To Hope Anew

Chapter Twenty-One

Samantha was visible at the head of the stairs above the GreatHall. At least, Vincent believed it was Samantha. The face, asclosely as he could see it from his angled vantage point, was thesame he'd cherished since she'd been a toddler no older than Jacob,maturing, of course, but still the same mirror of spirit -- wide darkeyes that sparkled with wonder and anticipation, a smile that couldlight up the most shadowed chamber, and an off-hand grace and dignitythat was in direct opposition to her favorite position in the tunnelworld -- the bane of every teenaged boy in the community. Samanthawore her femininity like armor, and daily battled all thoseweak-hearted males in her domain who would ever be so foolish as toquestion the equality of the female members of the Underground.

Vincent found himself thinking that Diana must have been very muchlike Samantha as an adolescent.

And now, Samantha had seemingly become very much like Diana -- anarresting, formidable, and striking young woman, whose soft-eyedbeauty masked a will of pure steel.

Samantha was close to breathtaking this morning, dressed as finelyas any princess out to do battle for her fair sex, and turning justabout every young man's head in the room to her

confident grace.

Especially, unbelievably, Jeffrey, her long-suffering chesspartner, who was standing at the foot of the stairway near Pascal andJacob.

Actually, the boy looked like he needed to ease down to sit on thestairway before he found himself face down upon it.

Innocence.

The blush of new-found physical and emotional attraction. Thehesitant reaching out; the panic of suddenly seeing someone familiarin a totally foreign, but enticing, light. Every love should begin assuch, Vincent thought, warmly, have the opportunity to mature betweentwo kindred hearts in such shared wonder of discovery. It would notbe too many years before the Underworld community would becelebrating another anticipated nuptial, its mythic protectorrealized with the quiet shock, joy, and heartache of a father:Samantha's.

Love had the most inexplicable capability of melding two diametricopposites into a whole that somehow was so much more than the sum ofits parts, as wondrous as they could be individually.

Or, it was able to draw two equals, two companion hearts, twostruggling souls divided by the very ends of the earth, through everytrial by fire in existence -- and capable of setting them within thesame instance of time, the same heartbeat shared -- as a rich andcompleted tapestry of spirits fulfilled.

Surviving the process had very little to do with strength, andeverything to do with courage; nothing at all to do with preparation,and everything to do with the willingness to have faith in the moment: The right decision made at the right time, the right risk embracedat the moment necessary.

The seemingly insane incident of sanity.

Vincent came to his feet slowly from off the floor of Diana'sbedroom. The bathroom door his gaze was fused to could have been nomore formidable obstacle to him had it been constructed of steel andstone. The silence in the two rooms was so deafening it reverberatedinto his very soul. He came up to the door, found the courage to, andraised his hand, intending to knock.

They had to say something to each other.

They couldn't simply tear themselves from one another withoutanother word between them. But, what could the words possibly be,which ones could possibly exist, to describe the need to embracedenial in order to placate darkness?

The only words, the important ones, the ones that rang withhonesty and hope, had already been spoken: "I love you." The realityof those words espoused had already been shared without the utteranceof a sound -- only with a touch. A kiss. . .

. . . A kiss . . .

He'd betrayed Diana with a kiss.

. . . Judas Iscariot all over again.

He could have withheld the truth from her, let her keep believingthat he didn't ache for her as desperately as she did for him, lether believe they could continue the experiences of one another thatthey cherished without ever touching to the passion and turmoil ofneed that lay beneath.

He and Catherine had managed, somehow, to remain . . . chaste . .. and safe.

But Diana had drawn it out of him, the truth, as she was sosingularly capable of doing, damnably proficient at doing. Herblazing honesty of spirit would tolerate no hypocrisy around her; shehad no patience for shadings of the truth, for half-truths. She hadmade that clear to him more than once in the past three years thatthey'd battled each other.

She had made it sublimely, unmistakably, clear five minutes ago:Diana had already put her lifestyle, her peace of mind, her career onthe line for him. She'd given him her dreams, her heart, her spiritand soul. There would be no hesitation within this heartbeat of time,for her to make the gift complete -- She'd give him her body as well,joyfully, in fearless abandon . . . with love.

He couldn't bring himself to knock on the door. Vincent simplyleaned against it heavily, the tears coming of their own free willdown his cheeks. As Diana's were. He could feel them, see them, tastethem, through his link with her. If he ever needed evidence that thatchannel entwining them would be forced to bear only her mostoverwhelming emotions, her most soul-shattering experiences, her mostheartfelt secrets, that evidence came to him now.

Diana had been terrified to find herself within Connie DeSalvo'ssoul earlier that night. Vincent knew now that he was deep withinDiana's at that instant -- and the experience was as searing assharing a murdered girl's heart.

Because Diana was blaming herself, berating her humanity, for thetorrent of turmoil between them again.

"How could I have been so damn careless? How could I have let himsee so much? God, why can't I survive this?!" Even the words in hermind were channeling through to his heart. She was scourging herselffor wanting to share her truth -- with him -- the man she loved.

The man she loved.

That was the fearful crux of the agony between them, Vincentcomprehended painfully. She loved the man, and saw no one else butthe man. Yet, there was more to contend with here than meremortality, simple human love. There was the inhuman, the dark,control-shattering hunter that would care little for the differencebetween another predator and a fragile whisp of loving humanity.

Flesh was flesh, to be consumed in one way or another.

Vincent pulled back from the door without a word, dropping hishand. It would be better thus, mercifully so. She wouldn't be atrisk. She'd pull free, somehow, free and safe, go on living withoutthe darkness hovering over her.

But, how painful it would be to go through life without her,without her blessed presence at his side! When he lost Catherine,he'd lost the possibility of love, the wonder of it. Losing Diana nowwould cost him the reality of it, its most tenderly human terms.

Bending down to retrieve his cloak from off the floor, Vincentswept it over his shoulders, shrouding himself against the ache."Good-bye, Diana," he whispered, not even able to make the wordsaudible to her, they pierced his heart so profoundly.

Diana sat on the edge of the tub, the cold seeping into her barelegs, looking at the pile of clothing in the center of the floor butnot actually even noticing it. All she could see were blue eyesdeepening with the reality of completion at last, drawing her in,with welcome. She'd seen it. No more barriers, no more fears, justsimple welcome.

And she'd felt the blaze of loving need encircle her heart,shelter her soul, cherish her body. It was there. She had notmistaken it.

Just as she had not mistaken the rush of panic overtaking all thetender mercy of the moment, panic, and guilty fear. It had beenintolerable, tormenting -- touching to their deepest, sweetestcommunion yet, and then feeling her heart slam up against a brickwall.

What could she have expected?

In the three years that they'd shared their lives, Diana hadwatched Vincent struggle from the despair of loss, to the coldreality of life without Catherine, to the benumbed state of duty andbare, unemotional existence he had sentenced himself to.

She'd thought she'd seen flashes of hope, a trickle ofpossibility, the barest breath of a newly formed dream, somewherewithin his spirit in past months: When she'd been stranded Below,when she'd shared in his care of Jacob in his world. Could she havebeen so wrong? Could she have been so selfish and demanding as todream?

All she'd been asking him to do was to set aside the love of alifetime, the brilliant light of his existence, the mother of hischild . . . and turn to her for the comfort and fulfillment of thelong days -- and nights -- ahead of him.

It had only taken her three years to totally lose her control ofher heart and actually believe she could be capable of offering himsomething cherished and true he could accept.

Not Catherine resurrected, not ideal, transcendent, grave-defyinglove . . .

. . . Only a shoulder to lean on, a hand to hold, a body to warmhim in the dark of night -- whomever he'd need it to be.

Suddenly cold and achingly tired, Diana reached for the sweatpants half hanging out of the hamper and pulled them on. She foundthat she was limping as she took a step or two closer to the door,and cursed the cold weather she'd once enjoyed.

Ever since she'd shattered her leg, it had become a barometer ofthe atmosphere. The cold and damp of winter were particularly hard onher. Sometimes the leg would give out from under her completely. Shewondered to herself idly how long she was going to have before shestarted failing the police physical.

Just like she was failing at everything else in her lifelately.

