as if I was living in the s.p.a.ce that separates two worlds. I rarely went home, and then only to address the most pressing details, such as to shower or change. I did little to maintain my life-or what I had now come to think of as my former life-abruptly and without notice leaving behind employment, household ch.o.r.es and so forth. I had long since lost interest in that life anyway, so I suppose it was not surprising that I would so quickly latch on to anything new. I had no idea how this strange discovery of a whole other existence was going to affect me. For all I knew, embroiling myself in it might well end my existence altogether, and put me in yet another dimension of which I knew nothing. But this, too, was fine with me.

Up to this point, I was only acquainted with the legends. I began reading everything I could get my hands on about vampires, the undead and anything else that might explain what I had seen that night, and yet I was aware that most of what I read was only speculation. Even so, I could not get enough of it, and I would read late into the mornings, too exhausted and exhilarated to sleep after a night of following Vincent. The stories and legends put my mind at ease as I cut off the last of my ties, and slowly filed away at my softer edges, filing and filing until the pain was too acute to endure.

Watching Vincent was addictive. As I grew to know him better, I felt myself becoming more and more infatuated with him, obsessed even. I sensed a certain kinship with him, accompanied with a strange belief that he, too, would feel it for me. For all of his charm and outgoing nature, he was, I thought, as lonely as I was. And yet, somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew this was foolish. What I understood were his pa.s.sions. I could relate to the desire and hunger that drove him. But, what he felt in those brooding, melancholy moments after his pa.s.sion was spent, I never truly understood. At times, it seemed as if he hated his existence, but perhaps, in my desire to understand him, I had begun to confuse his thoughts with my own. And yet I could plainly see that he, like me, suffered.

The notion that vampires feed exclusively on blood, or that they kill multiple victims in a single night is false, or at least it was in Vincent's case. He had a varied diet, and he particularly favored French cuisine. He only fed on human blood out of necessity, usually about once every three to six days. I could always tell when he was ready again. There was a visible deterioration, a sort of rapid aging process that began to take effect. It affected him like a kind of depression, but perhaps only I noticed this because I knew him so well, for even in his weakest state he was still always the liveliest figure in any room. But after he fed! I often wondered that those around him were not frightened by the intense aura of power and energy that radiated off of him.

It might have gone on this way forever, with me lurking in dark shadows behind Vincent for the remainder of my life. I was never one to take action. Life always had to force its will on me. Those things that didn't simply happen to me didn't happen at all. It was the same with Vincent. Who knows what would have become of me if he hadn't intervened.

Like a car accident, it happened in an instant. It was so sudden and unexpected that my strongest desire became a stark terror for me when it finally arrived. In a swift turn of events, the follower was being followed. In a moment he was upon me.

I cried out in surprise. But I made an immediate effort to compose myself. Inwardly I tried to recall what I had planned in this eventuality, until I realized with dismay that I hadn't yet settled on anything definite.

"Who are you?" Vincent demanded in outrage.

"Ana," I said, dipping my head slightly in a nervous habit I had developed to hide my face. It was unnerving to have him standing so close that I could inhale his masculine scent, and even more so to have his fiery gaze fixed on my face. My heart was pounding so rapidly that I wondered if it would burst. It was becoming difficult to breathe. I began to feel faint. But with effort, I willed my heart to slow and I felt myself calming. Beneath the initial shock and alarm, I felt excitement...and even joy.

"That's not what I asked and you know it," he hissed angrily. He grasped hold of my arm but held it without hurting me. His hand was cool, but not deathly cold like I had expected. "Now, who are you?"

I was struck with a sudden fear. What if he simply ended my life right there in the street? I was the furthest thing from the women he normally chose. How on earth was I going to convince him to take me with him?

Yet I instantly disregarded this fear. Vincent was not a cold-blooded killer who would end a life for naught. And aside from this, I happened to know that he was hungry, and I had acquired a strange confidence from having seen some of his choices.

He was looking at me with a great deal of annoyance. Yet he appeared uncertain about what to do next. I searched for the words that would get him to take me with him to his house.

