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This chapter beta'd by the wonderully delightful AmyB


Chapter Two: Moonbeams and Gentle Whispers part I

Monday nights were fairly quiet at the Bronze. No band meant very few high school kids, and not too many college students, either; mostly, the crowd consisted of townies milling around the pool tables, lining the bar and drifting across the dance floor. All in all, Mondays provided a nice change of pace from the usual crush and din of too many bodies packed into a too small space.

Tonight was special—an anniversary, of sorts. Two months ago, today, she'd crawled out from the grave and back into her own living hell. She'd been in heaven after sacrificing her own life to save the world, at peace and happy; then her friends decided to snatch her from all that peace and love and eternal rest. She almost hated them for it.

Sticking to the shadows surrounding the dance floor, a lithe figure swathed in black leather and an air of menace prowled the room. His nostrils flared as he sensed another of his kind—a young one, newly made and hunting. Nothing more than a hungry leech, trying in vain to play the wolf in sheep's clothing.

Spike smiled slowly, wondering if this fledgling knew why there were no others like it in the club. After all, the Bronze had once been the prime hunting ground in a town known for its demonic population. All that had changed, however, with the arrival of the a petite blonde girl chosen to eradicate their kind.

A sigh of longing directed towards the dance floor escaped his lips and Spike closed his eyes, allowing his senses to guide him to his current prey. His head turned until he located the vampire, a female who had apparently been in her mid-twenties when she'd been turned. Voluptuous curves were barely concealed by painted-on black leather pants topped by a tight, wine-colored top with a low neckline and bell-shaped sleeves. Long, curly, bottle-red hair spilled over her shoulders and down her back. The heavy black boots she wore brought her up to Spike's own height of nearly six feet.

Whoever had made this one had had taste. She was delicious, and under normal circumstances, he'd have gloried in all the things he could do to a body like that. But, not tonight—tonight was special. He was feeling oddly benevolent and decided that in honor of the special occasion, he'd give this one a one-time “get out of jail free” card.

It was a testament to her youth that she was oblivious to his presence until the master vampire was upon her. His stealthy approach was, for him, a disappointingly easy accomplishment since most of the newly-risen couldn't sense other vampires in a crowd. Her entire body tensed warily as he moved very close to her, and a subtle tremor ran through her undead body—a very human gesture that put her age down as perhaps a handful of months. Spike could also tell, by her scent, that she'd yet to feed this night.

She hissed angrily and brought a hand up to claw at his face, unprepared for the lightning-quick reflexes afforded to a master. Spike caught her wrist before she could draw blood and smiled lazily at her, her pathetic growls of warning exciting his own demon with the prospect of violence and bloodshed. "Now, now," he purred. "No need for violence, pet." The fledgling continued to growl in an attempt to hide the fear he could smell on her, and he took pity on her, deciding to end the suspense. "Forgive me, milady. I was staring. Name's Spike," he murmured seductively, brushing a brief kiss to the hand he held, as he easily caught the other hand that was coming towards his head and pinned it to her side. He leaned close to her ear and whispered, "You are delicious, pet. Got a name?"

"I'm not your pet!" the vampiress snarled. "And my name's Cheyenne."

Spike's smile grew wider at the Southern drawl, and he blatantly looked his fill, pinning her under his gaze until he scented her arousal. Oh, yeah, he still had it. One word and this tasty bit was all his. Too bad he wasn't interested.

Spike released her hand, and it dropped to hang loosely at her side. He ran his own free hand over her curves, letting it rest lightly on her shapely hip, and thrilling when she swayed closer to him in eager expectation of further caresses. He breathed in deeply and pressed his mouth to the side of her neck, pretending that the cloying perfume she'd bathed in didn't make him nauseous. "A bit of advice, luv," he whispered, leaning away to watch her face as his eyes dropped all pretenses of the charm and seduction of they had held only a moment before and became serious. "This is my town. Mine and the Slayer's. I catch you hunting in here again, I'll make you very sorry."

Once more, his faster reflexes gave him the advantage as he grabbed her by the throat and pinned her to the wall. Her eyes grew impossibly wide and fearful as his grip tightened to a pressure just shy of crushing. "Your sire was remiss in your education, fledgling. Ask around. First I'll strip the skin from every inch of your delectable body, and when I'm through, I'll stake you to the ground and leave you for the sun. If you're lucky, the Slayer'll come along and dust you out of pity. Either way, you'll still be ashes." Shoving her away from him, he let out a vicious growl. "Now get out!"

Not waiting around to find out if the master vampire was serious, the fledgling vampiress hightailed it to the nearest exit. Spike grinned; sometimes it was fun to play with the kiddies. Fledgies were so easy, gullible and easily bullied. He'd been spending so much time around humans over the last couple of years that he sometimes forgot how much he missed being a vampire. Albeit, he was a neutered vamp, but he was still an immortal predator, nevertheless. Unless someone shoved a redwood through his chest or he took up sunbathing as a new hobby, that little factoid was never going to change, regardless of the company that he kept.

A familiar song began flowing from the club's mounted speakers, and Spike's whole demeanor changed once more, the last ten minutes fading into nothing. Leaning against the wall, he dug in his pocket for a cigarette and tucked it between his lips, lighting it with a battered silver Zippo and inhaling deeply. Through the smoke he exhaled, his eyes—darkening from a sky blue to nearly indigo with increased lust— traveled back to the dance floor, where the object of his obsession swayed to the slow, erotic beat. Enthralled, he watched her move—she of the flashing green eyes and flowing golden hair.