There had been so much she had wanted to do, so much she hadwanted to share. With whom? She was alone now -- she'd just seen tothat -- rushing headlong once too often -- and she was going to payfor it for the rest of her life.

All because she had let herself believe in the promise of akiss.

Part of her hoped in the impossible yet . . . that she'd open thatbathroom door and find him sitting on the side of the bed, waitingfor her. The investigator in her gave her heart a cause to leapmomentarily in ridiculous reassurance: She didn't think she'd heardhim leave. But then again, how many times had he simply materializedbeside her, seemingly out of her thoughts, without a sound, anoticeable entrance? He was capable of vanishing just as easily.

And what if he was still there, in her apartment? What could theypossibly say to one another? What could she tell him that would bringback the balance, the sanity, in their relationship? Had there everreally been any balance between them?

In her usual truthful candor, Diana admitted to herself that therehad been nothing but chaos between them -- help offered and refused,love admitted and not accepted, passion touched to and fearfullyburied. They'd shared every experience of each other -- support,concern, devotion, despair, helpless grief and terrifyingnear-madness. None of it had uncomplicated their love for oneanother, nor made it easier for them to accept.

The most wrenching fact she'd need to accept now was the knowledgethat he'd slipped out of her apartment and vanished into the darknight for good. That she'd never see him again.

All she'd have left to hold would be the memory of a kiss . . .unburdened . . . dreamed of for an eternity . . . offering apassionate humanity she'd believed in without wavering. But an act ofcommunion that had murdered love instead of lifting it to itsbreathless fulfillment.

There was no putting it off. Diana opened the door slowly and herbedroom came back into view: It was empty, as all reason had told herit would be. Only the bed covers pulled back and rumpled, her medicalkit on the bedside table, and as she came fully into the room, theunexpected sight of her bathrobe on the floor.

Retrieving the robe, still damp and inexplicably somewhat -- cold-- Diana sank wearily onto the bed. She knew Vincent would be gone.Why did the realization have to feel like a knife twisting in herheart? She fixed her attention on the robe in her hands, trying notto notice the place on the floor where they'd been sitting, whereshe'd found herself awakening from hell in the shelter of hisarms.

The comforter had been lifted up to the foot of the bed. Reachingdown for it mechanically, a sudden glimmer caught Diana's eye.Smoothing the top sheet on the bed out a bit, she found herselfstaring at Ritchie Alavar's gold cross.

It was tinged with something again, caked, actually. She couldn'texactly understand what. It had been cleaned at the lab during herinvestigation. Picking the cross up in her bandaged right hand, sheunbelievable realized what the substance was -- blood, dried blood,flaking off the metal once more. A sickening ache struck her deep inher stomach.

Her blood? And there was more across her fingertips, staining thenails. Diana's heart stopped at that, for she knew for certain whereit had come from -- Vincent's blood.

It all began to come together for her, in frightful detail now, soclearly.

In desperation, she'd sought to wash the tainted feel of murderoff her skin in the shower. She'd begun feeling dazed under the hardstream of water. It was steaming hot, she'd had little to eat sincebreakfast, and she was bone-aching tired. Anxious that she mightcollapse in the water, she'd reached for her worn terrycloth robe,pulling it on as she came out of the shower, not even bothering todry herself or her hair off more completely with a towel. The robesoaked up the water and quickly became sopping, but she didn't evenseem to care.

Another wave of faintness hit her momentarily in her room, and shestumbled to the kitchen, intent on finding something quick and benignto eat, to stave off the tremors that had begun to assail her. Hererratic habits of late, while she worked obsessively on her cases,had most likely triggered a return to the hypoglycemia she hadsuffered as a child.

Reaching for the first vessel she could find at hand, Diana pulleda coffee cup from out of the drainboard and managed to shakily poursome milk into it. The coldness of the drink cleared her head. Whenthe faintness eased back a bit, she started back over to herbedroom.

It would be no use for her to attempt to sleep any time soon,despite her weariness. Her nerves were wound spring-tight. Settingthe half-full cup of milk onto her bed table, Diana tossed aChristmas gift catalog that had turned up in the mail today onto herbed, letting her mind rest a moment on the children Below and theupcoming holiday celebration. She paged through the book momentarily,seated on the side of her bed, and was suddenly distressed by theimpersonal pretentiousness of most of the articles within its pages,things without true value or feeling. Was nothing safe fromadulteration any longer?

Deciding that she'd need to force herself to rest tonight, Dianareturned the book to the stuffed chair in her room, and insteadpicked up the cotton sleep shirt that was draped over its back Herthreadbare terry robe was dripping wet now, she realized. What wasthe matter with her? She'd hardly noticed that her heavy wet hair haddrenched the robe.

Eager to get herself back into some semblance of hopeful control,she moved to untie the belt from around her waist. With impatienceshe noticed that she'd left the light on in the outer room, at herdesk. Releasing the belt, she picked up her cup of milk and turnedinto the main living area of her loft, feeling a stranger in her ownhome, her own body.

She was only going to turn off the light.

Taking a last sip of milk, she was about to switch the light offwhen her attention was focused again on the file folders on her desk.Opening the top manila folder, Diana began sifting once more throughthe clippings and reports, as though she were searching for somethingspecific. The fresh-faced teenagers in yearbook photos smiled out ather in all their promise. The chilling police photos reduced them tobloodied bodies in compromised positions. Another surge of nauseatingfaintness hit Diana with a vengeance.

The cup of milk dropped from her hand onto the desk, tumbling ontoits side and spilling the remaining contents off the edge of thetable top. Diana felt herself falling forward. The files scatteredabout beneath her grasping hands as she attempted to steady herselfon the sides of the desk. Ritchie's gold cross came slipping frombetween papers. In terror, Diana gripped hold of it, whispering aprayer for help.

That was when she felt herself being pulled forcibly within thedarkness that was encompassing the room, by some unseen terror thatwas dragging her away from sanity.

Vincent stood at the bank of windows near the kitchen area ofDiana's loft. Unbelievably, it had been here that he had first feltthe bright heat of the sun on his face for any length of time. WhenDiana had brought him to her loft after Catherine's death, he hadstood in front of those windows without fear one afternoon when hehad recovered more fully from his injuries, and he had opened theagony of his heart to the fearless young woman seeking to helphim.

Perhaps he had wished to be seen, standing there in the light,seen, found, and sent to his death so he could be with Catherine. Hecouldn't even remember now what the sun had felt like, standingthere. It hadn't even entered his consciousness that he'd beenlooking out of windows down onto a busy city block in the fullbrightness of day.

But, he'd been in no danger of discovery. The windows only meldedanonymously with so many others along the street, along the skylineof commercial buildings. And he knew Diana would never compromise hissafety.

Only three days into their encounter of one another, and he knewhe could trust her totally with his life, the secret of hisexistence. He had fearfully disrupted her orderly lifestyle; she hadsimply taken it in stride. And without even knowing why, she hadrisked everything to help him, keep him safe, help him rescue Jacoband bring him home.

Taking in a deep, shuddering breath, Vincent had to amend thatthought suddenly in his mind. She did know why she was acting as shewas, jeopardizing her whole world for him. He knew it, too.

The . . . love . . . had been there, even then, reaching from hertenderly compassionate heart to him. He'd seen it in the courageousdepths of green eyes that held his with uncolored honesty, he'd heardit in the breathless, catching sound of her voice . . . the love,aching, for the pain of this . . . stranger . . . this unhumanstranger . . . whom her soul had instantly recognized.

As had his.

Though he could never consider it love, bring himself to admit itas love, until these past few months when the sweet dream of a lifeshared and blessed suddenly could seem possible and right.

Now she was locked away in her bathroom like a frightened childstaving off punishment for an innocent misdeed, blaming herself forshattering all hope of that bright possibility he'd actually nearlybegun to touch to himself. Vincent couldn't leave her with thatassumption as her final experience of him tonight, couldn't leave herawash in undeserved blame. At the very least, he had to leave herwith the truth. He owed her that much.

So, he had waited at the windows for the moment that she wouldemerge from her self-imposed exile. This time, the light wasn't eventhere to turn his face into. The sky was only brightening a bit inthe distance.

"I was hoping you would still be here."

The sound of her soft voice made his heavy heart leap, thenplunge. Anger and recrimination were what he'd been preparing himselfto deal with from her. Relief wasn't what he'd expected.

