A/N: Thanks go to Slaymesoftly for her wonderful beta work on this fic, and to everyone so far who has reviewed and stuck with me, notably Alwaysjbj, Karyn, sue, bubble_blunder, Tasha, wulfie, Lou and UncagedMuse.

Prodigal - Chapter Nine

The air was starting to turn chilly, a warning that the seasons were on the turn and one more reminder that the world just kept on turning no matter what happened to the creatures that eked out an existence on its surface. Bethmara shivered, drawing up the zipper of her leather jacket on the outside and hardening her heart deeper within. The hours between three and five in the morning often found her mood bleak when she was alone, part of her resenting the apparent peace which covered the city in an illusion of safety, and other parts remembering wistfully how it felt to be able to partake of that comforting quietude.

More often than not, she and Dee, and maybe one or two of the others from the club, would hang out once they'd closed, going on to some diner, bar or just back to someone's apartment to watch a movie and relax. This was assuming Bethmara didn't have other places to be, other work to do, of course. The nights when she was free to hang out brought respite from both self-recriminations and the occasionally overwhelming sense of loneliness that she had difficulty suppressing, more so than the rare occasions she went on dates.

Dating nearly always felt like a waste of time to Bethmara. She had no shortage of offers, and indeed found fun in flirting with and encouraging her would-be suitors, laughing at their obvious pick-up lines and even more obvious desires. She teased and tormented, filled with delicious irony that for all the magical, otherworldly powers she carried, simply the enchantment that a pretty young woman could wield was enough to wreak havoc on men.

'Pathetic,' she thought dismissively. 'Each and every one of them thinks he's a beautiful and unique snowflake, that he's special. Like special is everything it's cracked up to be, anyway. Get any one of them into bed and I'd likely break them,' she smiled unpleasantly.

When she had finally given in to her love for Angel it had led to the direst of consequences, a domino run of events leading from bad to worse, but along with the mayhem, the heartbreak, the confusion and the death there was another for which no one had prepared her. The slow burning flame of burgeoning sexuality that had ignited to a flash fire of urgency and dark knowledge on that ill-fated night left her with a thirst for more, a body that, having been filled once, was now painfully aware that it was empty. Lust had replaced innocent longing, a need that had nothing to do with love and everything to do with straining flesh gnawing at her. Touching herself dealt with the more desperate demands of her body, but it was nothing compared to the feel of another's fingers dancing over her skin.

She'd fumbled a little with one or two of the guys she'd been out with, back when she'd first changed, an attempt to soothe the growing ache inside her and to put as much distance as possible between who she was now and who she had been. She'd begun to believe her reaction was caused by psychological trauma when she found herself at first growing still and then passion being replaced by frustration when warm fingers slid up her thigh. The other night with Spike had opened her eyes to the truth now, however. It wasn't frigidity at all. It was the feeling that it was wrong, that hot skin, a pounding pulse and damp, fetid breath simply revolted her. There was no point in denying it: human males just didn't push her buttons anymore. She needed cool hands, skin that never became clammy with sweat and the freedom to use every ounce of her strength.

'Once upon a time, I'd have been kinda worried about having a vampire fetish,' Bethmara reflected. 'I think I'll have to chalk this one up to another fringe benefit of elevation.'

Or maybe it wasn't a vampire fetish. It wasn't like the majority of vampires she'd run into got her motor revving, after all. And the Master? Can anyone say "ewwww"? No, Angel had fascinated her, all cute and older guy, and mysterious. He'd had the intoxicating air of 'dangerous bad boy' about him, and what sixteen year old girl can resist that? Maybe if she'd known he was a vampire before they'd kissed, things would have been different, but then again, maybe not. All thoughts of how attractive Angel was had flown right out of the window the first time she'd met Spike. Sure, he'd had the same arrogant, Inigo Montoya attitude, with the "I know something you don't know" smirk, but every single fiber of his being screamed that he was mad, bad and dangerous to know, making Angel pale into just "Spike Lite". The thought made her giggle a little. On learning the link between the two men, the fact they had similar mannerisms was logical, and Bethmara could have kicked herself for not realizing earlier. But having met Angelus, she wondered how it was that William the Bloody just seemed to do it better. He had more wit, more charm, more menace, and oh boy, did he have more sex appeal. Angelus was just sleazy, repellently so, and Angel had always seemed too uptight for her to flirt properly with him. Spike was everything a vampire should be: evil, cunning, strong, graceful and as fascinating, deadly and beautiful as a tiger.

He made out like a tiger, to boot - forceful, dominant and confident. Physical pleasure aside, and that had been in spades, Bethmara had enjoyed his approach, the way he allowed the tension between them to ramp up into the red zone even though he waited for her to hit the pressure release valve. He didn't treat her as though she was fragile, he didn't put her on a pedestal, and he didn't wait for her to beg only to tell her she didn't know what she was asking for. Their exchange had been savage and brutal, but it was also a meeting of equals who held no illusions. They weren't trying to relive a fairytale or an epic - they were, for better or worse, and for whatever it was, just trying to live.

Her heels echoed through the crisp early morning air as they struck the sidewalk, carrying her closer to the apartment building and her loft. Her fingers toyed with her keys in her pocket, even as she walked the last block to home and the bath she'd promised herself, her mind still caught up in analysing her encounter with the blond vampire.

Bethmara had been stunned when Spike tried to have a conversation with her once the moment of ecstasy passed, acting as though they were what? Friends? Lovers? They'd been enemies, then temporary allies, never more than that. His concern had baffled and enraged her. Of all her acquaintances, she would have thought he'd appreciate her new situation, but instead he'd trotted out lines that wouldn't have been out of place coming from Willow or Xander.

