Enchanted Dreams by Nancy Madore Page A

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 passions. I could relate to the desire and hunger that drove him. But, what he felt in those brooding, melancholy moments after his passion 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