Only what he'd hoped for.

Vincent turned to see Diana standing in the doorway of her room,looking very much like that bewildered child peering tentativelyaround a door. She'd pulled on a pair of trousers under the cottonshirt. It was obvious that she'd only now stopped crying.

He'd felt every tear she'd shed.

"I didn't wish to leave before I was certain you were all right."And certain there was nothing left between us: The silent admissionwas to be expected from his heart now, the despair becoming familiaronce again. Had it actually pulled away from his soul with her in hisarms?

Diana was holding the bathrobe she'd been wearing earlier whenhe'd found her, holding it down to her side. Her gaze reaching out tohim was . . . searching . . . unsure.

"Why was I feeling so cold?" She lifted the robe up to his view,seeking understanding. No, seeking confirmation.

The quiet reply came. "You were . . . up on your rooftop . . .when I found you." Vincent watched her nod her head inacknowledgment.

"In the snow." It wasn't even a question.

"Yes."

A long pause, and a visible reaching for words, an attempt toguide a faltering heart's hopes once more. "I thought I probably owedyou my life again."

"You owe me nothing, Diana, but the chance to offer you thetruth."

She looked up long into the arresting face that wondrously hauntedher dreams, a face she could describe with loving detail even if shewere destined never to see it again. The truth he sought to offer herwas just as apparent as the pain in that beautiful face -- he wascloaked and ready to disappear into the night, carrying her heartwith him, but never looking back. That was the truth.

"I think I already know what it is." Her words were quiet andbleeding, as his had been.

Vincent turned back to the windows, defensively, acutely aware ofthe searing emptiness that had overtaken her very soul, and of thestill-startlingly urgent need that betrayed that soul in her eyes."Then tell me what you know, Diana."

Reflected in the glass before him, he could see that she took afew steps to the kitchen table from the island against which she hadleaned, unsteady steps. She pulled out a chair and sank down into it.A surge of compassion filled him as he followed her reflection. Shewas still drained and vulnerable from tonight's terrors.

Why did the anguish of this moment have to be added to her burdenas well?

Yet, he knew that if he didn't tell her tonight, he'd never findthe courage to again. She'd either be left to languish in painfuluncertainly of heart or find herself endangered by forces unleashedand unable to be contained by his faltering force of will.

Diana looked down at her hands for a long moment, one bandaged,the other visibly shaking. When had she ever felt completely whole inthe past two and one half years? She couldn't bear the reality of herown inner reply -- only when those hands had been sheltered in beyondhuman ones, when they'd been lifted to cleft lips that tenderly

worshipped them in tentative, poignant humility, those same lipsthat had drawn fire and sweetness from every fiber of her being. Onlywhen he'd freed himself to love her, to let her love him. Only in abare instant of sanity between them that she'd never know

again.

She pulled in a long, ragged breath, and began what she knew shemust.

"I know you'll never love . . . anyone . . . the way that you . .. loved . . . Catherine. And I am not Catherine." The tears began tofall again. She didn't even attempt to hold them back, suddenlydefiant in her pain. "God knows I am far from being anything likeCatherine! I'm not noble and accepting. I live as much by my heart,by my gut and instincts, as by my head. And as much as my head wantsto tell me its impossible, my body and soul tell me that I have foundthe one part of my existence I've been searching for for all of mylife, that part that can cherish hope and dreams and . . . love . . .with as much absurd . . . promise . . . as I can . . .as I need."

Vincent turned at the awesome truth of her words to him, his heartlurching at the pain and struggle he both sensed, and saw withinDiana. How he longed to take hold of that truth, the depth of careshe was so willing to offer him! How he longed to share in herconviction, see the wonders between them that he and Catherine hadnever had the courage to see. He found the momentary resolve to offerDiana now the faintest reality of his own truth. It would be the onlygift he could give her this night, and keep her safe.

"No, you are not Catherine." His response to her was sadly awed.No, she would never be anyone but herself, Diana, fierce in her hopesfor him, but the blaze of protective promise would only bring herpain, he knew.

Yet, she was undeterred, battling him still for the possibilitieshe would not see. "Then, who am I?" came the inevitable words, hurtand lost , and . . . challenging.

Diana watched as Vincent cast his gaze down to the floor for along moment. He seemed to almost disappear into his cloak with theeffort to respond.

"You are the woman that I love."

She tried desperately not to hold to those words with her heart,never expecting to hear them uttered aloud to her with such honestacceptance. She had to see the reality of their present situation,would force herself to focus on that reality -- he was ready to walkout of her life for good -- love or no love. Castigating her stillreceptive hopes, she prayed that she was completely wrong.

"That hasn't gotten me very far, has it?" The words were sharperthan she'd intended, more for her benefit than his, she knew. Butthey struck him as well, like a blow. He stood faltering for aninstant, then swept his cloak off his shoulders to rest on the chairnext to hers.

Diana felt her traitorous heart leap when he came to stand closelybefore her, the considerable height of his powerful body toweringover her seated form in overwhelming solidity. Then he dropped to hisknees in front of her, slowly, with that breathtaking grace that sether heart racing. He reached for her hands that were restinganxiously in her lap, drawing them both gently, tenderly, in his.

What she needed to make herself whole.

"It has gotten you into my heart, Diana, something I neverbelieved possible, not because of anything that is lacking in you,but because I never dreamed I could be blessed with love again."

She couldn't help herself. The tears came again without herapproval or control. When had she totally lost her grip on herself?It didn't matter, though. There was nothing she could do about it.The trembling of her heart began the instant he set his hand to hercheek, brushing those tears away.

At least her mind was somewhat functional, determined to fight herway through the turmoil between them. "If that is the case, then whyare we pulling away from one another whenever we even attempt to benear?"

Vincent tried to put into words for her what he knew himselfdefied description or understanding. "You were right to say that Iwould never love anyone the way I loved Catherine. What she and Ishared was so totally -- right -- for the two of us. She gave me thewonder of love, the awesome comfort of knowing someone could love me,such as I am. She brought me out of the darkness. I will never beable to feel the same about anyone else, about you, because ourexperiences of one another will never be the same."

Diana let her gaze pull from Vincent's arresting features to herlap in tentative anxiety, and a quiet -- anger. "Such as I am." Hisdescription of himself stung her as though he'd slighted her and nothis own wondrous essence. He'd never feel himself worthy of love, andyet, he carried his experience of loving Catherine with wonder andastonishment, cherishing it as a gift unlike anything anyone couldever experience again.

And her place in the scheme of things? She knew where that settledher own devotion to him.

"An extraordinary, perfect love. The . . . ordinary . . . pales incomparison, doesn't it?"

This time the slight really was to herself, and one Vincent pickedup on immediately, pained beyond words that she could belittle allthat she'd done for him, all that she'd given him, all that she'dwished for him. For them.

"Your place in my heart, Diana, is hardly ordinary." He lifted hergaze back to him with a gentle hand, willing her to understand why heneeded to do what he didn't wish to.

"And so is your love. It is deep . . . intimate . . . hopeful . .. and so very . . . welcome."

"Then why the uncertainty?" Sweet Jesus, how was she ever going tocomprehend what was happening between them, ever?

"Because your love is also so very -- human -- rooted in thehumanity you cherish of me. But, Diana, there is more than merehumanity to contend with between us. There are powers, forces,darknessess I have very little control over. These are also a -- part-- of me. A part your love may find able to will away, but that doesnot change the fact that they are still -- what -- I am."

It was his gaze that lowered itself from her this time, inuncharacteristic shame and uncertainty. Diana reached her hand up tohis wounded cheek, softly, reeling from his words, so desperate withstoic acceptance of a reality she barely comprehended, let alonebelieved as his actual sense of self. The knot tightening itselfaround her heart was making it difficult for her to breathe.

She'd seen those "forces" at work within him, and accepted themtoo, without wavering in her love, because she knew them to be onlythe natural consequences of his unique reality, of his protectivecare that would offer his own life to shield those he loved fromharm. But what was he describing to her now with his softly achingwords? An existence he wasn't even certain that sheltered a . . .human . . . soul?