Home at last. Just as she reached up to let herself into the building, she paused, letting her outrage loose before seeking the security of her haven. How dare he? How dare he presume to tell her that what she'd done was wrong, or to lecture her about her former life and her mother? Her fists clenched deep inside her jacket pockets.

"Hypocritical bastard!" She hissed quietly.

"Thinking about anyone I know, pet?" The mocking British voice was directly behind her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spike thought he was going to seize up, squatting like a gargoyle on the rooftop opposite the Yard. Hour after hour passed with plenty of people coming and going on the street below, but no sign of the brunette beauty for whom he was watching. The temperature dropped and he began to feel uncomfortable - the cold couldn't make him shiver but it did have a tendency to make him sluggish and hungry. He didn't dare smoke here either, in case the Slayer, or whatever she was, noticed and got spooked. Adding this current situation to Drusilla's arrival, the conversation with the Watcher and the fact that he was now sober, it looked as though his night had taken a turn for the worse. He held out a small fraction of hope that it would all be worthwhile - he'd experienced the stick and was now extremely focused on the carrot of Bethmara.

As the tide of people flowing into the club turned to an exodus, then slowed to a trickle, then merely the odd one or two emerged, Spike eased forward and tried to catch the scent of the girl. He needn't have bothered - when she stepped into the alley, the blood he'd taken the night before pulsed once, harsh and fierce in his body. The feeling was so alien that he at first believed he'd been staked, and was experiencing the heartbeat pause before he dissolved into so much dust. In over a century, even when he'd left victims alive, there had never been the sense of blood calling to blood before, and it staggered and scared him.

She was on the move now, giving him no time to ponder the implications of such a reaction as he uncurled from his position to sweep across the skyline after her. With skill developed over decades, he silently tracked Bethmara, keeping pace with her several stories up. She was blissfully unaware of his proximity, he noted, wondering what on earth could preoccupy the girl to such an extent that her perception was this impaired.

‘Could be anything. Not like the chit doesn’t have a lot to think about,’ he downplayed the flash of pride that flourished at the possibility that she might just be thinking about him, and what they’d done in the alley. His libido, however, was seriously hoping she was hankering for more than just their quick mutual fondle. Christ knew he did, so it was likely only his wishful thinking leading him on. And yet… after their immediate needs had been met, when he talked to her, he knew part of her was still the same girl he’d known in Sunnydale; the same girl who didn’t take intimacy lightly, and blushed at the first sign of innuendo.

‘Doesn’t get more intimate than shooting in a girl’s hand while she orgasms from your teeth in her tit and your fingers between her legs. Well, it does, but not a hell of a lot more,’ he argued. While becoming a demon tended to strip one of inhibitions, it still took some adjustment – something he had learned through harsh experience. He gritted his teeth and headed that trip down memory lane off at the pass: the cruel taunts of his turned mother still occasionally echoed through his daydreams.

Looking down again, he saw Bethmara’s stride changing, slowing as she approached the steps to what had obviously once been a warehouse but was now a block of apartments. Grinning in triumph, he dropped down to street level, landing lightly and circling around behind her, scarcely believing his luck when she still didn’t register his presence. Spike quietly drew nearer, closing the distance just in time to hear her outburst and he simply couldn’t resist the smart comment that sprang to his lips.

"Thinking about anyone I know, pet?"

The young woman whirled, eyes wide, and the vampire’s smug grin widened upon hearing her accelerated pulse.

‘Now is that shock, fear or something altogether more friendly?’ He wondered, although frankly it didn’t really matter either to him or to his submerged demon side. He was male, after all, and sparking any reaction that obvious from a gorgeous woman fed his ego in all manner of ways.

“Could be. As far as I can tell, those two words apply to pretty much every guy on the planet,” came her retort, angry with herself for her lapse and deciding that Spike had just made himself a target. Her eyes glittered with sardonic amusement even as her face adopted a patented look of boredom, and Spike was suddenly overcome by an intense feeling of deja-vu. The pose was so familiar, reminding him sharply of the blustering bravado the Slayer had always brought to a fight, rather than simply getting down to business. For all the years he’d spent studying, watching, scrapping with and killing slayers, Buffy had one thing the others had lacked. Not family and friends, although that was a surprise – no, Buffy had style. From the tiny little outfits she wore even when on patrol to the flippant one-liners she threw out in the face of horrendous monsters, she refused to lower herself to simply being the arm of the Council. He shook his head, amazed he hadn’t realized it before.

“Now, now, pet. Just because your ex fed you a line, don’t tar us all with the same brush,” he smirked, certain he’d get a rise out of her from his allusion to Angel. The thin pursing of her lips and the stiffening of her shoulders told him that he’d hit the mark.

“Because you’re all about virtue and honour, aren’t you? No pathetic little games for William the Bloody. Sells out his own grandsire just so he can get a little action again from his cracked two-timing girlfriend,” she jeered, lifting her chin as the vampire’s eyes narrowed.

“Bitch,” he snarled, his fist flying towards her of its own volition. Bethmara didn’t even flinch, one arm effortlessly blocking his punch, the other shooting forward, palm outstretched, the heel of her hand connecting squarely with his solar plexus and sending him flying back. She turned her back, taking the steps slowly, a swing to her hips with her hair swaying in a graceful counterpoint. Unlocking the door she paused, half-turning to regard the stunned blond on the pavement.

“Not bad – you’re learning,” she remarked, before entering the building to leave Spike seething in fury.