King clambered out of the battered Land Rover that passed for his transport in this city, leaning back in to snag the hefty cardboard on the passenger seat. He glanced down briefly at the contents, smiling briefly at the sight of the crimson fluid sloshing back and forth in the clear plastic beakers. Good, there had been no spillages. Slamming the car door with his foot he turned and made his way off across the sidewalk to the chain link gates that lead into the abandoned warehouse district.
The smell of the blood was intoxicating and at the same time sickening. Three thousand years ago he would have been physically sick had he had to drink blood, now, millennia later it was that freshly resurfaced side of him that was threatening to send him into a dry retching fit at even the thought of that substance on his tongue.
Holding the box tightly in one hand he dipped into his bomber jacket's pocket with the other, producing a set of keys that glistened dimly in the light from the single working street lamp in the vicinity. This wasn't LA's most pleasant neighbourhood. Street gangs, drug pushers, rapists, thieves and murderers were all par for the course round here. King smiled bitterly. Little did they know they had something ten times as bad in their midst. He'd come here for the privacy it provided and the rich pickings so many scum promised. The warehouse district had been relatively cheap, especially for a creature with a savings account that had never really felt the need to dip into it before. As a soulless vampire, King had never seen the importance of money, but he had seen the practicality of having a sizeable source should it ever be needed. He hunted constantly those first few nights, straying to the limits of the neighbourhood in search of food and easy game. He'd thought it would so be easy to feed of the kind of humans that no one would miss, that the world would be better off without. The girl had been the first. He'd caught her as she fled an angry house owner armed with a shotgun, whom she'd just relieved of a stereo and a whole batch of CD's. She'd lost him streets back, but her panic had led her into a dead end alleyway. That was where he'd cornered her.
He remembered the sound of the stereo shattering as she dropped it to the floor at the sight of his true face. She'd been so scared, cowering there in between the filth smeared walls of one building and a pile of stinking trash cans on the other. The fear he'd smelled from her had brought the voice, the voice he had learned to detest since Buffy had cursed him with the soul of the man he'd used to be. It had come, like a whirlwind of hate and vile, howling out of the depths of his mind, spitting and cursing all manner of obscenities. It had screamed at him to string her up and tear out her innards, to rip out her throat and use her empty skull as a chalice from which to gulp her beautiful warm blood. Even thinking about it now, he could feel the thing stirring at the back of his mind.
Before he'd known what he was doing, he'd had her slammed up against the wall, his hand choking the life out of her, the smell of her fear driving the voice into an even greater frenzy with each passing second. He'd fought it tooth and nail, shoving her forcibly away, telling her to run as fast and as far as she could. When she had left he'd been able to calm the voice, driving it back into the recesses from where it had come. She hadn't been the last he'd tried to hunt. There had been the pimp, the addict, another thief and the ganger marooned outside his territory. And each one he'd let live. Each time the voice had come and to fight it, he'd had to let them go. To feed on a human would be to lose himself to the obscenity lurking at the back of his mind that even as a soulless vampire he would have detested.
He twisted the key in the padlock, releasing the chain that held the gates to the district firm. Silently he slipped through, locking the gates behind him. He turned and made his way across the ragged tarmac, his heavy boots crunching in the loose grit and stone as he made his way toward Warehouse Number Three. His ears pricked at the sound of a woman's scream from somewhere up ahead. He groaned at the sound. He though he'd made sure people didn't come here. Well, maybe it was time he sent a message.
*****
Diane Chambers sprinted desperately down the potholed tarmac between two of the giant rotting warehouses. Her feet beat out a staccato rhythm against the ground as she dashed headlong through the abandoned district. Her breath rattled in her chest as she felt exhaustion threaten to overcome her. Gritting her teeth against the fire that seemed to be burning in her lungs, she pushed hurriedly onward.
Quickly she glanced back over her shoulder to catch sight of James sprinting behind her.
