Enchanted Dreams by Nancy Madore Page B

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 assert 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 assailed 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