"I will tell you everything," I promised, speaking in the shy manner I had adopted of keeping my voice low and scarcely moving my lips. I struggled to overcome my nervousness enough to a.s.sert myself. "If you will take me to your house," I added firmly.

"How long have you been following me?" he whispered, looking me over suspiciously. It was clear that I had taken him by surprise, and he had no idea what to make of me, my manner, or how I spoke. I might have been Frankenstein to his Dracula, for the look he was giving me.

"I will tell you everything," I repeated more emphatically. "At your house."

I had no idea how much he knew. Had he sensed that someone was following him all along? Or had he just discovered me this night? My mind swam with uncertainty as Vincent, still having hold of my arm, nearly dragged me through the streets toward his house. I knew the way by heart, and as we progressed I had to hold myself back so that I wouldn't overtake him and actually lead him there.

His house felt curiously unfamiliar from the inside. It had appeared much brighter when I was looking in from the outside, but I saw now that the lighting was actually calm and soothing. Vincent tossed his coat on a nearby chair and approached me.

I abruptly turned away, looking longingly out one of the windows into the black night. I was a.s.sailed with so many sensations and doubts that I suddenly wished I were still only a spectator.

"What are you hiding?" he asked.

"I'm not used to being around...men," I admitted.

He was silent, but he continued to scrutinize me.

"Please," I said impulsively. "This will be easier for me if you look away. I can't think with your eyes boring into me." I could not believe my audacity but it was suddenly more than I could bear to have him staring at me like that.

"You will talk whether I look at you or not!" he exploded, causing me to jump. But seeing my discomfort, he reiterated more civilly, "I have no idea who you are. I would be a fool to just turn my back on you."

"But it's not like I could hurt-or kill-you, is it?" I replied without thinking.

A smile played at his lips, but he appeared to think better of it. "You see," he said, wagging his finger at me. "That's exactly the kind of thing I want you to tell me. When you're lurking around out there in the streets, you're not, by chance, calling yourself Buffy, are you?"

My lips gave in to a tight smile in spite of my anxiety. This was the Vincent I had come to know. I suddenly wanted to extend these precious moments with him for as long as I could. I realized in that moment that I had fallen in love with him, and my smile disappeared as I felt a sudden pang of devastating grief.

"I've already told you that my name is Ana."

"And you promised to tell me who you are and why you've been following me," he reminded me.

"I know," I said with a little sigh. "And I will." I smiled again and to my horror, tears came to my eyes, although I quickly blinked them away. "I'm just taking my time because this...this...moment, is..." I tried to think of how to describe what being here with him meant to me, but words failed. "Momentous," I finished feebly.

He appeared somewhat moved, or at least curious, so I continued.

"And," I added, "what I have to tell you is rather difficult to say." I had mulled over many different strategies and approaches, but it wasn't until that moment that I knew what I would do. I had decided to simply tell Vincent the truth-or as much of it as I could-and let the chips fall where they may. I felt a strange conviction that he would understand. Yet when I looked at him, my heart ached. What if he responded to my request with contempt?

"I know what you are," I began nervously. "I mean, I know that you drink...blood." I peered up at him cautiously through the strands of my hair that had fallen over my face and acted as a kind of shield for me. "I know you can't help it," I added quickly when I saw the bitterness in his eyes. "It doesn't matter how long I've been following you. The important thing is why I followed you."

"Why did you?" he asked.

"The night I first saw you-right before I saw you, actually-I was thinking that I wanted to die."

He stared at me, incredulous.

"I had my reasons," I went on. "I'm not depressed or insane, or anything like that. I have my reasons."

Vincent stood but he did not speak. He seemed anxious and uncomfortable. I decided to go on.

"When I saw you, I was distracted from these thoughts. There was something about you that instantly captured my attention. I think it was your energy. You seemed to me like the very essence of life and all that it could be. That's what I saw. I wondered how you came about it. Was it simply good luck or some mystical discovery? I tried to discover your secret as I watched you. And I saw that the other people in the bar noticed it, too. It was almost as if your...vivacity was catching, and everybody wanted it." I paused a moment, caught up in the memory, before continuing.