chapter 12, god shiva - part I

Luke walked through the back door from the alley, quiet as a ghost. He saw her immediately, perched on a stool behind the cash register, humming and swaying in her seat, impervious to his presence. Her dark-skinned hands thumbed through the paper money stacked on the counter in front of her as if it was gold. Then she paused and swept a mass of her long, black hair from her shoulders. It brushed against her thighs enticingly, but blocked his view of her face. He silently inched closer as he imagined her smile—radiant and comforting.

He then stopped and stood perfectly still as he envisioned what she’d look like when she turned and saw him. Her oval eyes would swell with unshed tears as her red stained lips quivered in fear. Then she'd scream. He liked that—the screaming. She'd be very beautiful then. All of her edges would melt into round curves and her large firm breasts would bounce as she gasped for air. He sighed at the image in his head of him fucking her from behind and of her collapsing in his arms, blissfully accepting her destiny. He smiled slowly, savoring just how much he loved imagining her like this.

He leaned against the doorframe and sighed. Then silently and swiftly, he glided across the room and touched the woman on the shoulder.

She jumped from her stool, screeching and then tried to run away. But he blocked her path with his body, grabbed her by the shoulders, and spun her around to face him. She was struggling, which he admired. Although such a waste of courage he thought, as he popped the buttons from her blouse and ripped it open. He then tore away her bra, squeezed her breasts and pinched her protruding nipples with his thumbs and forefingers. Licking his lips, he felt the coolness of her flesh soak into his entire body.

Then all of a sudden, her fist smashed him in the face and Luke froze, stunned as she reared back with her other hand and slammed a forearm into his chest. Why was she still fighting him, he wondered? How was she fighting him?

“You fucking bastard,” she screamed. “Get away from me!”

He'd never encountered such a creature. She was rejecting his power. His prey had always accepted their fate as far as he recalled. They'd struggle at first and then cry out or whimper just before the end, but mostly, they'd succumb to his will and treasure the bliss of transcending. Why was this one different? He pressed the fingertips of his left hand against his temples. Maybe she wasn't a gift. Maybe she a test? But who or what would dare test him? He latched onto the woman's flailing arms and wrapped his long thin fingers tightly around her smooth wrists.

“Shush!” He placed a hand over her mouth and nose and pressed hard. “My muse is waiting for me in the alley outside, and she mustn't hear my business.” He squeezed her face with his hand. “You see, you are my gift.”

He tightened his fingers around her wrists and watched as her hands turned a deep shade of blue. “Your blood flows to your extremities," he murmured. "You're not in my thrall."

Luke stared into her face intently. “I was bored waiting in the alley. Couldn't tolerate the smell. It reeks out there."

She was looking at him without blinking. “You're going to kill me?" she whispered.

“Yes. It is what happens when I collect my gifts.”

“Please, I beg you. Let me make peace with my maker.”

Luke cleared his throat, surprised by her request, and inhaled slowly. He couldn't smell any power in her. Yet, he couldn't explain why she wasn’t in his thrall. “You pray? To whom?” He sincerely wanted to know.

“Angels of mercy, I beseech you. Strike this demon down," she shouted. "Damn you to hell, Satan!” She jerked away from him and reaching down, pulled a large wooden cross from underneath the counter, and plunged it into his chest.

“You Spanish whore!” He shouted as he snatched the wood out of his sternum. “You can't kill me. I'm not a vampire!”

He grabbed a fistful of her hair and dragged her face to his lips. He'd have to forego the usual ritual. “No fucking this one,” he spat. Then he lifted her chin and captured her eyes in his gaze.

“Oh, god,” she cried. “Not the children! Not my baby!”

Luke grinned; pleased with her reaction to the vision he’d shared with her. He'd let her see his next gifts and laughed aloud as he wrenched her neck from side to side. But her stubborn thick neck wouldn't come.

Luke was struggling with her head. He hadn't had that problem before. Usually all it took was a quick snap, a two-handed tug and presto—another trophy to add to his collection.

“Let go, you silly bitch,” he hissed. “Let me have your fucking head!”