I would die for you
I would die for you
I've been dying just to feel you by my side
To know that you're mine

The entire world fell away and it was just the two of them. He'd known she would be here tonight—it was, after all, a special night. As couples swayed together in light and shadow, he prowled through the smoky room to keep her in sight.

I would cry for you
I would cry for you
I'd wash away your pain with all my tears
And drown your fears

The black slip of a dress she'd worn tonight showed her figure to perfection as it flowed over her like water. Her arms were raised high above her head, bringing the hem higher up her thighs. With her eyes closed and her face tilted upwards, she was alone in her own little world; all that existed was the music and the moon and the millions of twinkling stars outside the confines of the small town club. The sounds of Garbage's #1 Crush slid pulsed around and through her, bringing her body to a state of heightened awareness.

For a few precious minutes, she felt alive again.

Sometimes it was all too easy to forget that she was a person instead of a shadow. It was so hard to remember that she was real, made of flesh and blood and possessed of a beating heart. When she and Spike tore and clawed at one another in frenzied passion, when she begged for him to hurt her and he readily complied, then she was real. Only he did that for her, fed her pain in intervals so that for a time she could feel. Those moments were the only ones to capable of reminding her that she was real. He made her alive once more, even if it was only temporary.

See your face every place that I walk in
Hear your voice every time that I'm talkin'
You will believe in me
And I can never be ignored

Buffy lowered her arms to run her hands lightly down her body until they rested just above the hem of her dress. Cool fingers settled on her shoulders, the calloused pads gliding over her flesh and leaving goose bumps in their wake. She shivered at the contact and leaned back against the hard chest behind her; soft leather tickled her calves as she kept moving to the rhythm.

Strong arms weaved through the bends of her elbows to fold across her front, and one thumb stroked the underside of her left breast while a hand curled around her right hip. Cool lips slid from the sensitive spot behind her ear down the smooth expanse of of her throat until they pressed the barest of kisses to her left shoulder. Always the left side and never the right, where she'd been marked by three different vampires: the Master to kill her, Angel to cure him, and Dracula to seduce her. Spike would never mark her in a place where another had tasted.

Even with her eyes closed, Buffy could feel the movement, and she knew that they had left the dance floor. The night air smelled of the recent rain, and a light breeze ruffled the ends of her hair while muted lightning forked across the horizon. It felt good after the heavy atmosphere inside the Bronze, and she allowed him to pull her along by the hand as they moved through the dark alley, her high-heeled shoes making a loud clack-clack-clack as she kept pace.

He stopped and turned to her. "Know what tonight is, kitten?" he asked in that low, rumbling voice that sent shivers skittering over her skin and tendrils of heat curling in her belly. He pulled her hand to his lips and lay pressed a kiss against her palm. "Look around, luv. See where we are?"

She obeyed and really looked at her surroundings for a moment. She remembered this spot; he saw the spark of recognition as the knowledge flickered behind her eyes. "Why are we here?"

I would burn for you
Feel pain for you
Twist the knife and bleed my aching heart
And tear it apart

"It's our anniversary. Five years, luv. I ever tell you the first time I saw you, you were dancing? One glimpse and I wanted you. Drusilla punished me for it. She could feel you in my head and left me because of it." He smiled at the gorgeous creature's surprise. "First time she ever really felt threatened."

He ran one long finger down the pulse of her jugular, eyes following the movement and noticing the effect he had on her as she became even more aroused. "Tell me you love me," he demanded, not meeting her eyes.

"I love you."

"Tell me you want me."

"I always want you." Her breathing hitched up another notch as her back pressed to the scratchy surface of the brick wall. She gripped the lapels of his duster and pulled him tightly against her body. In the darkness she felt his face shift as he nuzzled the left side of her neck.

"Tell me to stop. Push me away before it's too late," he practically begged, all the while silently praying that she would not.

Don't stop." Her voice was tinged with lust, and she was pressing tighter and tighter against his body while she gripped the back of his head. Her other hand came up to play with the curls at the nape of his neck as she held his face against her. "Do it."

A loud gasp echoed down the alley and was soon followed by a fiercely growled, "Mine".

I would die for you


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Buffy shot up in bed and did her best to swallow her heart back down into place from its current position in her throat, choking back alongside it with the scream that hovered on her lips. Her body shook with cold sweat and unspent passion, even as the tears of brutal truth and harsh reality poured over her. She was in Rome. Sunnydale was gone. Spike was gone.

Dead to save them.

"You promised you wouldn't leave me," she whimpered into the silence of the room as she and curled into a ball on her too big, too lonely bed.

A knock on the door to the flat was her only response.

Buffy lay there for several long minutes, debating getting up to answer the knock. Maybe whoever was there would go away if she didn't answer. That theory, however, only lasted for about five minutes before she was ready to reach for something extra sharp and pointy. Sighing, she stood and, instead of a weapon, grabbed her robe and shrugged it on, tying the sash as she padded through the living room and threw open the door.

And promptly froze from sudden shock.

Several long minutes passed in silence as she openly gaped at the black leather duster she'd once sworn to steal from his body before she dusted him for good. The high cheekbones she'd envied so often, the very cheekbones she'd spent hours touching, stroking and kissing. The cerulean eyes that had always held his every emotion, revealing him completely to her when they were alone, when it was just the two of them in a little world of their own creation. The wide, sensual mouth that had brought her to such great pleasure that she'd felt like she was dying more than just the "little death" the poets were so fond of describing.

At long last, it sank into her fuzzy brain that what she was seeing was real. Gulping in much needed oxygen, she finally found the courage to speak.

"Sp-Spike?"

The most beautiful smile she'd ever beheld curved that incredible mouth of his. He took a deep breath, a hand reaching out for her.

"Hello, Cutie."

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tbc