"You . . . touch . . . to those . . . powers . . . only when youare forced to, Vincent, only when you are compelled to protect thoseyou love from the terrors of the world. Any person is capable of'inhuman' acts they'd never dream of committing, when they are forcedto choose between the safety of the innocent and the 'humanity' thatwould condemn them to evil. My God, Vincent! Even I am guilty ofthat!"

Vincent started at her words, at the knowledge she could reach herown black secrets so readily, and with so much courage, to help himfind his way. She'd kept him from exacting a just vengeance uponGabriel himself. But the murderous psychopath had not survived hisencounter with a quietly unyielding angel of retribution. Still, hercourage, the daunting scope of her generosity of love, would not beenough to keep her safe now, he knew.

"Those forces become a part of me more often than I dareacknowledge, and for more reasons than I can bear." He sank back ontohis heels then, releasing his hold on her hands reluctantly.

Diana felt completely bereft without his touch at that instant, atouch he saw as only a death-dealing curse. She couldn't believe hecould truly carry such a burden within himself for so long, andsurvive.

"You can't be afraid that will happen between us?"

"Passion can be as overwhelming as a just rage."

The words were quietly grieving. She had to lift him out of thedesolation that threatened to engulf him again.

"You can't know that, Vincent. You could never hurt me, or anyoneelse you love, for that matter, passion, rage, or not. How can youlet yourself believe such a thing?" Coming down to the floor besidehim, Diana took hold of his arm forcefully, to pull him back from thepain she saw washing over him in waves.

Almost startled at her touch, he closed his eyes against imageshe'd attempted to keep safely buried deep within his soul. He neededto let her see those images as well, though, if she were ever tounderstand the peril she could truly find herself in, if they everlet the beguiling enticements of intimacy spring freely between them.He had to find the strength to deny her, if only to keep her safe,somehow.

Taking a long, deep breath, Vincent came to his feet with renewedresolve. Reaching his hand down to her, he helped pull Diana up, thenled her wordlessly to sit on the couch a few steps away. She followedwithout hesitation.

When they were seated facing each other, Vincent again took bothher hands in his, running his thumbs gently across the backs of herhands. She would understand, she needed to understand.

"Do you recall your first encounter with love? The first time youtruly knew love had touched your heart as it never had before?"

She looked deeply into his intensely blue eyes, attempting toconnect his request with the painful experience of the moment,trusting somehow that it was necessary. "Of course I remember. Everywoman remembers a moment like that."

"Do you cherish it as a memory you can hold willingly?"

Diana sent her thoughts back for an instant, to the moment sheknew he was urging her to touch. "There was some pain to it. But,like so much in life, their was sweetness unexpectedly within it,too, and sadness."

"Could you find it in your heart to share that memory now with me,Diana?" The words were close to pleading. She knew he would never askher to give more than she was capable, even if she wasn't certain ofthe reason it was important.

Quite unexpectedly, Diana was left momentarily speechless, andblushing, at her memories. How could he have known the tenderness,and the tragedy, of those first moments of real and true love forher? His eyes were gently reassuring and grateful as she began herstory.

"It wasn't so much different than any other fifteen year old'sexperience of first love, I guess, at least not at the beginning. Iwasn't exactly a social outcast at the time. I mean, I'd gone toschool dances and movies with friends, even on a date or two. But Iwasn't the most popular girl at St. Elizabeth's, either."

Vincent listened quietly as Diana's tone became rather shy,wistful. "I was a good student, involved, classmates were alwaystalking with me about their problems. I guess I just wasn't the firstgirl any boy ever thought about as someone they'd like to bewith."

The softy self-deprecating observation rang with a sad ache inVincent's heart. How could she ever think of herself in suchuncertain terms? The tender disbelief in his eyes made Diana's heartstumble an instant, as she realized he was willing her to see herselfas he did. It took her breath away.

A little unsteadily, she continued with her words, trying to quellthe rising need within her to draw him totally to herself once again,pain, doubts, guilt and all. She let a thread of defensive humorshe'd honed in her friendship with Joe ease her back to realitysafely. "The braces had just come off my teeth, thank God, but therewas still this lovely red hair of mine. And I was pretty tall, too,compared to most of the other girls my age. Just right to keep myselfout of the limelight.

"Plus, my Dad was a cop. If that didn't chill adolescent ardor ina hurry, nothing else ever could! I think every sophomore boy inschool lived in eternal fear of bringing Sergeant Bennett's youngestdaughter home late from a date."

Diana was relieved to see a glimmer of humor shine in Vincent'seyes, too, at her memory, despite the pain. It was typical of hisgenerous heart.

"Everyone was excited about the homecoming dance coming up. Ididn't particularly care because I knew I'd probably not be askeduntil the last minute by some boy whose first choice had turned himdown.

"Then, with three weeks to go to the dance, Sister Mary Joyce, myGeometry teacher, asked me to stay after class. She told me thatKevin Sullivan was in danger of flunking Geometry that quarter. Kevinwas one of the best football players on our team, even though he wasonly a sophomore. Sister said that she had agreed with the coach toallow Kevin some tutoring before quarter exams in the hope that hecould pass his required class and keep playing till the end of theseason."

"You became his tutor then?" Vincent questioned.

"Yes, for a whole week, every day after school at my house."

"And he, of course, was the object of every young girl's fantasiesand affections. Am I correct?"

Diana looked a moment with incredulous wonder at the near-mythicfigure beside her. He could understand the angst of teenage romanceand the complexities of high school social life with his backgroundand circumstances? A new wave of respectful admiration simply layereditself onto the already multi-faceted devotion that was her love forhim.

"Yes. Even though he was such a good athlete, he was really verydown to earth. He towered over everyone else, but he had this sort ofshy grace about him that was just endearing. Every girl in schoolwould have given anything for the chance to get close to him, eventhe seniors."

"And you had a week of one-on-one contact with him over Geometrybooks."

Diana smiled softly. "It was the most wonderful week of my life. Iwas the envy of every girl in school. The funny thing about it was,it was actually fun just to get to know Kevin. He was kind and had agenerous sense of humor, and was not in the least conceited about hisposition in school. We quickly became friends.

"As the day of the dance approached, I was informed by at leasthalf a dozen of my classmates that Kevin didn't appear to have askedanyone to go with him yet. With their enthusiasm fanning my ownhopes, I began to think that maybe, just maybe, he was planning onasking me."

"So, you let yourself dream."

The sudden -- futility -- in those few words drew Diana'sattention to Vincent's face again. He knew exactly what she had felt,so long ago.

"I let myself dream," she agreed. "When he called me at home theweek before the dance, I just knew he wanted to ask me out. I couldhardly talk, I was so excited. Looking back on it now, it was justall so silly, such a fuss over an evening at a dance."

"But it meant more to you than that, didn't it?"

Stunned at his ability to read her pain, Diana found that she wasagain without words for a long moment. "Yes. It meant that I was --accepted -- that someone, a boy, could look at me and see more thanjust the outside, more than just the grades and my Dad and theuncertainty with whom I wanted to be. I guess I wanted to just feel-- beautiful -- for once."

"His call was not to ask you out, though." Vincent's conclusionwas true. Suddenly Diana felt awkward and . . . vulnerable . . .ashamed that the long-ago denial could still take such a hold on hersense of worth.

She smiled with a melancholy resignation. "He wanted to thank mefor all my help. Sister Mary Joyce had let him know he'd scored an A-on the Geometry test. It was enough to lift his quarter grade up to apassing C. He was really generous with his thanks, kind enough tomake a special phone call to say he'd appreciated my help. I justfelt my heart fall out of my body.

"The next day at school, he was back to drawing girls like amagnet. He ended up taking Denise Orsioli to the dance. She was thepresident of the pep club, the kind of high school girl that footballplayers were supposed to date."

It was amazing how that incident so long ago was suddenly so vividin her mind now, the disappointment, the frustration andembarrassment. The look of compassionate reassurance in Vincent'sface was equally as amazing. He knew it still hurt for her to thinkof that rejection.

"There is more pain than sweetness in your memory, Diana.Still."

She looked at him and fought against her will from clinging to thequiet tenderness in his words. God, there was so much of him in her!she realized with sad wonder, the communing melding of their spiritsrevealing so much that was bound between them. He could make even thepain of a long ago memory into a bewitching entwining of theirhearts. She felt, at that instant, that should could share anythingof herself with him, anything. Except her intimate need of him. Thathe would never accept from her, she knew; it would cause him onlypain, never sweetness.

