[Reviews - 45]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Microsoft Word Chapter or Story | ePub eBook Chapter or Story | Printer Chapter or Story

Has been viewed 2913 times

- Text Size +




Author's Chapter Notes:
Disclaimer: As always, all IP rights to BtVS belong to Joss Whedon and the Powers that Be.

A/N Thank you so much to those who have read and reviewed so far. Please continue to do so :)
Four nights later he was in Los Angeles, his mixture of threats, bribes, called-in favours
and charmed cajoling turning up a couple of tenuous leads. It helped knowing the girl
couldn't drive, and had very little money when she left Sunnydale. It helped even more
knowing a few witches who were quite happy to work for cash rather than karma, and while
they weren't very precise, were certainly able to give him a rough locale. He snorted
derisively: quite why that fop of a Watcher hadn't gone straight to a witch he'd never know.
He supposed that was just the way Watchers were brainwashed: their precious Council and
their Slayers had to be so far above the demons they tried to conceal from the rest of the
world that there couldn't be any grey areas. Or maybe it was just the only way to convince
grown men that hiding behind scared little girls was the destined order of the world.

Spike rolled his shoulders and shifted slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position
against the alley wall. He'd been here since sundown, keeping an eye on anyone coming or
going in the neighbourhood. He knew the chance was slim that he'd see the girl, but he
might, just might, pick up something that shouldn't be here, and that in turn, might have an
idea as to where a blonde morsel of nothing much could be hiding. He lit another cigarette
and let his thoughts drift, digging in for the long haul. He still didn't know quite why he
was on this fool's errand, or what had possessed him to volunteer, come to that.

'Yeah, you do,' a treacherous voice slyly mocked him. This new self-awareness kick was going
to wear thin bloody fast, Spike thought. He would never have been able to turn away from a
crying woman, a woman obviously in distress and needing help or succour. William had been
born a gentleman, and his mother had trained him to know his responsibilities. Spike, on the
other hand.... His lips twisted in a slow leering smile as he took another drag of his
cigarette. The new and improved William had not quite been able to shake off his
conditioning, but he'd done the next best thing, using his manners and understanding of
social station to take advantage of delicate young things in true rakehell fashion.
Corrupting the innocent had been a special game of his for decades, in sharp contrast to the
more violent and warped pleasures Angelus indulged in. Angelus was a common yob, had always
been a yob, and Darla had turned him because she just couldn't resist someone with the same
common lusts as herself, delighting in his brutish behaviour and egging him on at every
damned opportunity. Despite Angelus' obsessive-compulsive need to maintain a low profile, it
was only going to be a matter of time before he'd crossed the wrong people, and the gypsies
had found a truly perfect revenge. The return of Angelus' soul had not given him a
conscience, hadn't given him emotions and hadn't restored his humanity. Nope, the soul gave
Angelus a yardstick by which to measure his worth, to evaluate his existence and his place
in the cosmos. Small wonder then that all the wanker could do was brood and mope, but Spike
found the self pity both laughable and frustrating, a hackneyed, overused act that became
less convincing the more you watched.

Spike sank into a squatting position, heels on the asphalt, leaning back against the rough
brickwork. Everything always seemed to come back to the brooding ponce, but he was gone.
Gone for good, dusted by a young blonde minx who placed duty above all else, where her lover
was just one more sacrifice to add to the pile. A fleeting thought crossed his mind that if
he'd been half a man he'd have done the deed instead. Slayers generally had a hard enough
time walking with one foot in the darkness, and he'd come to admire the Summers girl.
Definitely one of a kind when it came to Chosen Ones, he smiled to himself. Must have broken
something in her, killing her first love. A frown drew his eyebrows together. Angelus had
broken Drusilla too. Spike just hoped that the Slayer hadn't gone completely cuckoo from her
experience.

