Chapter Twelve
His blood was racing. In the wild screech of the subway Spike thought he might hear his own heart thudding for all the dizzy thrill he was feeling. The smooth hardness of his fangs filled his mouth as he stared down at his prey pinned between his thighs. Black leather and skin lay between, hot and ready. His mouth was wet, anticipating the bite, the crunch, the flood of sweet blood. Her neck was broken and her skin exposed. With a possessive growl he bent to take her, to sink his teeth into her fine pink flesh under a burst of golden hair.
Buffy!
Spike struggled to rise from under a flood of deep sleep. Consciousness came on slowly. Limbs began to animate and he reached out for the soft fall of hair that lay on the pillow beside him. Eyes closed tight, he drew the silk to his nose to breathe in the truth and begin to shake away the nightmare.
No scent.
Spike opened his eyes. The demon lay beside him in the bed. The end of its long black hair was curled around his fingers. The slitted light from the streetside window made the figure plain. Pale skin, long nose, missing eye. A sleeping evil.
Spike let the demon hair go as he slowly sat up and slid out of the bed. On his feet, Spike backed away, watching the sleeping figure lying with its disfigured face turned away. Strange bedfellows, he thought, as he reached to the floor to pick up his pants and shirt.
Back to your old self, are you? Not so scary now. More's the pity for you, mate.
With Buffy gone, Spike knew the demon would come. He'd felt it in his gut. Once dressed, Spike stepped backward to the open closet and picked a sword off the near wall. Left hand armed, he side-stepped the room to the top dresser drawer. He opened it and removed a pair of welder's goggles with the price-tag still dangling from Lowe's - a defensive measure against the hell light. He fitted the black lenses over his eyes and shifted face to prick his tongue. Blood filled his mouth as he circled the bed. His demon eyes read the scene clearly through the heavy tint in a rainbow of colored heat. The one-eyed villain gave off a glimmer of yellow warmth. Less than human, yet more than vampire. Spike gathered his breath and spit.
The demon's eyes opened, shocked at the blood dripping down its face.
"Got a scent now, don't you?"
The sword sang through the air just as a car passed by, strobing the room with light as the figure rose from the sheets. This time Spike could see it as it bent and moved around the light like pulled taffy, easily out-maneuvering his sword. It reformed behind him at the window and with a crash, broke through it and dropped down to the street.
"Oh, no you don't!" Spike dove out after it, landing in a roll on the pavement, sword still in hand. A passerby screamed at the sight of a gray figure sprinting down Ortega at half past witching hour followed by growling set of white fangs and the glint of medieval cutlery.
The demon ran north against the traffic toward the park. Spike was quick in the city landscape, he'd had years to master it, yet this beast was faster, keeping half a block distance between them as it darted down alleys, bounced on the the lids of rubbish bins and up over chainlink fencing. Spike regretted choosing the sword as he had no way to sheathe it for the fence climbing. He heaved the sleek steel up end over end, and with a jump and swing, hurdled the fence to catch the hilt before it hit ground on the other side, running to catch the scent of his own blood as it rounded the far corner.
Just as he was gaining on it, the beast took a leap for a fire escape landing and rattled up six floors to crash through a bedroom window at the top. A woman screamed and a man shouted as Spike ran up after, stopped at the window by invisible forces. Quickly spoken British courtesies weren't charming enough to secure an invite in goggled gameface. Humans. So skittish. He had to make for the top instead and wait for the thing to emerge. Spike paced the flat roof watching and listening for exits. More screams were heard and a dark figure slipped out the rear of the building followed by a woman swinging a broken broom handle. Spike wanted no part of that and jumped from roof to roof, as his target slipped through the shadows below.
The chase continued for a mile or more, inside and out, each break-in temporarily stalling Spike's ability to close the final yards. Black and whites began to screech through Sunset, answering calls from a dozen complainants. Somehow two men were simultaneously breaking and entering half the neighborhood (or one of them was at least) taking nothing, yet leaving a path of broken furniture and windows their wake.
Eventually, the creature seemed to tire and began to slow. Spike nearly caught it up as it rounded through a side yard. Sword at the ready, Spike made a diving swing at it and came down crashing into a plastic birdbath, covering his shoulder with slime. Once again, a sure shot had failed him. He cursed, and kicked to his feet as the demon leapt over the low garden wall and down over a slatted fence into a back alley one level below. Spike dropped down to the fence, running along the top boards like a cat, watching below until he was certain beyond all doubt he could make a clean leap. It would require two hands so he threw the sword, crouched and leaped down onto the back of his fleeing quarry. Vampire and demon hit the ground flying, scuttering across the pavement and into the back wall of the complex with a crack of stucco. In the blackness of the alley, Spike opened his jaw to take his prize.
Hot blood fountained up into Spike's mouth and without any thought other than kill he began to suck it down. This is what he was, what he did - fangs to neck - and he reveled in it. The slick black hair shrouded his face as Spike's arms wrapped about the beast in a python grip. It struggled at first, but soon slumped in his arms, succumbing to the ferocity of his attack. The blood, thick and fresh, warmed Spike's belly like no meal he'd had in years. Hunger overtook rage and Spike wrapped himself tighter around the creature, biting deeper, snapping tendon, satisfying the burning need. He groaned with delight, as his lust rose and throbbed hard in his jeans. He'd suck this one dry, get his fill for once. God, for once, though it felt as if that moment might come too soon as the beast was shrinking in his arms. The light came then, that terrible defensive light shining out of every pore of demon skin as Spike drained him, gulp after delicious gulp. His eyes were shut safe behind the goggles, sucking and swallowing until all that was left was…human.