With the tender urging of his startling blue eyes drawing her pasther sorrow, Diana knew she had to carry her remembrance past thepain, if she were ever to help him move beyond his own. He knew shehad more to say to him, too, when he lifted his hand to her hair andsoftly smoothed it back from her face. "But there is more sweetnessthan sadness."

"There was so much . . . sweetness . . . and the incident withKevin was only the catalyst," she continued with quiet conviction.The feeling of his hand gently stroking through her hair did morethan comfort her unsettled heart. It proved to her that her need forhim was not in vain. A gentle, faraway look held her emerald eyes,and Vincent felt a sudden pang of understanding within his ownheart.

"That sweetness came to me from the most unexpected source, laterthat evening. I was on our back steps, crying over my AmericanHistory homework, and swearing I was going to become a nun. ChrisJennings, our next door neighbor, came over to see what was thematter. He was a year older than me, quiet, thoughtful, a promisingwriter. We didn't go to school together, he went to the public highschool in our neighborhood, but we spent a lot of time together,talking."

"He was someone you trusted with your heart."

Vincent's words startled Diana. How could he see so deeply intoher soul, and still be so afraid of opening his own to her?

"He and his family had moved onto our street about two yearsbefore. They were one of the first black families to. His Dad was ayoung executive with some insurance company I think it was, and he'dbeen transferred half a dozen times in as many years. Chris and hislittle sister were parceled from school to school. It was tough onthem, always moving, never being able to put down roots, though theyknew their father was only trying to make as good a life as he couldfor them.

"Still, Chris and I became friends." Diana felt a soft blushsuffuse her skin. The warmth in her heart was still there, after allthis time. Vincent had known. "More than friends, actually. We couldtalk to each other about anything. He made me feel safe, valued. Healways listened and helped me find my way. And he told me about hisdreams for life."

"He . . . cherished . . . your friendship."

Only as much as you . . . cherish . . . it now, Diana thoughtsuddenly. Then it struck her with confounding clarity . . . thegentle support of her spirit, the quiet, unobtrusive reality of care,the tenderly innocent passion, the heartbreaking realization that itwas never to be . . . She'd recognized it within Vincent's ownburdened love . . . for her. It had been the wondrous sweetness ofher heart's first stirrings, returned to her with all its promise . .. and pain.

The tears welled up in Diana's eyes. That was why she could feelso . . . complete . . . in Vincent's arms: He'd given her back herinnocence in love.

"I . . . cherished . . . his . . . friendship, too. I trusted himin it, without question, and he never gave me cause to regret it. That night I just collapsed into his arms and poured my heart out tohim about Kevin, and the dance, and the total injustice of life at15."

"He brought you comfort." The blue eyes holding hers were suddenlyas profound and deep as she remembered Chris's brown ones had been,and, as questioning.

"He held me and wiped the tears from my face and then he told methat Kevin had been a complete fool for giving up the chance to knowa 'truly incredible young woman.' Then, he . . . kissed . . .me."

The green eyes before him barely held the tears ready to mist themin a heartbeat. Vincent felt a deep and gentle wonder channel itselffrom within her spirit to his, full of poignant care, vulnerablehope, and yearning need. It was only partly a memory. So much more ofit was born from the sweet reality of her present dreams.

"You felt . . . love . . . in that kiss," Vincent whispered,afraid to even breathe, lest he should lose sight of what he'd setout to do this night: keep Diana safe from the beguiling peril oftheir aching souls.

Diana knew for certain now that she'd been right: She'd found thekey to the deepest part of her long-shackled heart -- in thetenderness offered her from a beyond human one. She had to make himbelieve in the gifting wonder they truly could become for each other, had to make him believe there was nothing beyond love that he wascondemning her to.

"I'd never been kissed -- like that -- before, never felt so --within -- another person before. It was so totally unexpected, andyet, not; so totally -- wondrous. I looked up into Chris's face andalmost didn't recognize him anymore. There was such a radiance of . .. love . . . reaching out to me from him."

"You'd never realized his feelings for you?"

"I think I did, somewhere in my heart, but I'd never had thecourage to touch them before, believe that . . . love . . . could bethere for me, Chris's love. We were good friends, kindred spirits,that's all, I told myself. We knew what the social climate was aroundus. Things were far from easy for an interracial relationship backthen. We were lucky that people, even our families, accepted us asfriends."

"But you wished you could acknowledge that there might be morebetween you."

Diana held her gaze to a face that should have been familiar onlyin one of her grandmother's fairy tales. Yet, those features, so fullof hesitant, touching, guilt-riddled longing were the ones that shewould treasure till her last breath. Could he ever come toacknowledge what there truly was between them, beyond the fear anduncertainty? The ache to reassure him, to will him to believe, thatshe would face down hell itself for him, was nearly unbearable. Howcould she get him to see that his torment was founded only upon afearful lie? How could she help him touch to the humanity he seemedcapable of only denying?

"I wished we could find out if there was more between us."

The words were whispered with Diana's heart racing, as she knew,without a doubt, that their conversation had long ago ventured farfrom only the sharing of a memory. Vincent looked up at her, with apleading awareness, too, at her words. It caused her to momentarilylose her train of thought, swept her mind from the sad recollectionsof denial in her past, to the heartbreaking reality of denial in thepresent instant. She didn't dare risk what little her heart had thecourage to cling to.

Forcing herself to pull away from the need to abandon all sanitybetween them, Diana reminded herself of the pain and fear stiflingthe very essence of the man she loved before her. She must be able toshow him that she feared nothing in his care. She must make himbelieve that her heart would welcome the faintest breath of promisehe could offer her, as she had welcomed an innocent promise ofcherished devotion the first time she'd ever truly opened her heartto love.

Again, she continued in her story, the pain, sweetness, andsadness overwhelming a young girl's heart very much fusing itselfwith the turmoil, yearning, and denial facing her at the presentmoment. "Fate intervened, before we ever had a chance to understandwhere our hearts rested. Chris's father was offered another job, thistime in California, with the promise of stability and permanence forthe family. He had to take it; it was too good an opportunity to passup. It took Chris a week before he found the courage to tell me theywere going to move."

Looking back now on that twist of destiny, Diana could see thattheir hearts had forestalled any inclination that preconceivedreality would have used to separate the young lovers without a breathof fulfillment to hold to. Just the opposite had occurred: Thecapricious maliciousness of Fate had only turned them towards eachother as they sought to shelter and comfort and ease their heartstogether from pain, even with separation and denial their onlycertainty. Had her own past months been so different?

"I guess the realization that we'd probably never see one anotheragain helped us face the truth of what we'd unconsciously held in ourhearts for each other." The sudden glistening return of tears inDiana's eyes cut Vincent to his soul. She turned away from him amoment to attempt to steady her spirit, but the painful parallels ofthat time so long ago and her own state of heart at the moment werebecoming too staggering. Yet, she continued on, knowing the hauntedman beside her was someone she'd love to eternity herself, someone indesperate need of solace and direction for his heart.

"The night of the dance, the doorbell rang. I'd buried myself atmy desk with some English project that wasn't even due for anothertwo weeks. Chris came up to my room. He brought me a corsage, abeautiful one of rosebuds, and pinned it on my uniform shirt. Then heinvited me out for pizza and a walk in the park. We danced to themusic of the radio on his dad's car."

A sudden . . . ache . . . took all the soft color from Diana'salready pale cheeks, and she began to tremble. Vincent reached hispowerful embrace around her shuddering shoulders, feeling thepenetrating . . . sorrow . . . that engulfed her heart reach his withundeniable certainty. Soft words, pained, tender, unbelieving, werewhispered against his chest. "Chris and I . . . loved . . . eachother under the moonlight of an autumn sky."

For a long moment, Vincent let the memory hold her spirit, let hergrieve, and wonder. Then he gently drew her back from the shelter ofhis body so that he could urge her gaze back up to his own, brightwith unshed tears as well. He understood her pain so surely now, andalso understood the pain of the evening's beginnings that seemed aneternity ago.

