...And he never said my name again.
Pain lashed throughout my body while he took me. He, whom I had blindly trusted with his off hand smile, took me in many ways. As he drained my body with guttural snorts, blood rushing from my jugular through his veins, he decided to violate my near dead body, while he whispered in a blood drunk, low voice. "Want to live forever, Baby?" Euro pop trash techo chords wafted to my ears while he slit his wrist and held my gaping listless mouth to his life blood. As my body died, he ravished me. Fire flew through my arteries, burning my heart to a crisp. My cravings were instant. I craved carnage.
I lay still, letting him finish his pleasure and with a last inked flourish he signed his own death note. As he peaks I reach up and his moans are stopped by the gutting crack as I snap his head off. I did not plan this, no, a general deterioration of family, self esteem and an addiction to any available high lead me to a loser in an alley, which lead to my rape and his second death, but hay, I'm not complaining. The vampiric high was the best experienced yet.
The first thing I did was to kill Mother Janice, my history teacher for giving me an F on my term paper about Hitler's brilliance. You should have seen the look on her face. Panting like a dog, and clutching her beloved rosaire, praying and pleading. Christian school sucked so I hung her above the main alter for kicks. After my first night of debauchery, I spent my time in various gangs in London and Paris doing petty theft for a good bidder. Yes, I was young and naive, but I was ruthless and that's why I survived. Most vamps feed and hunt to stay alive and some, the wiser ones, hunted for pure pleasure. I was a quick study and I learned the valuable lessons of our kind, which very few take the time between bites to learn.
Rule one; avoid the Slayer at all costs. Yeah, I was good but not really willing to give up immortality and Bonnie lawlessness to be one more pile of dust on the Slayers list. Rule two, when fighting, speed and accuracy can count for more then brute strength and ferocity, and lastly, rule three, blood tastes better when there is more then fear behind it. Betrayal, anger and hatred all good flavours, confusion can be bitter but lust and even love or awe are so sweet they hurt my teeth, and I have a sweet tooth. As years went by, I did some research on my heritage. Potential bosses like background. I knew my sire was an idiot but as it turns out that along the line of others in his making, the blood started with a badass by the name of Angelus. To turn so quickly and to be as strong as I am compared to other wanna-be tough vamps, showed that the genes must have skipped a generation in my favour.
It had been five years since my changes and that fateful night with the idiot and I was tired already. I had fit fifty human years and twenty vampiric ones into my meagre five. I could do as much damage at night as during the day. Find me a hospital and give me some fireworks. Sick people and explosives equal living, running, screaming fireworks. Oh, what a night. My old boss Jhiftner, a Koss demon, wasn't too happy about that one. He said that I was calling too much attention to myself so I dissected him, took over his organisation and sent all his vamps into a trap then used my left over dynamite on his posh HQ. The staggering vamps were none too happy about that but after being whipped again, by me personally, I gave them a children's ward and let them go off until I needed them.
Men are so weak.
So here's where my dissatisfaction comes. I rob, mope, pillage, rape minds, slaughter artfully but even a really good gallery crashing with limbs strung from the ceiling gave me not the same old glow. Made from real artists too. They lived for their art, died on their art. It was through an old lackey that I heard of a massacre to rival mine. An entire cruise ship met port with no passengers. A once gleaming ship smeared bohemically from unimaginable deaths in blood. I kept a scrapbook of the pictures. I was consumed with a need to find out who could have such imagination. To this day the bodies were never found.
-This is my first serious fiction based on a dream I had about Spike. This story will contain my timid attempts at writing fight scenes and a love :cough: scene. I would appreciate any help with writing Spikes character, you can only use the words bloody hell, and bugger it all so many times. Comments are key!