"Don't look back!" he yelled. "Just keep running!" How had she got into this? They'd stolen the stuff because fencing it would get them some much needed cash. How were they supposed to know that Garcia and his boys had been running their own little racket in the same area? It wasn't like he'd stamped a claim on it or anything! Not that any of that mattered to Garcia. The man was notorious. As far as he was concerned, the entire neighbourhood was his for the taking and anyone trying to cash in without his permission had better be ready to answer to his flunkies.
There was a loud crash from behind them as one of their pursuers hurtled round the corner they'd just taken, only to smack into a pile trash cans. The sound of gruff shouts and curses from the man echoed through the still night as she surged into the darkness. Out of the blackness the fences marking the boundary of the district loomed, the main gates beckoned invitingly. Coming in here had been James' idea and not one of his best at that. It would have been far easier to lose them in the mazes of back alleys and side streets than in this relatively open area.
She slammed hard against the gates, the metal chain links rattling loudly as she fumbled desperately to try and open it. She felt panic rising up inside her. The gates weren't opening! Stepping back to try and assess the situation she caught sight of the reason why. A thick heavy chain was wrapped around the gates and the fence, secured by a solid padlock that stared back at her mockingly. James slammed heavily against the gates scrabbling desperately at them.
"It's no good!" she yelled, trying to get his attention "They're locked up tight!" He glanced at her briefly, before turning back and wrapping his fingers between the links and scrabbling at them as he tried to shimmy up the fence. James was half way up and Diane was about to start when a resounding bang echoed out through the night. She watched, seemingly in slow motion as the back of James' leg practically exploded open as bullet thudded into it. The young man cried out in surprise and pain, tumbling backward off the fence to slam heavily against the tarmac. Diane turned to help when she caught sight of them. Four youths, maybe a little older than her, dressed equally scruffily. One of them was holding a gun, its smoking barrel levelled at James' head.
"I wouldn't bother helping him." Grinned the one holding the gun. "You'll be joining him on the floor soon."
"Why don't you just leave us alone!" she said, desperately seeking a way out. "We didn't do anything to you!" the lie was empty, and the chances of them buying it were slim.
"You stole from Garcia." Said one of the others. "He doesn't like to be stolen from." A filthy grin spread slowly across his face. Diane instinctively took a step back, covering the area of bare flesh showing where her shirt had been torn as they struggled to get in here. On the ground, James moaned in pain.
"Oh yeah!" the man continued, running appraising eyes over her body, lean from weeks with a minimal amount of food. She scratched nervously at the back of her neck as the man took a step toward her, leering disgustingly. "I can think of plenty of uses we could get from you!" he was almost within reaching distance. Slowly Diane backed away until her back clinked softly against the chain link fence. She had nowhere else to go.
"Excuse me!" the new voice was deep and gravely. Diane's head whipped round to catch sight of the man striding purposefully out of the darkness. A large cardboard box was gripped tightly in his arms like some kind of tramps treasure chest. He had long dark hair that hung down to his waist in a long lose ponytail. His leather bomber jacket fluttered slightly in the night's breeze as he moved. She could just make out a tattoo next to his right eye, but she couldn't tell what it was meant to be.
"Excuse me!" he said again, as if trying to get their attackers attention.
"Get out of here man!" the one with the gun snarled. "This doesn't concern you!"
"This is my property." Said the stranger, still moving steadily toward them. "Anything that happens here concerns me." The man with the gun rolled his eyes and turned on the stranger.
"Is it still going to be your property when you're six feet under?" he said, turning and rapidly squeezing off a round. The bullet hurtled through the air slamming into the stranger's shoulder, causing him to drop the cardboard box. There was a sickeningly wet crunch of plastic breaking as the box slammed into the floor. Slowly, a thick red liquid began to spill out over the tarmac, glistening brightly in the light from the one nearby working street lamp. Diane had seen blood too many times before not to recognise it now. From the looks of things so had the other men as they blanched at the sight of it.
"What kind of sick bastard are you!" said the man, levelling his gun for another shot at the stranger. Then something extraordinary happened. One moment, the stranger was standing, nursing his wounded shoulder slightly. The next, he was moving so quickly he was almost a blur. The first man to drop, screaming in agony as his wrist was snapped, was the one holding the gun. The weapon skittered out over the ground. Diane watched in grim fascination as the stranger moved with blinding speed. The next to fall was the one who she'd been sure was about to rape her. He pulled a flick knife, waving it threateningly in the stranger's face.