"That is why your spirit became so overwhelmed by Connie'stonight, Diana, isn't it? Your pain for her was so real because you'dlived through the promise she'd hoped to take hold of in her love inyour own young life."

The feelings had been so much the same, striking the same chordswithin her own soul as she had worked the heartbreaking investigationinto the murders that had so consumed her. She could admit it now.Diana had been not only touching to the terror of death; her hearthad held to the tenderness of love fulfilled, her own memory of lovefulfilled from long ago, and her own dreams for a return to thatpromising, trusting, wonder in Vincent's arms.

In her empathic compassion, she had seen Connie De Salvo andRitchie Alavar loving in the park on a brisk autumn night. She hadremembered the stunning sweetness of finding herself in Chris's armswhen all she'd ever expected of her far-off experience had beensorrow, rejection, and doubt.

And she had dreamed of long-scarred hearts opening themselves upto a tender humanity that could no longer be denied -- the humanityof blessedly shared need she and Vincent might never find their wayto.

Letting Diana rest once again against his shoulder, Vincent helpedher move past the memory into the present, a reality that he wouldneed force upon her besieged heart with more pain and diminishinglimitations. Memory was a sweet, forgiving thing. Reality mirroredonly threat and darkness now between them, unbelievably rooted in thevery tenderness that had taken hold of both their hearts thisnight.

"Did you keep in touch after his move?" Vincent fought the wave ofintense need to comfort Diana within his love, faltering at the trustshe'd gifted him with in sharing the intimacies of her gentle heart.That the fragile-spirited angel had been compelled to endure suchloss with such fulfillment was somehow no longer surprising to him.It was fully in keeping with the hoping, desperately aching loveshe'd been long reaching out to him. A love brave enough to starepain in the eye and stand its ground. But, it would not keep hersafe.

Diana felt him drawing the depths of his compassionate careshakily onto a less profound plane. God, he wanted so fervently totake away her pain! She could feel it in his shuddering breathwhispering across her hair, in the tender possessiveness with whichhe had drawn her once again against his body. Still, he struggled,with the very notion that he could ever give her anything, anything,beyond peril and inhumanity. The hopelessness that reached herchilled even her own most promising expectations.

With more controlled words, and less revealing emotions, Dianaanswered his question with equally forced detachment. There would belittle to hope in past this night, despite their courage.

"We wrote back and forth for a while, family Christmas cards,birthday wishes. Our own personal notes were full of dreams neverreached and disappointments always mounting. Then Chris went away tocollege, and the letters necessarily got fewer and farther apart. Iguess we both knew we were just prolonging the pain. We stoppedwriting all together. The last I heard, he'd become the director of aSocial Service Agency in Denver. He never became a writer. And hemarried a girl he met in college."

The reality of life's choices forced onto young hearts: Promise,sweet and gifting, had simply been allowed to seep quietly out oftheir dreams. "Should have been's" evolved irrevocably into the "hereand nows" that were the mundane details of life. Dreams were onlysilent echoes that haunted the lonely night. New realities, never asshining or honest or true, took hold of existence and held spirits toless gifting paths that only seemed to grow longer and more strangewith each passing day.

She'd survived it somehow, once. It had left her doubting and waryand less than whom she could have become. How could she ever surviveit again? And what had Vincent been forced to endure that hadburdened him with the silent agony he carried now with such acceptingfutility, one that would surely devour her own hopes along withhis?

"Your memory doesn't have more than a momentary sweetness withinit, either, does it, Vincent?" she questioned, certain of the reasonhe had asked her to reveal her past heartaches to him.

Coming to his feet, Vincent paced several times in front of thecouch, attempting to diffuse somewhat the powerful images that cameto his mind. Diana's memories were treasures to cherish, incomparison, for all their confusion and pain. They were a part of herheart that rested fleeting promise in quiet resignation. He dreamedthat his own experiences could have been so comparatively --bearable.

How could he even think of burdening her with his own pain,tonight? But, there would be no way past it, he knew, forced himselfto concede. To spare her now would be to bring her certain anguish inthe long run, at the very least. At the worst . . . he couldn't abideeven thinking of the worst . . . ready to send his own questionablesoul to oblivion before he would let her experience the worst . . .at his hand.

"It is not a memory I can hold willingly, but it has been a partof my daily existence since the moment it happened."

"Can you find it in your heart to share it with me now?" His ownwords softly voiced by Diana should have been balm on the stillsearing wound. It only magnified the pain because he knew no matterhow much he ached for the solace of love that she held out to him, hecould never allow her to risk herself for his uncertain humanity.

Vincent came back to sit beside Diana on the couch, but could notlift his eyes to her. It took a long moment before he could steadythe thudding of his heart. A slender hand hesitantly reached out tohim, then. Diana rested it on his chest. He let his own hand coverhers, press hers closely onto the wool fabric of his doublet.

"You've given me so much to hold in my heart that is precious,Diana."

"Then let my heart hold what is painful for you. It's prettystrong, I think you know that by now."

"I would rather give you the tenderness and hope you deserve."

Diana ached for the desperate confusion she watched cloud theexotic features of the man before her. Something of her extraordinaryinsight had already attached itself to his spirit, and she realizedhe was struggling with an anguish beyond endurance, one he'd calledup again only for her sake.

They'd had enough of heartache, guilt, and uncertainty betweenthem for her to comprehend that they would not be able to extendtheir experiences of love without one final, defining tragedy shared.She prayed her soul could withstand it, because she could never walkaway from it now, allow him to walk away from it . . . from her. Shewas almost startled when he finally found his voice, and hiscourage.

"My experience of love came at about the same age as yours, Diana.I was just past 15, and like yours, there was sweetness, the promiseof it. And then there was pain.

"I found myself . . . in love . . . with a girl of our community.Lisa, was her name. It was one of those sweet and tender realities ofliving for years beside one another, growing up with one another, andsuddenly finding yourself looking at the other person in a completelydifferent light.

"We'd been children together, argued over games together, playedtricks on our elders and been banished to our chambers more timesthan I can even remember. She'd been my sister, my confidant, myfriend, ever since I could recall."

"And one day she was the girl that took your breath away." It wasDiana's turn to help him, guide him, through the maze of memories,images, and emotions assaulting him with ready confusion. Vincentheld her eyes a moment in gratitude for her understanding whichpronounced no judgment of his heart. Even Catherine had been caughtwithin a whirlwind of confounding reactions when he'd bared his heartto her about Lisa, one night.

"She was breathtaking, yes," he answered with quiet, shamedwonder. Diana's gently urging gaze drew him onward. "She was studyingdance and was very gifted. Father had arranged for a teacher for herto come Below, a Helper, and Lisa was very dedicated to developingher gift. She would spend hours practicing, dancing; and she wouldlet me watch her work."

The fathomless blue eyes suddenly darkened with painful -- regret-- a reaction that tore through Diana as profoundly as she knew hismemories were tearing through him. She steeled herself to listen towhat he was willing to reveal to her, all the while praying that hemight find, at last, that those moments of reckoning in his pastneeded to have nothing whatsoever to do with their future. That hopewas blown to dust with the self-diminishing words Vincent used tocontinue his story for her.

"I couldn't believe that Lisa would want me there with her, butshe truly did. We spent time exploring the tunnels, swimming,reading, doing our chores, but so many hours we passed simplyimagining life Above. Lisa was certain of her coming successes in thedance world, and always included me in her plans, wherever shedreamed they'd take her. She always showed me a generosity in ourfriendship that I held to with so much awe."

The torrent of words that seemed compelled to be revealed werestopped suddenly, as Vincent bent his head down from Diana's gaze,the fall of his golden amber hair hiding his face. It was so much agesture of stoic . . . shame . . . as though he didn't even have aright to recall the memories from his heart now, hold to themomentary gifting that they had brought him as an uncertainadolescent.

Diana willed herself the courage to brush his hair back from hisface, slip it back over his shoulder. The ache, to pull him near toher, was close to intolerable, but she knew she had to keep herselfnow at an acceptable distance from him, emotionally as well asphysically so. The need to cauterize the long-festering wound was oneonly he could accept.

"I realized that our experience of one another was . . .changing." The conclusion was more guilt-riddled confession thatsimple descriptive observation. Diana's heart lurched at the evidencethat Catherine had not been his only unreachable, unattainable giftin his tested past.