This was taking too long, he groaned. But then she wasn't a real gift. Right? She had to be a test. He frowned as he felt a surge of power coming from the alley. “Oh, god. It's a witch.”

"Luke!" Anyaka's excited voice yelled at him from the other side of the back door he'd used to enter the restaurant. "They're here," she shouted.

"Good, my love," he called back to her. "I'll be right there." He pulled on the woman's neck, forgetting about the witch, and finally snapped it from her body. Laughing softly, he slowly dipped his long fingers into the fresh wound, raised them to his lips and sucked the blood into his mouth.

“Ah, yes,” he sighed. “You are still a gift.”


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“How long have I known you?” Buffy was walking several feet ahead of him, but Spike could hear her clearly.

He didn't answer right away, though. He wasn't certain where she was going with the question and wanted to hear what more she might say before he dove into the briar patch. They'd marched out of her apartment and walked five blocks in friendly silence. He'd been enjoying the quiet and how comfortable he'd felt being close to her, being needed by her. It reminded him of their walk from Revello Drive to Glory's tower the year before. It was during that fateful stroll that he had fallen more deeply in love with Buffy than he thought possible.

Buffy abruptly stopped and spun around to face him. “How long?” She seemed uncertain, almost fearful.

“Well, pet, we met five years ago,” he began. “Although, wouldn't say we got to know each other ‘til last year, when your Mom took ill.”

“Five years?” She appeared to be mulling the number over in her head.

“You don't remember?” He shrugged, concerned.

“Can't exactly say I don't remember.” Buffy shoved her hands into her pockets and started walking again.

“Know why you kissed me last night?” Spike blurted.

“Yes.” She didn't slow down as she spoke. “I always kiss you when you're hurt.” She glanced over her shoulder and gave him one of her radiant smiles. He nearly stumbled.

Impulsively, Spike reached out and grabbed her arm to stop her. "Buffy, what do you remember about Sunnydale?"

"A lot. I remember you, Giles, Willow, Xander, Anya and Tara." She pulled away from him and began walking again. "I remember Mom getting sick and dying. I remember Glory, and Dawn being the key, and I remember dying."

He was walking next to her now. "But you don't remember how long you've known me?"

"Well, it's not about how long,” she looked into his eyes. “It's that I don't remember not knowing you. It's as if we've been forever.”

Spike touched her face. Then Buffy took his hand into her small hands and pulled his palm to her lips.

“Buffy,” he closed his eyes, cherishing the warmth of her skin.

“Yes, Spike?”

“Love, the spell has changed you." Spike opened his eyes. “Never cared this much before, pet.”

“You mean you don't like me.” Her eyes began to fill with tears.

“No, Buffy,” he had to explain faster. “You don't like me. Well, not this much.” He glanced at his hand, the one she was still holding.

Spike pulled free and reached into his pocket, searching for cigarettes. “We tried to kill each other most everyday for nearly five years, Buffy. Only time you looked at me without a stake in your hand was after I got the chip in my head."

"The what in your where?"

"Jesus Christ, Slayer,” exclaimed Spike, exasperated. "Chip. In. My. Head.” He held a finger to his temple.

Buffy looked confused.

“The bloody Initiative?" said Spike. “Captain Cardboard? Bloody hell, you called him Riley.”

"Okay. Okay,” breathed Buffy. “So, even if the spell changed me, I don't care how I was before. I just know how I am now. And for now, I know that for the past two months Dawn has been safe. No headaches. No portal jumping monster.” Buffy grabbed Spike by the sleeve of his duster. “And I like you.”

He didn’t know what to say so Spike reached into the inside pocket of his duster and found his pack of cigarettes. “We're almost to the alley, Slayer.” Tilting his head, he lit the fag and pulled the smoke deeply into his lungs as he stared at her.

“Okay then. This is resolved, right? I like you and you like me.” Buffy turned and walked away from him. “Now, let’s go deal with this portal jumper.”

There was no point in arguing with the lady, he thought and flipped his cigarette to the ground. Spike then took two long strides and settled in step next to her.