"Don't come any closer!" he shouted, a hint of nervousness in his voice. "I'll stick you if you come one step closer!" The stranger watched him impassively, and then suddenly he was moving again. The man's knife swipe was clumsy and the stranger easily turned it aside, stepping in and bringing his arm up, palm flat, into the other mans chest, sending him sprawling in the dirt. The other two stared at one another for a moment before turning and sprinting off into the night. As the other two clambered painfully to their feet, he turned and caught the one whose wrist he'd broken, squeezing it tightly. The man gritted his teeth, trying desperately not to bellow in agony.
"Now listen to me boy!" the stranger snarled. "This is my property and I like my privacy! You go and tell whoever it is that you're working for, if he brings his…" the stranger glanced at Diane and James, "…disagreements here again, I will kill, slowly and painfully, every one of his men that sets foot on my territory!" the last few words were a vicious snarl. With that, he released his grip on the man's wrist and turned away. Nursing his wounded appendage, the man turned grabbing his companion by the arm and hauling them away. Diane clambered to her feet from where she'd fallen in the dirt, brushing herself down as he turned to face her. At this distance she could just make out the tattoo. It was of a black bladed sword.
"Thank you so mu…" she began. She never finished the sentence as she felt his hand grip her by the throat and hoist her bodily into the air with a grip as sure as steel.
"How did you get in here!" he snarled at her.
"What are…" she was cut off again as his fingers tightened, cutting the breath straight out of her throat.
"I said how!" he growled slamming her hard against the fence.
"The fence!" she hissed as best she could with his hand choking her. "About two warehouses down, there's a hole in the fence! We came in through there!" The man released her, letting her drop inelegantly to the ground as she gasped for breath
"I'll give you the same warning." He said, his voice now flat and emotionless. "You tell your friends and your enemies, anyone who steps one foot inside this place will answer to me. Do you understand me?" he turned to look at her. She was nursing her bruised throat.
"Do you understand?" he said again, a hint of anger in his voice this time. She nodded hurriedly, not wishing to see him angry again after the last time.
"Good." He said finally, making his way over and unlocking the gates. "Now leave." Clambering to her feet, James' arm draped over shoulder, she walked through the gates as he held them open for her. She could feel his eyes at her back as she crossed the street. She turned, chancing a last glance back over he shoulder. The lock on the gates was back in place and the stranger had disappeared.
*****
King stomped up the stairs to the upper level of Warehouse Number Three, his mind seething with anger. That blood had cost him a hundred dollars. One hundred dollars down the drain, simply because he'd been careless enough to get shot! What was wrong with him! In the old days, before he'd had a soul, the boy would have been dead long before he'd even had chance to pull the trigger. There was no doubt in his mind, this soul was holding him back.
He reached the top of the stairs to the sound of a single person clapping. His eyes narrowed as he stared past the reams of Egyptian artefacts that lined the walls, to the huge seat at the end of the room. He liked to think of it as his throne. There was someone sat in it.
She was, he'd guess, in her late twenties to early thirties. She had long dark hair that curled towards its ends and was dressed in an immaculate business suit, her legs crossed, revealing a generous amount of her shapely thighs. She was surrounded by three figures, each one tense as if waiting for the opportunity to spring into action. A slight sneer tugged at the corner of his mouth. He recognised vampires when he saw them.
"That was a very impressive show you put on down there." Said the woman shooting him a smile that revealed rows of dazzlingly white teeth.
"You're in my seat." He said simply, as he moved across the room toward them. With each step he took, both the woman and her vampire lackeys seemed to become more and more tense, though the woman hid it far better.
"And a very comfortable one it is too." She said, straightening slightly as he approached.
"What do you want?" he said continuing to move toward them. "It would surprise me if you were with the real estate company. I know some of them are practicing in the black arts to bump up their sales but vampire lackeys? All seems a bit more up scale. So I say again, what do you want?"