Sunrise came without the questing vampire seeing, smelling or sensing anything even remotely
supernatural. Except for perhaps the miracle of anyone actually wanting to live in this
complete shit hole. The place practically breathed disenchantment, and the residents would
need a thick skin just to be able to get through the day without becoming suicidal. Spike
retreated to the safety of the sewers as sunlight struggled to assert itself, deciding that
he might need to ask around a little more vigorously. Just the thought of inflicting
unnecessary pain and suffering was enough to raise his spirits and he hummed quietly as he
made his way back to his motel room.

"Nonononononono!" The demon Spike had abducted wailed piteously as he raised his fist again.
The orange skin around one eye was swollen and split, leaking a rather unpleasant smelling
violet ooze, and the creature was clutching at its left arm. The vampire's frustration had
started to become tinged with concern, and as soon as that particular realisation had
dawned he'd let his beast come out to play. The unlucky sod in front of him just happened to
be the first beastie Spike's predatory skills had located.

"Memory beginning to feel jogged, is it mate? Maybe a few more punches'll bring it all into
focus," Spike snarled, his vampiric nature writ all over his features. His closed fist
started its descent while he grabbed the demon's shirt.

"Wait! Wait!" His victim threw up a pudgy, three clawed hand and blinked up at him. "There's
a girl, different, not the usual fodder. Not blonde though. Don't know where she works or
where she lives, but sometimes see her going to The Yard, club not far from here. Might be
the one you're after."

Spike lowered his fist and curled his fingers into the demon's shirt along with his other
hand, curling his biceps and lifting the hapless thing off the floor until they were eye
to eye. "So tell me where exactly I find this club, mate. Got to go get me a girl, y'know?"

The music was loud and pumping, solid beat but no guitars, something Spike lamented. No
lyrics either. He cast a blue eye over the dance floor and smirked. Well, it was good for
getting the luscious girlies to throw themselves around rhythmically, making a man think of
all the other ways they could move, thinking of them struggling and writhing as the beat of
their heart slowed, faltered, grew still while the hot, sweet blood slid down his throat....
With an effort, Spike regained his self control, fought back his demon's blood lust, but
knew he'd have to feed tonight. He'd been putting it off, too busy trying to track down the
elusive Slayer, but there was only so much denial the demon would take.

'But it's not just you've been busy,' his thoughts whispered. 'You didn't want her to
find you guzzling down some hapless punter, did you? Didn't want her to find you with blood
all over your face like a rabid dog.' Well, so what? Finding the bint only to get staked
would be bloody stupid. Better to show some restraint, discretion being the better part of
valour and all that.

As his eyes swept the crowd, the expression dark with intent, a familiar scent teased his
nose, the hairs at the back of his neck rising, and he could barely suppress a growl of
triumph. He closed his eyes and concentrated, following the trail of her, reigning in his
demon's instinctive agitation and excitement, dismissing his reaction as nothing more than
the urge to fight and destroy. What was a little less easy to ignore was the reaction of his
body, the sudden tightening he felt not just in his lower regions but deep within his chest.
Anticipation he could understand but this felt like something more, something he couldn't
identify. Unless...Oh for god's sake! He, the Big Bad, was nervous. Bugger.

He still couldn't see her, and he was getting close to the bar. Pushing the people out of
his way none to gently, he noticed a difference about the scent he was following, like a
discordant note in a chorus. He rounded the end of the crowded bar and saw a small group of
guys and a couple of girls chanting and laughing loudly, roaring approval. There was a flash
of tanned skin between the bodies, the smell of alcohol, and a strident voice asking,
"So, who's next then, boys?"

Spike leaped forward and hurled two young men out of the way, opening the circle. Kneeling
on the table in a tiny purple bustier and black pvc jeans was a lithe brunette, a shot glass
in one hand and a half empty bottle of tequila in the other. Stepping up until he was only
inches away he raised his voice and leered,

"Well, I'll have a go if you're offering, love."





You must login (register) to review.