"The change was so subtle at first," Vincent continued after amoment to resettle his heart, "so easily overlooked. But then, all atonce, we knew there was more we needed to be to one another, more wewere suddenly unafraid to consider."

A single tear slipped down his cheek from the wealth shining inhis eyes. Diana didn't dare reach out to it.

"One evening, I met her in the Great Hall where she waspracticing." The struggle to take hold of those moments and not letthem overpower him with stifling self-recrimination, was a battle henearly foundered within, at that instant. How could he possibly givevoice to those terrors now, within Diana's presence, use them todefine for her the reality of who . . . what . . . he was? It wouldshatter her very soul to accept such truth. Yet, it would be the onlytruth that could help keep her safe from harm.

"At first, it seemed there was nothing different about our timetogether. She danced, and I watched -- and saw, perhaps for the firsttime, just how exquisite she was, like a moonbeam radiating acrossthe floor . . . graceful, beautiful, and so willing to draw me intoher dreams."

A flicker of unburdened -- cherishing -- lit across the painedfeatures of legend. Diana thought her heart would burst from therealization -- that he could consider, still, a treasured moment oflove discovered only as a forbidden beguilement he could never betrusted to hold. The knife twisting within her plunged more deeplywith his quietly awestruck words, yet so unbelieving of hisworth.

"She drew me into her dance as well, that night, let a hand reston my shoulder, pirouetting around me as though I could possibleactually become her . . . center. When she came around before meagain, she stopped her dancing -- and walked slowly over to me.

"There was a -- determination -- in her that, at first, I couldn'tunderstand. But with each step she took towards me, I felt more andmore of myself drawn to her. It was as though my own soul had leaptfrom me and sought only to rest within her."

Vincent pulled himself suddenly to his feet, and crossed thelightening expanse of Diana's loft to the windows once again. He ranhis hand unconsciously across the brick work of the window sill,losing himself to the sight of the city awakening before him for along moment. It was still benevolently disguised beneath the blanketof snowy whiteness, but it wouldn't be long before reality wouldreplace the gentle, clean wonder of the scene beyond his gaze: Thesnow would turn to dirty slush beneath the relentless stream oftraffic and humanity.

His own relentless torment would catch up to him again, and thistime its casualty would be the merciful, hopeful heart he could feelreaching out to him from across the room, reaching past the pain.Then her soft voice urged him back to the reality he had leftunfinished, as he had sought, still, to protect and shield her fromhis truth, even though he knew the price they would both need to paywith its necessary revelation.

"It was as though she was bringing within your reach all you neverknew you needed."

Diana had joined him, stood beside him, unable to allow him thegulf of distance suddenly between them that extended far beyond thewidth of her living room. She sensed so acutely that there were wordshe was desperate to utter to her, but could not. They must be voiced,she knew, if they were to ever find peace between them, if they wereever to work their way through the trail of pain they had both beenforced to walk. The fear he held his heart hostage to had to benamed, and thus, set within limits they could understand, andresist.

The intense azure depths of his eyes at that instant wereheartstopping. She cold see both love and torment in them,intertwined. Could he read the strength of unburdened love withinhers? And could he gather courage from it, somehow?

He did. A long ragged intake of breath did little to help himcontrol the pounding of his heart, but he let his resolve pull himpast the terror of losing her to the possibility he'd been given ofkeeping her safe.

"I'd never dreamed I could become so completely . . . filled . . .by another person's essence, never dreamed she'd bring her spirit tome so willingly, drawing me to her so easily." He spoke more to thewindows than to Diana, trying, still, to understand the inconceivable-- that he could come to love a young woman with all the passion andtenderness of a young man of 15.

"She'd kissed me, on the cheek, first one, then the other. She lether hand slip over my face, with sweet . . . acceptance. She restedher head an instant on my shoulder. I was . . .

drowning . . . in the reality of her; I wanted to hold her, keepher close to me as she seemed so incredibly eager to have herselfheld. It was the most wondrous, terrifying moment I'd everexperienced."

That is how it had been for her in Chris's arms, that night solong ago, Diana thought, the confusing, beguiling awe of findingherself -- cherished -- by another heart. Why did Vincent now have tobelieve it was such an undreamed of treasure to have someone yearnfor his closeness, his touch? He was only describing the sweet acheof young hearts reaching for one another, an experience he shouldnever have believed was prohibited him. But, the soft radiance of . .. love . . . accepted, was ruthlessly draped with . . . disgrace . .. darkening mythic features that should only have been clothed inquiet, gifting honor.

Vincent gripped the edge of the window sill and closed his eyesfor a long moment, visibly shuddering from some inner battle hecouldn't bring himself to allow to surface. Diana was about to reachher hand out to him, but he drew away from her without even seeingher gesture, as though he had sensed her intention of consolationand, fled away from it, undeserving.

"I felt Lisa pull away after an instant, or . . . wanting . . . topull away, from my embrace. I only knew the existence of her in myarms; the bare skin of her shoulder was beneath my hand, like coolsilk. I remember thinking that all I'd ever wanted in life couldnever compare to feeling her near to me like that, holding her tomyself. But, beyond the wonder, I realized something was happening,something was . . . wrong."

Diana held her breath, knowing without question what it was shewas going to hear him say next. She closed her own eyes to the imagethat was conjured within her heart, not because of any physical --horror -- of the past it might reveal to her, but because of thepresent torment it was forcing Vincent through.

"Lisa was . . . struggling . . . pushing herself away from me."The words were only a hushed, ached whisper, yet with the power toshatter his very soul, and Diana's. "She'd lifted her head from myshoulder and was looking at me with eyes brimming with

. . . fear . . . pleading fear. I couldn't understand where theterror was coming to her from. And then I finally did." The tears randown Vincent's cheeks, pouring out his soul with desperate abandon."It was coming from . . . me. Her terror was of . . . me."

The reality of that last sentence snapped Diana's heart in two, asdid the reflected anguish, pain, and remorse that showed in hisbeautiful eyes. She willed him to put an end to his own torment, butknew his heart would never hear hers now.

"She was pleading for me to let her go," Vincent continued, almostas though he were compelled to be totally re-immersed into the sorrowof that long-ago evening

"I believed I was doing what she was asking me to. Her pain andturmoil, the thought that in some way I could be their cause, werefilling me with terror as well. I suddenly wanted to run from hersight, vanish into the very rocks of the walls, for I still didn'tunderstand why she was looking at me so, with such startledfright.

"Only when she finally pulled free of my hold did I realize."Diana watched as Vincent forcefully clamped his hands into tightfists. She swallowed hard, knowing without a doubt why he had hiddenthose hands from his sight, and hers. They were the source of hisadolescent shame.

"I'd never released Lisa from my grasp." The words fought to beheard, awash in guilty self-loathing. "She'd been horrified toliterally feel the reality of my true nature upon her, and struggledto free herself. But the more she had sought to pull from my. . .embrace. . .

the more closely, insistently I had held her. I had noconsciousness of it. All I knew was that she pulled away from me atlast, and I saw . . . blood . . . on my hands, her blood."

Leaning his head against the window now heavily, Vincent foughtfor the strength to utter the next words to the woman he loved,fought for the courage to reveal to her what she had actually beenwilling to commit herself, body and soul, to: a reality of existencethat would bind her to . . . bestiality . . . his own.

Ruthlessly, he pulled his head back from its defeated restingplace to look Diana squarely in the face, willing her to see, atlast, what was truly inside of his soul, what could truly . . . touchher . . . in the yearning need she sought for him to answer. Hiswords were purposefully hard, fierce, in their truth. He willed herto loathe him, and thus, set her free.

"In the grip of a passion I'd believed to be rooted in thehumanity of love, I'd caused Lisa physical harm. These hands, Diana,the hands that I'd hoped could always feel the tender wonder of herbody , had drawn blood, wounded a 15 year old girl to the point ofbloodshed. In the name of love."

Diana would not heed his plea that she should turn her heart fromhim in fear and abhorrence. She knew the truth he would not see,could not see after such a burden of guilty shame. Throwing her armsaround his powerful body, now wracked with sobs, she let him restagainst her heavily, the weight of shattering remorse pounding at hisspirit. He kept his hands clenched at his side, though, neverreaching for the solace of her touch, fearful even now to rest thosehands that were the mirror of his true nature, onto tender,vulnerable flesh.

