A/N: Sorry about the wait... School ends and work takes over. Hope you're all staying with me! :) ::Sends love to those who are::

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Buffy reached the graveyard on Westland Avenue in record time. She’d parked her car two blocks away because the exhaust usually drove away potential prey. And she really needed to hunt.

Buffy let her stride lengthen as she reached the edge of the rows of tombstones. Then she remembered she was trying to look cute and inconspicuous and slowed down.

Her methods paid off. A few minutes later she heard a deep voice from behind her and turned around to see a tallish vamp dressed from head to toe in black leather, hair spiked to defined points. He was grinning like a kid at Christmas.

“What do we have here? I think you’re a few streets over from Beverly Hills, baby.”

Buffy smiled at him as he slid into vamp face.

“What, you’re not gonna scream? Run? You’re taking all the fun out of this, baby doll.”

“The only one’s gonna be screaming is you.”

He snarled and charged her. Buffy ducked and reached into her coat to pull out her stake, whirling around as he came at her again.

He was fast, she’d give him that. His fist caught her in the side, knocking her sideways and into a tombstone. She caught herself with her left arm and felt the rough stone rip into her flesh. Blood welled up and dripped down her forearm.

“That’s more like it. Damn, you smell tasty.”

She shoved herself back up, flicking the blood onto his face. He licked at it and grinned, yellow eyes staring at her with feral glee.

“That’s the only taste you’ll ever get.”

Buffy ran at him, punching him so hard splinters of wood sank into her the palm of her hand from her stake. She had the satisfaction of seeing blood well out his nose as he fell back onto his ass.

“What are you?” he asked, finally sounding unsure.

“Now that’s a complicated question. Some might say witch. They’d be right.”

He got back up again, more cautious but still hungry, apparently.

“Then you’ve got fashion goddess and all-around good looking gal. Right again on all counts.”

He gave one final lunge, and she caught him by the arm and twisted it up behind his back, leaning over his shoulder to whisper in his ear as he growled in protest.

“But then I’m also the Slayer.”

And then she plunged her stake through his back and into his heart.

The vamp fell to dust, and she felt the rush of it in her system like a drug. She stood there for a minute with her eyes closed, letting the thrill of it race through her system. Then she opened her eyes and looked down at the wound on her wrist.

She wiped at the small scrap left by the tombstone’s jagged edge, streaking the tip of her finger with the blood. Beneath the red stain the flesh was almost already healed. She felt a new rush of power of tainted by fear, and tossed her hand to her side in frustration.

“There must be some dire thoughts to go with that wound.”

Buffy whipped around with her stake raised high. She sunk it partway into leather before realizing who was in front of her and staying her hand.

Angel didn’t move, just cocked his eyebrow very slightly at her.

“What the fuck are you doing here? I could have killed you!” It bothered her more than she could say that she hadn’t heard him approach.

“Was just passing through when I saw your car in the neighborhood. No mistaking that set of wheels.”

Angel’s nostrils flared slightly as he scented the air.

“But you smell different.”

Buffy’s face went blank. “What do you mean by that?

“Just what I said Summers.” He sniffed again.

“And you smell just like Spike.” Her face flushed.

“Your point?”

He ignored her tone and looked her over. “And you’re wearing the dust of some whelp vamp.”

She slid her hands down her clothes until the evidence was scattered to the wind.

“Again, what’s your point?”

“Nothing much. Just that you might be, I don’t know, let me think… the newest Slayer.” He rocked back on his heels with those last words, daring her with his body language to deny it.

Panic flooded her system, but then she remembered whose side Angel was supposed to be on and slowed her breathing.

“Is there anyone who doesn’t know what I am?”

“Hopefully your father.”

“Yes. Hopefully.”

“The only reason I know is because I was there when Spike killed his first Slayer. The smell of a Slayer’s blood isn’t something you’d mistake, once you’ve smelled it.”

“Oh.” She was quiet for a moment, not wanting to think about how deep her life was getting.

“Fred get home okay?”

“Yeah, fine. I just came from checking on her. She doesn’t remember a thing.”

“No,” mused Buffy out loud. “She wouldn’t.”

“And Cordy? How’s she taking it?”

Angel was silent a moment, mulling his response in his head.

“She’s Cordelia. She’s dealing with it all in typical Cordelia fashion.”

It was Buffy’s turn to raise an eyebrow at the hesitance in his voice. He quickly changed the subject.

“The real reason I’m here is to give you some info.”

“The Gustuuks?”

“They’re operating from a sewer-based location. One of my underground contacts caught a couple of them trying to go past his place and dealt with them. Managed to have them spill a few words before he practiced his, uh, carving skills.”

“Thank you,” she said, feeling a sense of relief rush through her at the information. A raid was exactly what she needed to get her mind off things.

“You’re welcome.” He studied her for a moment before continuing.

“Just be careful with Spike, ok? He’s got a taste for your kind. You’re not dead yet, so I know its something different. But still. Keep an eye on him.”

Buffy lifted her chin up and gave him a cool stare.

“You don’t need to worry ‘bout Spike. I’ve got things under there. Now, if you’ll excuse me, you’re interrupting my playtime.”

“Wouldn’t want to do that, now would I?”

She gave him a look before sauntering off.

Angel watched her go, shrugged, then went to retrieve his car.


*

Spike felt freedom return to his limbs, and with it a cocktail of confusion and rage filled him. He heard Giles coughing behind him and turned to see him bent over with his head between his knees.

He gave a slight snarl and whipped around to find his coat.

Giles managed to recover himself quickly however, and was soon on his heels. Spike ignored him as he thrust his arms into his coat sleeves.

“Spike, consider whatever it is you’re about to do. She doesn’t understand about her mother and me, that’s all. She’s young.”

“You’re both children to me. That doesn’t matter. She knows better than to pull this bit. She knows what I am.”

“Does she?” Giles asked, and Spike found it hard to keep eye contact with the Watcher’s probing gaze.

“Enough of it. And she’s got enough darkness to deal with what I dish out, not to worry.”

“I’m not really. Not about her safety. But for the both of you, whatever fragile thing you have. You have to believe me when I tell you that I know the path you’re walking well.”

“Not the same path, Watcher man.” He stalked towards the door, then turned back fractionally as he pulled it open.

“Stay here,” he ordered. “I’ll be back with Buffy.”

“Yes,” Giles murmured after the apartment door slammed.

“I imagine you will.”

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