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The dumpsters in the alley reeked of human waste and garbage. Jacob wrinkled his nose and thought that maybe his luck was beginning to run out. Between the stench, the word witch and the fact that there was no sign of the portal jumper, he figured the idea of luck running out was just about right.

As he stood next to Willow, waiting in silence, Jacob mulled over the promise he’d made her. He’d said he’d be able to summon the portal jumper. Of course, he'd been exaggerating. He could only hope that the bastard might appear. But Jacob knew this was the spot where they’d have the best chance of meeting him. But Willow was a smart witch, too. She’d suss out his plan. She had to know that all he wanted was to steal the portal jumper’s gifts for himself, and give a lowly Aurelian vampire what he deserved.

A dedicated demon, proud of his lineage and his luck at being sired by Darla, Jacob relished his existence. He'd spent nearly a 100 bliss-filled years in New York City, the perfect town for a vampire of his disposition. Like in London, he could get lost amongst the legion of vampire and demon classes that dwelled above and below the concrete streets. He hadn't needed to complicate his un-life with crusades or plans of world domination. He killed what needed to be killed; fed when he was hungry and fucked whatever struck his fancy. Then an old blues tune suddenly started buzzing in his head and he recalled the truth of its lyrics: Times, they were a changing.

Standing in the shadows, he glanced up at the sun as it settled behind a wall of dilapidated high-rise apartments. It looked almost too bright in the sky for so late in the day. Then he looked at Willow standing at his side. Her hands were braced on her hips as her black eyes darted around the alley.

“Where is he?” she asked.

“Give it a moment, my love,” Jacob purred. “The jumper doesn't appear at the snap of a finger or even at the sound of a few choice words from your deadly lips.”

He leaned against a dumpster and smiled at her. She didn't have that California girl glow he'd seen in television commercials. They'd left the big-boned girl at his house. She had seemed more West Coast to him than this one. Still, Jacob had been impressed by the feelings the two witches had for one another. In fact, he believed Willow had feelings for quite a few things. Contemplating that thought, he cursed. This idea actually terrified him. A word witch as powerful as Willow shouldn’t have feelings. That was asking for big trouble, figured Jacob. The kind of trouble that bad luck brought to bear on a civilized vampire's suddenly unlucky existence. He sighed loudly and then looked at Willow.

Her hands were shaking.

“Willow?” A young woman stepped out of the shadows near an archway at the side of the alley. She looked a little like Spike's Slayer except she was taller and her hair was darker. She didn't smell human, though.

“Anya?” queried the witch. Her voice sounded puzzled.

“Jacob, my friend,” The portal jumper stepped from behind the woman named Anya. “It's me, Luke.”

Jacob snapped his head in his direction. Such a personal greeting had startled him. He'd never met the portal jumper before. Still this lean, dark-haired white man, called his name as if they were old acquaintances. Jacob huffed, then he paused and sniffed the air. Another powerful vampire was approaching with a Slayer at his side. Damn, he cursed silently. The alley was about to get bloody crowded, bloody fast.


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The hip-hop melody ringing from Carlo's cell phone made Dawn giggle. She could never understand why he liked those crazy lyrics wailing, I'm a Soldier.

He was in the bathroom.

“Carlo, your phone's ringing,” she called to him.

“Okay, I'm coming.”

“Hurry up, it's your Mom.” Dawn recognized the number on the caller ID.

“Answer it, babe.” Carlo was rummaging around in the kitchen now.

Dawn sat forward on the sofa and picked up the phone.

“Hello, Mrs. Hernandez?” No answer.

“Sorry, Carlo. I missed her.”

“That's okay,” He walked into the living room with a carton of apple juice and a chocolate-chip cookie. “She's at the restaurant. I've got to get over there to help her with inventory. She's likes doing it at night.”

He dropped down next to Dawn on the sofa. “You wanna come with me.”

“Buffy told us to stay here.”

“And so?” He leaned close to Dawn. “We're just going to the restaurant. You can leave her a message or call her on her cell.”

Dawn only had to think about it for an instant. She didn't want to stay in the apartment alone. “Okay, let's go.” She would call Buffy from the restaurant. Let her and Spike know she was safe.

to be continued…