If I Only Had a Brain - 1

This started off as an attempt to see how well I could write a straight romance-type scene with a twist, and took off rather unexpectedly from there. It is now some 6 (progressively longer) chapters long, and still developing. I will post them as I get them typed up.

From the moment he saw her, he knew they were meant to be. Caught up in the midst of the roaring, surging, faceless mass, scarcely able to hear his own voice, some instinct made him turn his head. And there she was, standing by a doorway, gazing calmly over the crowd. Their eyes met, and suddenly time was no more.
Around him, Samuel knew, the crowd still surged and screamed its defiance to the world. But for him, all that faded into meaninglessness, leaving only the peace and stillness of her deep blue eyes.
Scarcely aware of what he was doing, he moved toward her. He dodged the screaming, shoving mob as in a dream, knowing only that the distance between them was shinking, shrinking...gone.
Now he stood close enough to touch her, yet he did not dare - all he could do was watch her, marveling. She was different from the others; her eyes gazed fearlessly into his soul. Before this perfect, ephemeral little being, he was helpless, helpless as an infant - and strangely content to be so.
Suddenly, her beautiful eyes flashed a fearful warning, a moment before he was knocked aside by a burly, snarling man. As the newcomer reached for her, she turned to flee. Driven by a deep imperative he could not have named, Samuel grabbed the newcomer’s arm and yanked with a superhuman strength born of fury, pulling him in a stumbling arc that ended abruptly with his face being driven into the wall. The man immediately started to fade from his memory as he turned once again to the girl.
She had turned to observe the aftermath of the brief fight, with wonder and gratitude in her eyes. Shyly she stepped close, hesitantly raised her hand and laid it in his. His fingers closed around hers as he marveled at this gesture of simple, childlike trust. And hesitant in his turn, careful not to alarm her, he gently raised the small, pale hand. He turned it over, wondering at the soft palm, the graceful, delicate fingers, the white wrist with its pale blue tracery of veins.
She merely regarded him with those fearless azure eyes. She offered no resistance as he lifted that ivory wrist to his lips. And she made no sound as his teeth tore into the soft flesh; only her eyes, still fixed on his as she crumpled to the ground, betrayed the agony inside.