Chapter Three - A Confrontation Brewing…

The Following Night…



A lone figure sat, legs splayed out in front of him, arms resting in a deceptively casual pose against the back of the open booth facing the rowdy bar before him. An empty shot glass dangled from one hand, a half-smoked cigarette from the other. Encased in black, with a sharp red shirt, Spike projected a dangerous air without even trying.

A half-empty bottle of Jack was staring out at him.

He stared right back.

So, he’d got his third. Word had spread like wild fire. The bite mark of a Master Vampire, especially one who had once been the Scourge of Europe, was hard to miss – and once the Slayer’s body had been found, which she had, the demon grape-vine had been ablaze with the knowledge that not only had Spike bagged his third. But that once again, Sunnydale was without a Slayer. And now he was a hero, sitting in a two-bit bar, drinking pre-paid booze.

Like Spike gave a shit.

He hadn’t done it for them. He’d done it for number one; himself. For his glory, his honour….hell, his fun! And it had been, for the five minutes that it had lasted.

He was disappointed in her. She should have lasted longer, a quick fight to the death was hardly worthy of a Slayer. No matter how flimsy an excuse of a fighter she had turned out to be.

He’d come to Sunnydale looking for a challenge, a glorious battle…and had ended up with an amateur boxing match.

There was something off about this town – even with it once being Slayer-inhabited. It was odd, oddly fearful in general. The vampires, the demons here were more wary then most ever were, or dared to be. And no one talked about it. No one said a word about what was worrying this sleepy town.

And that only made it odder.

But back to the point, he was the victor, and he guessed that was all that mattered.

It was strange, the frailty of life – both human and demon, he reflected as a few meters in front of him a chaos demon had its antlers torn off after his playmates had caught him cheating at kitten poker, of all things.

In a second all you knew could be torn away from you. Smashed, crashed, destroyed. You could just be tumbling into an alley, bawling your eyes out and then WHAM! You’re an evil Vampire, livin’ it large, but having to live up to the family while you’re doing it. Being fucked in the ass, beaten and clawed at until what little semblance of humanity you had remaining is gone - vanished.

Destroyed.

Not a pretty un-life.

Full of having to live up to other’s expectations; always having to prove yourself in front of fucking worthless eyes. Hating everything, anything good or noble that remains within you – everything that makes him come back at you for more over and over.

Despising everything good.

Everything saintly.

Everything pure.

It was a dog eat dog world out there, and if you didn’t go butcher a shit load of kittens the other dogs would get you instead.

Spike rolled his eyes and growled – the dog/vampire kitten/slayer analogy was getting too much for his fuzzy brain to keep up with. He slammed the shot glass down, and from nowhere a voluptuous minion rushed to fill it back up for him. With a saucy wink in her vague direction he downed the fiery liquid in one shot, indicating for another which she obediently provided.

Well, fuck it. Now one big bad dog was all that was left. And he was sitting right here, downing under-par whiskey in some shitty demon club off South Street.

The millionth shot of the night slid down his throat, hitting his still-full stomach with a hiss that promised vengeance. Good thing he was a Vampire, else he would be regretting this indulgence come morning.

The busty vamp was back, eager to obey any order he might give – and carry out any service he may require. And from the signals she was giving off, she meant anything. Her wide rouged lips were pouting at him, her sultry eyes offering him common delights that he hadn’t had, hell – hadn’t allowed himself – in a long, long time. Not for lack of offers, mind. But his coldness, his aloofness to the world, the bane to his kind, to the whole universe, had spread over to every single part of his life, until he felt like he’d been taken over by it.

Here he was, William the Bloody, living a true Anne Rice existence – lonely, violent and vengeful of the life he’d once had.

Not that he didn’t like being a vampire. Hell, he loved it. It had granted him freedom, freedom from the constraints a lifestyle in the gentry demanded. But not for long enough. Not once Daddy had entered the picture. And entered it he had.

Spike growled viciously. He didn’t want to reflect on his sorry past – who gave a fuck what it was that brought him here? Here he fucking was – William the Bloody. Slayer of Slayers.

It was who he was. Anyone who thought, or wanted, differently could bloody well sod off.

Right, so a quick fuck was out. With another growl, this time one mildly regretful, he pushed Double ‘D’ out the way and stood up, ignoring her yelp of protest as he did so. Grabbing what was left of the bottle, he was just about to leave when a new arrival caught his eye and, for reasons unknown to him at the time, he slowly sunk back into his seat to observe her, unnoticed.

