Three nights passed before he spotted the slayer again. She was fighting two vampires in a graveyard on the town’s outskirts. He watched as she spun and kicked, punched and staked; taking first one, then the other in swirling clouds of dust. As she turned to continue on through the grave markers he struck, turning her around and pinning her against a large overshadowing tree.
He pressed against her, controlling her furious struggles as he spoke softly in her ear,“Easy now little one, don’t wanna hurt you, you know that. But if you keep that up you are gonna get hurt by accident. C’mon now, pet, settle down and I’ll be gone in a few minutes.” He raised one hand and gently stroked the hair from her eyes. Her large blue eyes stared up at him from beneath ash blonde locks, eyes that though frightened, also regarded him with confusion and no small measure of undisguised ire.
Tilting his head to the side he tried again to reassure her, “Not gonna hurt you, love. Just keep still, give me a sip and I’ll be on my way.”
He felt the tension in her body lessen slightly, and he gently tipped her head to the side allowing him access to her slender neck. He fastened gently on her pulse, lipping and nuzzling; savouring the scent and feel of her blood raging just below the surface. His faced changed and with the greatest of care he allowed his razor-sharp fangs to pierce her skin. The rich blood poured into his mouth. Slipping back to his human face, he drank slowly, relishing the taste and force of her blood. After a few mouthfuls he pulled back, licking tenderly to close and heal the wound--his vampire saliva doing its job to leave no trace of the laceration on her fine golden skin.
“Keep safe, little one,” he whispered against her neck as he nuzzled gently, before turning and leaving a once again stunned and disbelieving slayer in his wake.
Moving off into the shadows he turned and watched as the slayer drew a deep breath, calming overwrought nerves before drawing herself up and continuing on her way. She really was amazing, a true warrior just like his Golden Goddess.
He found himself shadowing her on her rounds, guarding her back. He told himself it was only fitting seeing as he had fed from her and thus left her weakened and vulnerable. Even though he knew from many years experience that the few mouthfuls he took had no detrimental effect at all on the slayer despite the enormous beneficial effect on him.
At the end of the night he watched as she made her way into a small, dingy apartment block in the cheaper part of town. Despite her run in with the evil bloodsucking fiend she had remained on top of her game and brought down another five vampires through the course of the night. Spike had watched every spin and punch; glorying in her dance, whilst aching deep inside for his absent partner.
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he reminisced on how he had loved to dance with her; fighting against her or alongside her--both were experiences of such delight and joy. Sometimes he thought he missed that--fighting with her--as much as holding her, kissing her, making love to her, or waking up with her lovely warm body wrapped safely in his arms. A sob escaped him, before he forced himself to control and made his way once again towards his hotel.
He looked around his new apartment. He had decided upon staying in Sirius for a while at least, and the hotel, whilst comfortable enough, was not convenient for anything more than short term accommodation. So he had rented an apartment in one of the nicer parts of town.
It was fully furnished with good quality, comfortable, antique furniture. A large timber cabinet housed a plasma screen behind its folding doors, and the kitchen was beautifully appointed. He loved to cook, probably because he loved food and cooking was not one of the Slayer’s strong points. So after Joyce’s passing he had taken control of the kitchen; with Dawn’s assistance initially, and then as he discovered he was really quite adept it had become solely his domain.
It also had undercover access to one of the town’s larger shopping centres, giving him greater freedom to move about during the daylight hours. At almost 300 years old he required very little sleep. Sometimes he found the long days dragged by very slowly. At those times he found any activity, even if it was just a walk through garishly presented shops that he had absolutely no interest in, was far better than pacing backwards and forwards in his own lounge room, or wallowing in the memories that took full advantage of his forced inactivity to hold him hostage to their duel-edged sword of delight and torture.
After sixty-five years the pain should have lessened, but every day without her was a lesson in agony, as much as every day with her had been a lesson in bliss. He did not begrudge the pain, though; he considered it a fair price for the time they’d had and he would not trade one minute of his time with her in order to remove the pain her loss left behind.
There were times when he was sure he could feel her there. He would wake slowly, certain he felt her heart beating next to him, and her warmth surrounding him; and his heart would swell with love. He would catch her scent floating on the air at times, or be positive he heard the sweet music of her laughter. She lived; whilst ever he lived she lived in his memories. In his heart. She would never truly be gone until he was dust. When he closed his eyes he could see her smile, watch the golden beauty of her hair as it floated around her, taste the sweetness of her lips, and hear her peaceful sigh as she settled back against his chest at the end of a day. He missed her, no amount of time could change that, nor as far as he was concerned, should it!
So why did he find himself thinking about this new slayer? Why did she conjure feelings of tenderness and concern? Why did he crave the taste of her blood, when for the last sixty-five years he had survived quite well on bagged blood from the butchers or, when he could find a source, bagged human blood? Why did her blazing blue eyes haunt him, and why did he have to fight each night to keep from tracking her down?
Beth paced the small two-bedroom apartment she had shared with her watcher until a vampire had killed her several weeks ago. Now more than ever she wished Melissa were here; she would help her try to make some sort of sense of this vampire’s strange behaviour. He had easily overpowered her; he was the strongest vampire she had ever encountered. And yet once he had her at his mercy he didn’t kill her. Didn’t turn her. He just gently drank a few small mouthfuls of her blood, then left. She had never heard of such a thing. Never had Melissa mentioned such behaviour. And despite having poured over her watcher’s books, she had been unable to find mention of any vampire just using the slayer as his own private snack bar.
When he’d looked at her his eyes had appeared genuinely concerned, he had spoken soft words and his bite had been so gentle that there had been no pain at all; if anything his bite had been pleasurable, sensual. No, she told herself, he was a vampire, and she should NOT be thinking about how good his mouth had felt on her throat. Or about his warm baritone voice, or his incredibly strong body pressed against her. No, these were definitely NOT things a slayer was supposed to think about a vampire! He’d told her to keep safe, what was that all about? Why was he behaving in such an unvampire-like manner?
She tried to put thoughts of the vampire out of her mind; however, her mind was not in the mood for cooperating. Instead she found herself going over details; the soft, short, dark-golden blonde curls; the startlingly blue eyes; the chiselled cheekbones; the full, soft, sensual lips and how they'd felt gently pressed against her throat. Okay, this was not good. She had to find something, anything, to take her mind off the black-clad vampire and how sexy and dangerous he looked with his leather coat flapping around his legs. Picking up one of her late watcher’s books on demon lore she sat down to do some study; in the hope that the exercise would rid her mind of unwanted thoughts and images.
A couple of hours later, having given up on study as an effective means of diversion, she decided to go do some training instead. Making her way across town to the small dojo that had belonged to Melissa before her death, she let herself in and began her warm up exercises; once again feeling her watcher’s absence keenly. Working herself hard, as she poured herself into her training routine--her mind for the first time in the last couple of weeks was free from thoughts of the mysterious British vampire.