She would not let him submerge himself into his grief. Whisperingsoft reassurances, she drew his arms around her with conviction,attempting to give him a footing, somehow, with the truth of herlove. But, he was fast sinking into the sucking quagmire of desperateguilt, shame, and desolation.

"Vincent!" she called sharply to him, as he had done for her onlyhours before, pulling her from a nightmare that had nearly engulfedher sanity. "Vincent, that is not the only reality of your touch,"she continued with determination, urging him to believe what he felthe didn't deserve. "You were an innocent, overwhelmed by emotionsthat would bewilder and confuse any boy, any man, in your place!"

"Diana, please . . ." The words were weary and defeated. He turnedto draw free from her fervent embrace, but she would not allow him,holding him fast with a fierceness of protective care that belied herslight form and embattled spirit.

"There are other realities these hands are capable of," she began,in earnest commitment, lifting his trembling touch to her cheek."They cradle your child, they wipe away tears of frustration. Youhave helped Father set broken bones with these hands, put thoughts topaper that heal hearts." Then, in a desperate attempt to wrench himfrom his pain, she pulled open her own shirt front with one hand,fumbling with the buttons a moment, until she was fearlesslybare-chested before him, an offering to placate the demons that wouldhaunt him for all eternity.

Vincent turned his head away, but she pulled his left hand upforcefully, pressing it against her throat, against her pulse. Hestruggled to free himself from what she was compelling him to see,compelling him to believe was true and possible, but the pleading inher tear-drowned eyes stopped him short.

In merciful submission, he let her pull the deadly talons of hishand over her porcelain skin, from her throat to her breast, nowheaving with the struggle of her breathing. With words that were onlya cracked whisper, Diana dared him to accept her gift. "They cantrail the exquisite sensations of loving, physical passion that wasmeant to be between two souls entwined."

Spent by the torrent of emotions engulfing them both, Diana letevery breath of her love touch him through the anguish in her eyes.How could he believe himself of threat to her? How could he see onlyblood and risk and peril where she could find the sweetest and mostlonged for humanity to be shared? She freed his hand from her grasp,finally, to let it rest on the tender fullness of her breast . . . alover's hand . . . a lover's touch. Why could it never truly be sobetween them? Why must they believe there were realities that woulddevour the blessed solace they would be capable of finding in eachother's arms?

For the longest moment, Vincent let his eyes rest on theunthinkable sight before him. She would still allow herself tobelieve. . . that he could offer her the same touch in the swirl ofoverwhelming, needful passion capable of igniting itself betweenthem, and it would not lay her tender flesh open to the bone . . .that their consummation of love would be an act of sublime, physicalsharing, and not a baptism of bloody hell.

Not even Catherine had dared risk believing such an awesometruth. When he had confessed the shame Lisa's terror had devastatedhis heart with, Catherine had simply taken hold of his hands in hersand declared them her own. She hadn't pronounced his fear asunfounded, only nobly accepted what he'd shown her of himself .They'd shared their tears and regret at what he believed his realityof nature would force them to hold as the limits between them. Butthey'd never presumed that the threat he feared he could become hadno place in the love they shared.

Diana wouldn't even conceive of the notion, now. She'd taken hishand in hers, blessed it with her trust, and all but dared him tomurder her where she stood.

Vincent rested his head to hers, struggling to hold to hisperception of himself against the beguiling nearness of her mouth,longed to taste the precious sweetness, and trust, she had let himwillingly hold earlier on that night of reckoning. Fulfillment wasonly a breath of an instant away. It should be so possible, so withinreach, so welcomed and not feared.

But he knew better.

Pulling the cool fabric of her shirt back up over her bare skin,Vincent fastened the buttons slowly with those hands that couldoutwardly reveal only the faintest truth of what really shrouded hissoul. His words were shadowed with as deep a sorrow as he had evershared with her.

"A touch in the abandon of the moment will be very different fromthe tenderness you have allowed me to take just now."

"You don't know that, Vincent." He recognized her pleading wasonly for him. Now that he'd shared the depths of his burden with her,she was still only attempting to carry it for him.

"Yes, Diana, I do know it. Risking . . . intimacy . . . would berisking your life." He turned away with numbing acceptance, but Dianaheld him yet.

A sudden flash of anger lit her green eyes. She would nevertolerate untruth, and for her, his terror was the ultimate lie.

"Then it is my risk to take. It is my body, my life. The risk ismine to accept or refuse."

The steel within her was so prominently visible in her spirit withthose words. But Vincent had to sway her from her beliefs. For boththeir sakes.

"The risk is ours because my soul hangs in the balance as well,Diana. Do you think I could actually survive if you were to come toharm from my doing?"

Her green eyes met his unearthly blue ones with fearless equalityand determination. Just as she'd nearly dared him to kill her, shewas now daring him to prove her belief in their love, all of theirlove, wrong.

Then the thought formed in her mind with unexpected clarity --this was not really about the extent or lack of his humanity at all.How could it be? The breathtaking passion of smoldering need he'dtouched to her before was anything but inhuman, or phantom.

"You were willing to let Catherine take the risk."

That was where the untruth between them hid. It was the onlyanswer. Catherine's spirit still held his soul, would always hold hissoul, despite what he had offered her as evidence to the contrary.And the unearthly nature of that soul? It could only be a shroud offear he would hold fast to in the face of anything that would forcehim to live past Catherine's loss with any semblance of hope. Whathad Mary said to her that Winterfest evening when she'd firstadmitted her helplessness in bringing Vincent any comfort? "I knowwhat grief can do to a man's heart, how sweet the pain canbecome."

Diana understood the scope of her plight, at last. Well, he mightbe willing to obscure the promise of the present with a tragedy ofthe past, but she was not going to find herself battling a memorythat was too sweet for him ever to leave behind. She would know thetruth of what truly held his soul before she would risk her own.

"For God's sake, Vincent, you and Catherine had a son. Sheconceived a child, and survived the . . . horror . . . of your . . .inhuman . . . intimacy!"

The words were out before she realized she'd said them and notonly formed them in her racing thoughts. But they were not wordsspoken in the turmoil of the moment. They'd long been buried deepwithin her heart for what had seemed an eternity of itself. She knewthat the nagging doubt in her mind rested fully upon that reality:Catherine had borne him a child, and Diana believed in only onechaste conception.

For a timeless instant, a flash of . . . disbelief . . . andanger, true, incredulous, anger, worked its way from deep withinVincent's spirit to just momentarily become visible in the blueblackness of his suddenly stormy eyes. Diana could see sheer, focusedhostility ready to flash out at her with searing, deserving accuracy.And then she saw him quell that tide with a force of will that wasbeyond description or comprehension. The trembling effort he putforth succeeded, in a matter of stopwatch seconds, to bring his usualserene calm back to within reasonable reach.

Diana stood awestruck.

How could he doubt his hold on himself, when she had justwitnessed his beyond human capability to reign in a just andrighteous indignation of heart? He could believe himself able to losehimself enough in the abandon of a moment between them to become ofthreat to her?

My God, Diana recalled, she had even seen him stay his handagainst Gabriel himself, the fiend that had murdered his love andnearly done the same to his child. Only her own pleading voice hadturned him away from exacting a just vengeance against the demon.Only the sound of her voice, Jacob's cry, and the quiet reminder thatFather awaited him to guide them both back home. That had been all heneeded to trigger his control back to a plane of sane and safeendurance.

And now he was willing to let her believe she'd need to fear thefull extent of his emotions, fear to touch the passion that she'dfelt was so right and consummate between them? Catherine had neverfound herself burdened with such terror.

Diana's righteous outrage was quickly spent, however, when she sawhow her words had wounded the desperately tested man before her. Thetorment and pain on his face was as visible now, at the sound of herstinging accusation, as they had been when he first touched to hisdisheartening memories with her that night. Because of it, she wasn'tprepared to hear his next words.

"I have no memory of that moment, Diana. I have no way of knowingnow what happened between us at that instant, what peril Catherinewas forced to face, simply because she chose to love me, and chose todeepen our experiences of one another."