"Can I just say that this collection is marvellous!" Said the woman, sliding gracefully out of the seat and moving off to admire a particularly extravagant sarcophagus. "I take it they are the exhibition that was stolen while being taken on a tour of our fair cities museums." King frowned.
"You're here about my artefacts?" the woman shrugged.
"Not really, but an ice breaker often helps in these kind of negotiations." King raised his eyebrows at her.
"So," he said slowly, "we're negotiating now?"
"We will be. You see, what we want is to make you an offer."
"What sort of offer?" The woman flashed him another too-white smile.
"An offer you can't refuse." She said before walking up to him, her vampire flunkies moving with her.
"My employers have been watching you King," She continued, "and they respect you. They respect your strength and they just hate to see all of that going to waste after what the Slayer did to you."
"What would they know about what the Slayer did to me?" He snarled. "The only other person in this city who could possibly understand is an overly moral fool." He was taken aback as the woman reached up to stroke gently at his cheek.
"Trust me." She said, her voice low and husky. "We know. We're here to offer you a release from the thing that holds you down. We know you don't want it, and we'll gladly take it away." King stared at her for a moment, unable to hide his disbelief.
"You… you could make me what I was again?" The woman nodded slowly.
"We can wipe away that soul that chains you." She said simply. "If you come with us." King stood, stunned. They could take it away! Take away all the pain and suffering, all the guilt, all the memories, they could take them away and he would never have them back! His mind recalled the faces, the faces of each and every person who had met death at his hands in his overly long life. They would all be gone, no longer haunting his every thought. Then her face appeared. Her long shining black hair, her beautiful face, so perfect, so vibrant. She was glaring at him, her eyes filled with hurt.
"Soonan!" he muttered sadly to himself. He couldn't. To become that thing he'd been, to lose his soul again would be to betray her memory again, the same way he had done so three thousand years ago.
"Do we have your answer?" the woman said. He turned and glared at her.
"No." he growled. "I may not like being what I am, but it is more than I deserve." He turned and made his way over to his seat.
"But you could be so much more," the woman pushed. "You could be…" King rounded on her violently, his eyes filled with fury.
"I said NO!" he roared. "NOW TAKE THESE PETS OF YOURS AND GET OUT OF MY HOME!" The vampires at the woman's side snarled at that. King almost hoped they'd try something. He had no problem killing abominations like them. The woman pressed the back of her hands against their chests. King felt a smile brewing. He could see the fear in her eyes. It was plain for all to see.
"Come on." She said, turning on her heel and moving off toward the stairs. It was taking all her self-restraint not to run. King settled into his throne and watched her go, thoughts of Soonan filling his mind.
"Are you happy now?" he asked the empty warehouse.
*****
Lilah flopped into the limo angrily, not even trying to hide her frustration. King was supposed to have been the easiest element of the plan. Go to him, make him the offer they knew he wanted to hear, reel him in. The whole thing was so simple, even a child should have been able to accomplish it. Except for the fact that he seemed to be clinging to something. There was an anchor to his soul, something keeping him from giving it up entirely. She had no idea what it was, but trying to talk him into coming to them willingly would be almost impossible without knowing what it was. Trying to dislodge him by force would be equally impossible on his own ground, and from what surveillance told her, he barely ever left the warehouse district.
She groaned knuckling her forehead at the feeling of a migraine coming on.
"I take it yet another element of our plan has fallen through." Lilah practically jumped through the sunroof at that chillingly emotionless voice. She turned to stare at the figure that she hadn't been aware of, sitting next to her. This was getting tiring.
"Give me time." She said. "We'll solve this problem." The man chuckled dryly. It was the first time Lilah had heard him laugh. She wished she never had.
"I tried to tell you he would not submit so easily. He has too much to cling to right now."
"You just tell me what it is," She said, feeling her frustration rising at his remarks, "and then we'll take it away." The strange figure turned to look at her.
"To do that, I'd have to know what it is he clings to. I don't." he leaned forward and knocked on the glass to get the driver started. For the briefest moment, Lilah caught sight of the black bladed sword tattooed onto the figures forearm.
"But I will." He said matter-of-factly as the limo moved off.