She was short – tiny in comparison to the demons that frequented this bar, even in her mistress of pain heels. ‘Bout five foot two, maybe three. Her hair was long, obviously blown straight if the little wisps about her face were a sufficient give-away. The blonde tresses seemed to shimmer even in the dirty light, falling softly around her body to rest half way down her back.

Her face was conventionally pretty, but there was something about her…something different that seemed to draw him to her. She was more than pretty, she was beautiful. She was…

Effulgent.

Spike growled at the reminder of the once-sappy William he had been, ready to storm out after killing the young vampiress that had so caught his attention, but something stopped him.

Petite though she was, she exuded power and confidence in her every move, her every glance. He watched as she slid on to a bar stool, directly in his line of sight so that he was able to continue his avid observations without scrutiny from the other patrons. Not that anyone would have dared say a thing.

Not tonight, anyway.

Her scent. It was something else. Something unearthly and utterly divine in its concoction.

She was clearly a vampire, he mused as he watched her sip thoughtfully at her glass of blood. Her food was human from the smell of it. But there was no fear in the scent of the drink which meant it had been bagged, and willingly bagged at that. Odd, for a raucous establishment such as the shit hole he was currently resting in.

But there was something more. Something there – deep, hidden within her scent - that, try as he might, he couldn’t quite place.

Spike allowed his gaze to trial her tightly encased body. Leather, black – hardly original for a vampire, but whom was he to throw stones? She looked hot. And she could carry it off. But, still, there was something about it that didn’t look quite right; some odd air of innocence surrounded her that was throwing his radar off whack making her look almost like a kid playing dress-up.

He rolled his eyes: odd - that word again; yet another thing to add to the ‘Things Fucked Up In This Town’ list for the night.

Still, his gaze stayed with her, his attention focused solely upon her and when she rose to leave, he stood also. Enthralled, he followed a safe distance behind, so as not to alert her to another presence – though young, the vampiress reeked of maturity and good breeding and would no doubt be able to know if someone was trailing her too close.

She walked well. Her head held high, her arms comfortably by her side; she was the picture of relaxation. She was undoubtedly secure in her own skin; well aware of her charms she was unafraid to use them to her advantage.

Spike was only mildly surprised when she turned into a cemetery. Sure, most vampires lived in crypts and mausoleums, but there was something about her that made him think of lush silks, cashmere and luxuriant velvet. He wanted to wrap her up, cradle her, take care of her.

He would shower her with the best that money could buy or fear could procure; cover her in jewels, dazzle her with opulence, keep her forever…

He wanted her, he realised with an odd sense of surprise at the knowledge. As a lover, a companion…

A mate.

This was a feeling he hadn’t experienced for a long, long time. Too long had he been alone, and finally he found someone.

She just didn’t know it yet.

It was late, and she still hadn’t stopped at any of the many empty ‘homes’ they’d passed. Sunrise was not too close, but close enough that he knew that if he was to make it back to lair in time he would have to leave soon.

Leave her soon.

The logical part of him knew he should leave, but he couldn’t let her go. Not yet – not until he had discovered whatever the hell it was that was drawing him to her so fervently.

At the sound of fight up ahead, he increased his steps, uncertainty warring within him even as he moved - anxious to protect his chosen while still wishing to remain hidden as yet.

Spike came close, pausing just back from the clearing she had stopped within. She was fighting a vampire. Nothing special – many vampires rowed. Over food, mates, territory, for the sheer thrill – you name it.

That wasn’t what was bothering him.

Sure it was normal, but the possessive demon within him balked at the sight of another putting his hands on property he deemed his. He would have stepped in, but something almost mythical in its delight gave him pause.

She was beautiful.

Poetry in motion, the ever-present William whispered in the deep recesses of his mind. But for once the demon was inclined to agree and did nothing to beat down the poet.

Her style was seemingly flawless – her movements fluid, and yet strong.

The other vampire hadn’t stood a chance.

Spike’s eyebrows shot to the sky when the mysterious vampiress produced a well-crafted stake from God-knows where, staking her opponent (though he was unsure the vampire was worthy of such a title) cleanly through the heart.

A fight to the death he had expected, but to come so prepared was… odd.

Just as quickly as they’d shot up, his eyebrows sunk into a frown at the single word that escaped the combusting vampire just before he fell to the ground in particles.

One word.

So odd.

So very, very…odd.

“Slayer.”



TBC...

A/N: Reviews are nice :)