Spike threw the body out of his arms and scrambled back in shock. The pale flaccid figure slid to the pavement in a limp flop. Tattoos decorated the skinny arms and legs. Jesus Rocks! was airbrushed across the forehead. An animal bone was pulled through the nose. It was the kid. The one from the Rage. The one who'd wanted Spike to turn him.
"Sweet bleeding fuck! Where the hell did you come from?" Blood oozed weakly from the neck wound and Spike reached out to clamp it. His licked his messy lips. Not demon blood. Not one bit. No wonder it had felt so good going down. The changeling factor was more than Spike could grasp at present as he threw off the goggles and lifted the near-lifeless kid into his arms. He pressed an ear to the chest. Still a beat, but a struggling one where before there'd been nothing. Nothing but the blood. Spike tried to measure by the fullness of his own belly how close the poor sod was to his eternal wish.
"Won't turn you. Not for anything. Not even for her. Hospital. Hold on. I'll get you there."
"Mr….Spike?"
Spike looked up from his blue plastic waiting chair. "Yeah?"
"Um, Sir, I need to gather some information. You said you found the bite victim in an alley?"
Spike nodded. "About half a mile from here. Dog bite or something, right?"
The nurse looked puzzled. "It appears to be canine, although nothing like we're used to seeing. Pit bulls can tear people up pretty bad, but this was a larger breed. We've informed Animal Control. You had no association with the victim prior?"
"Well, not exactly. Not in so many weeks. You see, the fellow used to frequent a club I worked at a few months back. Maybe you've heard of it. The Rage?"
"The vampire club?"
"The one."
The triage nurse sighed. "We get some of them in here from time to time. Blood games gone wrong. You don't have anything to do with that sort of business, do you?"
"Me? Oh, no. To be honest, sight of blood, makes me a bit sick."
"I see. Thank you for the information. Oh, and do you know his name? I was told he was unconscious when you found him."
Spike thought back on it. "I think he asked me once to call him Ronny. It's been a while. I didn't know him that well."
"That is strange."
"How's that?"
"He's asking for you."
Ronny looked up at him from his white hospital bed with weak blue-lidded eyes. "Spike," he rasped. "What the fuck, dude?"
Spike eyed the red tube of transfused blood dripping into Ronny's arm. Type AB pos from the scent. It still smelled delicious despite his bellyful of it. "I was about to ask you the same thing. What the bloody hell is going on?"
The kid smiled weakly. "Is this what it feels like?"
"What feels like what?"
"The turning. Is it happening?"
Spike shifted uneasily. "No Ronny, Christ no. You're injured is all."
"So they tell me. Dog bite, a big one. Lots of blood loss. I'm not fucking stupid."
Spike lowered his voice, listening with sensitive ears to the comings and goings of hospital personnel. "Well, neither am I. I don't bite humans."
"Except for me?"
"No! You neither. Don't know how you came up. I was taking down a demon. Rat bastard's been harassing me for some time. I chased him over the whole district tonight. Thought I had him and then there was you. Gave me the fright of my life. You remember anything?"
The kid rolled his head. "I was screwing around down by the piers. Doin' some boarding. I thought I hit my head or something and then you were in my neck."
Spike glanced away. "Sorry about that. Like I said, wasn't you. Something's fucking with us, mate. How else did you get halfway across the city?"
The kid shrugged and closed his eyes. It would be a while before he went boarding again. "You could have finished the job."
Spike stepped closer. "I told you, I don't bite humans."
"I've got fifteen stitches in my neck that says bullshit."
Spike sighed. "Is there anybody I can ring for you?"
The kid didn't respond. Just drifted off. Spike tried to think who the kid used to run with. But it seemed whenever Ronny had come by the club, he'd come alone.
Spike looked around uneasily. He felt guilty as hell about the kid, but knew sooner or later the wrong people would start asking the right questions. Who knew if the kid would rat him out or not. Not the kind of thing Spike wanted getting back to London. It was the demon he was fanging for, dammit!
"Sorry Ron," he mumbled and moved to slip out. Just as he entered the lift he heard Ronny say one last thing.
"That's it. Go call your golden girl."
The quarters clinked into the slits and the sticky keypad toned out her cell number. Buffy picked it up on the second ring.
"Spike?"
"Yeah, baby. Sorry, I know it's late." She sounded half-asleep.
"Where were you tonight? I tried calling the booth several times."
Spike's tongue sank into his mouth. He had meant to tell her, but what came out was lies.
"I was hanging out in the Mission. Lost track of time."
"That's okay. Hey, that oven come in the other day?"
"Yeah, oven's all set. Tiles, too. Buffy…do you think I could talk to Dawnie?"
Buffy was quiet for a moment. "I think she's asleep."
"I know, but do an old sentimental demon a favor and wake her for me, will you? Just for a bit."
"I…hang on."
The phone made a few random clicking noises followed by silence.
"Spike, I'm sorry. I don't have the heart to wake her. She's been having such a bad time. She needs the sleep. Maybe tomorrow?"
"Sun will be up. Night's all I got, love. All of it."
"I'm sorry, sweetie. Look, we made arrangements for a truck to come tomorrow to put Dawn's furniture in storage. She's going to go live with her girlfriend Karen. I need to help her move but I should be home by Sunday, okay?"
"Sure, Buffy. I gotta go. It's late."
He hung up the line just as her tinny voice said "Goodnight."
