Santa Claws by Lilachigh

Chp 8 One wrong word


“So where is he now?” Willow sat cross-legged on her bed and gazed in concern at Buffy. The Slayer was standing, looking out of the window into the darkened back yard beyond. Her slim shoulders looked tense and Willow could see by the way her fingers were clenched on the curtains that her apparent calm was all pretence.

“Out there somewhere.” Her voice was tight and thin.

“But Buffy, how could Spike become a werewolf? He hasn’t been bitten and I don’t even know if vampires can be changed like that. I’d need to study some of Giles’ books to make sure. Tell me again what happened.”

“Moon came out full, Spike began to growl, and his eyes went sort of silvery.”

“And with the hair and fangs and, you know, running on all fours and wanting to tear people limb from limb? Because, hey, Oz’s girl once remember. Still in the memory bank.”

Buffy opened the window and leant out. “I can’t see him anywhere. But no, there was no hair or fangs or wolfy behaviour. He didn’t howl, just growled – ”

“Spike often growls.”

Buffy felt heat flood through her veins. Yes her lover growled, often and always when they made love. There were certain things he did to her that always had a soft growling accompaniment and just before he roared when his climax struck, a deep growl would shake him from head to toe. But this time –

“This was – different,” she managed. “He looked – well, he looked puzzled, bewildered. Then his eyes went silver and he pushed me aside and vanished.”

“But at least he didn’t try and harm you, so that’s a plus,” the redhead said, trying to sound up-beat. “And at least you had the sense not to follow him. If he has turned into a werewolf, then you mustn’t go near him. And even then, you’ll have to think about – well everything to do with being with Spike – because I don’t know if a vampire goes back to normal once the moon changes again.”

Buffy turned slowly and stared at her friend as her words still rang in her ears. ‘The sense not to follow him.’ Willow was frowning, her expression one of determination and – Buffy searched for the words to describe what she was seeing – Willow looked – smug! There was a ‘don’t say we didn’t warn you!’ expression in her eyes and the shape of her mouth.

Instantly, Buffy knew what she had done and a bitter sense of shame and failure flooded through her. Jeez, the first crisis of her new relationship with Spike and she’d reverted back to the old Buffy. Ignoring the man she loved so deeply, she’d fled to her best friend to blurt out what had happened. As if they were teenagers gossiping at school. But why? For comfort? Understanding? Habit?

Yes, habit. Pathetic Buffy still clutching the invisible ribbons that tied her to her old life, trying to hold onto her out of date loyalties; a time when a group discussion about a personal problem, like who you should love and for how long, helped you forget that in the end, it was really only you, the Slayer, who would have to take the big world-saving decisions. And, of course, when that happened, your friends with all the opinions and advice were only too happy to drop the ribbons themselves and take a back seat.

She sighed. Growing up and taking on the responsibilities that came with real love was obviously not all roses and butterflies.

“Spike would never harm me, Will. He loves me. I love him.” Buffy flinched as she realised she’d spoken without any hesitation and marvelled at how far she had come in such a short time. Only days ago, she would never have admitted to anyone, not even herself, the feelings that existed between herself and the vampire. Now it seemed like second nature and her earlier reluctance ridiculous.

She shuddered. They had been happy for such a short time. Surely it wasn’t all going to end so quickly?

“I’ve got to go and find him,” she said. “Whatever’s happening to him, I need to be there. To help. Like you helped Oz.”

“Buffy, no! You mustn’t. I won’t let you. Oh, I wish Xander and Anya were here. Listen, ring Giles, ask his advice. You don’t know – ” Willow reached out a restraining hand.

Buffy smiled, turned on her heel, snapping the last ribbon that tied her to her old life and headed downstairs.

Outside the night was cool and damp. The moon sailed high, scudding in and out between rags of cloud. One second the yard was bathed in golden light, the next plunged into darkness. Buffy paused as the door swung shut behind her. She didn’t have Spike’s vampire night vision, but hers was still good enough to see that he wasn’t in the yard.

But as she reached out with her senses, they told her a vampire was close by. And not any vampire – Spike!

“Spike! Spike! Where the heck are you? Stop playing games. Speak to me.”

There was no sound except the rustling of leaves in the trees overhead. She walked slowly forwards and then tripped, kicking out at something black and clinging. A familiar smell of leather, cigarette smoke and whisky flooded her senses. It was Spike’s duster, lying discarded on the grass.

The rustling came again, but now she realised there was no wind and as the moon fled out from behind another cloud, she gazed up and saw a shape high up in the tree.

“Spike? What the hell are you doing up there? Come down. Tell me what’s going on.”

“Stay there, Buffy.” His voice sounded muffled, odd.

“Are you coming down?”

“No. I can’t.”

‘Well, then, I’m coming up!” She leapt for the first branch and hauled herself up the tree, swinging lithely from through the twigs and leaves. Spike was sitting on a wide branch near the top, his back against the trunk. As she smoothly climbed up next to him, he turned his face away, deep into the shadows.

The moon vanished again and under the dark leafy canopy, everything went black. Except – Buffy felt a shiver run across her skin – her lover’s hands where they held the branch, were shining even in the dark, as if…as if…they were covered with a fine silver pelt. And although his fingers looked just the same, from his thumbs sprang two long, golden claws that gripped the bark effortlessly.

“Spike!” Her whisper was no more than a croak, her voice had vanished. “Look at me!”

“Go away, Slayer. Spike’s not here any more.”

“Well, whoever you are, I can’t talk to the back of your head. And hey, the back of your head looks a lot like Spike’s so – ”

She stopped abruptly as the vampire turned, the moon came out once more and she got her first clear look at the man she loved. Silver hair lay sleekly across his face; the platinum curls were dark gold now and longer. But it was his eyes that held her spellbound. Wide and slanted, gleaming silver in the moonlight, they dominated the panther face before her.

“Like what you see, Slayer?” The voice was Spike’s but slurred. He stirred and she watched, fascinated, as muscles rippled beneath his jeans and T-shirt. He’d lost his boots and she could see the silver hair on his feet.

Buffy sat very still. She knew that whatever she said now could ruin their relationship forever. If she showed in the slightest that she was revolted by what she saw, or sounded sympathetic, she would loose him.

“I suppose I could have guessed that if you were going to turn into some demon, you’d choose to be a sexy one,” she managed at last. “And I’m warning you, if you shed hair all over the bedroom, you get to sweep it up!”

For a long moment the silver eyes contracted into feral slits, then they widened again and the scarred eyebrow beneath the silver hair lifted slightly. “Bloody hell, Slayer, does nothing throw you off your stride?”

Buffy gabbled a silent prayer to whichever power was guiding her this evening. If it was her mom, then she only hoped she’d stay at her side until this was fixed.

“How did it happen?”

Spike shrugged and stretched his arms above his head, the claws ripping the bark on the tree trunk behind him. “No idea, pet. One minute I was me, next I’m up this soddin’ tree, playing lion king.”

“A spell? A hex? Because Willow can fix those. ”

“That’s good, as long as it wasn’t Red who made me this way in the first place.”

Buffy frowned and reached out automatically for his hand. She found she was stroking the silver hair; it rippled beneath her fingers, soft but strong.
“Why would she do that?”

“Last chance to break us up, pet. Let’s face it; we know she’s strong enough to do it. And this isn’t some werewolf thing. I haven’t been bitten – except by you, sweetheart! Remember?”

Buffy fought to keep a straight face. This was not the time for remembering that particular incident, although the sensation of the fur under her fingers and the silver gleaming in his eyes was sending very odd feelings coursing through her.

Then, suddenly, something inside her head clicked. “Spike, you have been bitten recently! Eric bit you. When we first met him at the Children’s Home. Remember! He bit your finger.”

The rough golden head turned and a deep growl shook his chest. Buffy tried to turn on the branch, slipped and felt herself falling. Spike’s hand shot out and she winced as the claw grazed her arm, but he pulled her upright, holding her close against him as the leaves beneath them rustled apart and a small figure leapt through.

With the ease of the silver panther cub he closely resembled, Eric swung himself onto a branch and stared at them. His hair was shorter than Spike’s; the dark gold obviously came with age. But the eyes were silver and the fine hair covering his face gleamed in the moonlight. He was holding a dead mouse in one hand. The tail was still twitching.

“Hi Spike. Hi Buffy! I thought it was you two up here. You were making so much noise, I could hear you miles away. Would you like some mouse?”

“Eric! No. Put that down. It isn’t even - What – who – Eric, what are you?” Buffy said.

The boy frowned and scratched his nose with a baby claw. “I’m Eric. You know. I went with you to find Santa Claus and your fat friend took his job away from him. That was cool.”

Buffy took a deep breath. Could this night get any more bizarre? “Eric, we know who you are. I mean, what are you? What have you made Spike become?”

The cub-boy bit the head off the now dead mouse with two small incisors and chewed happily. “He’ll go back to old Spike when it’s day time. It only happens at night. Well, at least that’s what Dad told me before he died.”

“Your Dad was like this?”

“No, Dad was like Buffy, quite ordinary. My Mom was special. My Dad said she was the most special person in the whole world. She was a Silvamalkyne, but she was one all the time, of course. I’m only half one. And now Spike is, too. I think it’s great. It’s as if I belong to you both, isn’t it. Aren’t you pleased?”

to be continued