11
She wasn't exactly the type that needed to stick around and admire her work, so her exit was lacking punch, but it was a necessary retreat. Jade she knew was rather predictable with her white-knight stereotype, whatever Lythia'l had left behind was considerably more unstable. She didn't have to admit that with a single particle of guilt, it was just logic. So with the bright little gem in her hand and only the barest look at the sight of Jade, curled to the floor, she teleported away. Then, she made several jumps until she was far, far out of town. She didn't have much of a direction, just the knowledge that it was probably best to get as far as she could while the sun was down. Vampires and all that, Lythia'l was quite sure she'd have the lead she needed, being both able to teleport and not having to worry about catching fire in the sun.
In all aspects, really, she was superior to that of a common vampire. And to think, she'd had to spend weeks and months in their company before she found Haven. And then, they were just as common in Haven as there were other demons, and so she hadn't exactly been able to distance herself. But now she could. Back to the odd little humans with their tiny little exciting lives, and the whole world had just opened up again, and she was ecstatic as well as triumphant. She'd done it. She never had to worry about being dragged back to her dimension again, and the forty thousand word apology she'd have to recite, well, she could just rip it right up if she had bothered to write it. Okay, she had come close a few times. It had gotten close a couple times. Another hundred years stuck in Haven and she really would have thrown herself to the wolves for a change in scenery. The wolves being the Mok'Tagar seekers of course, yet another human adage she'd picked up quite naturally. She really was so proficient at this human stuff. It was easy enough to learn, and she didn't have to pick up any more of it from books. The rest would be experience.
So when she thought she had enough distance for a while, she took the pendant from where she'd stuffed it in her pocket and put it around her neck.
And when she felt anguish so strong she felt her eyes water, she promptly threw it off again.
"By the higher reaches, what was that?" She exclaimed, momentarily forgetting the lingo and resorting to old-time cussing, shaking her head. Her voice was a little high-pitched and too shaky, and she eyed the shining necklace where she'd dumped it on the dirt. Lythia'l never cried. She didn't so much as sniffle, while Jade had full out bawled during the ending of Armageddon—a movie that had little to no logic, and it wasn't as if Lythia'l knew all that much about science anyway. Now Lythia'l batted away the tears that had stained her cheek with some disdain, and she tried again, putting it back around her neck.
And again, it was like a wave, and she felt sorrow and regret and it pummelled her in her very flat, toned stomach, but it wouldn't be toned much longer if she didn't watch what she was eating, and Oh what if she got fat, she should never have eaten those donuts and she was just so stupid, stupid, stupid for going back on her diet again, and she was guilty because she should feel very guilty, and she was angry and sad and—
She threw the pendant off again. Was this was what a teenager was being like? The human kind. Everything she ever felt was multiplied tenfold, and it was trying to sort what she was feeling with what would make sense, and it was a bit of a jumble, to put it very, very lightly. And she'd read about this. She knew the soul wouldn't exactly be a perfect fit. She and Jade were very different, and she supposed it was a bit more traumatic than slowly having the soul drained from her, she'd ripped it out all at once.
"There, there," She said uncertainly, petting the damn glowing thing like Jade might a cat to calm it down. "I know you've been traumatized but would you refrain from making me psychotic?" She didn't get an answer—of course she didn't, how very foolish that would be, and she made a tut-tut-tut sound with her mouth as she tapped her tongue.
Well, this wasn't going the way she'd planned it. But this was ridiculous. This soul was hers now, and alright, it was like trying two incongruous shapes together, but it wasn't impossible. Of course it wouldn't be. After all, Kathy hadn't been made crazy by her attempt to take on a soul—right? Not that Mok'Tagars ever needed them really, but just because it hadn't been done often—successfully—didn't mean it shouldn't. Again, simple logic.
She glared at the amulet. It just needed to behave now. Little by little, that's all she needed. She fit it back over her neck.
Shouldn'thavedonethat—guilty so guilty, stupid, stupid, PUT IT BACK, ugly, fat, not right.
She took it off again, her fingers trembling. Fingers trembling, what was that all about. And it wasn't, wasn't like Jade's voice was speaking in her head—thankfully. But it was more like Lythia'l's thoughts all went topsy turvy, all the things she shouldn't care about, shouldn't be thinking about, thought about regularly but not to that extent got supercharged, like it was an overdose.
She was beginning to understand why the Mok'Tagars had instituted drawn-out ritual that didn't just shove it at her all at once. Well, that was fine. It would just take her a little while then, but she wouldn't complain. If anyone could handle it, it was her, and she had all the time in the world, really.
Besides, maybe just flicking out the soul when she saw the Mok'Tagars near would solve her problem, although she doubted it was that easy. No, she'd just have to get used to the amulet then. Couldn't be any harder than hearing the Recitation of the Lower, Higher, Dry Lands and River Flats in the middle of each council meeting.
Of all the things she'd had to accomplish in her lifetime, and the many more that were sure to come, how hard could this possibly be?
Hard. Not impossibly so, but unbearably was a better term, ridiculously annoying. She'd made her way to Las Vegas to see the lights and manage some partying, but even a few sustained minutes of having the soul around her neck was a strenuous exercise at best. And, she had to hide her well-developed cleavage because she was so paranoid everyone could just see how brightly glowing it was. Not her breasts, the necklace. It was shining and attention grabbing and out of place. So when she was wearing it she had to tuck it under a scarf, even though it wasn't even that cold, she'd have to pick out more clothes because she hadn't brought many with her in her hurry to escape. Well, not escape. It wasn't as if she was running like a criminal, even if technically, she had stolen something that didn't belong to her, and alright, she didn't want to deal with a pissed off Slayer-Vampire no matter how broken her arms were, but that was done and she was not risking popping back into her apartment. She'd gone through all this work, she wasn't about to undo it all.
There wasn't a single chance of that happening. She'd bought her way into a hotel room at a Casino, and oh the fun she was going to have. Gambling, drinking, partying, men, all in one spot. And yes, she'd bore of it, but then she could just move on if she wanted to, with not a single thing to hold her back, and she didn't feel an iota of guilt towards it.
Until she put on that stupid necklace. She had to get through the first couple of minutes. It was always a ridiculous, exaggerated wave of emotions, as everything she had been thinking or wanting had to be fit to the soul as it did its best to fill in the gaps. Not that it did a very hasty nor passive job of that, and she just had to sit there, bemoaning how she'd chipped a nail and now she had to either scrub them all clear or let it go, but even a small thing such as that was distracting, and how many pet peeves did Jade have? And no, she shouldn't just leave things around for the maids to deal with, pick up her shoes from where she dropped the muddy things at the door, and apologize for spilling alcohol on the carpet.
Alcohol, as if she'd even managed to drink much of it. She thought better of it before she'd even had a few sips, seeing as she really didn't want to know how the soul mixed in with all that, and she figured she probably shouldn't risk it. Annoying, but responsible, and exactly how she had lived her life back in her realm. Albeit, no, not exactly. She wouldn't be wearing such bright colors and she wouldn't be worrying about burning her hair as she curled it. She wouldn't be curling her hair at all because it was customary to either cut it completely off or pull it back very tightly, and it certainly would never get as long as she had let it grow now.
She sat on the edge of her bed for quite a while, putting the pendant on and off for as long as she could manage. To the higher reaches and back, how did humans manage with all this pesky baggage all the time? The emotions she could handle—she did feel them just fine on her own, but there was an overdrive here, and so many rules. And the most resounding, worst part of it was each time she held Jade's soul in her hands she knew that sheneededtogiveitback, and all the guilt she carefully put away into the Do-not-need box was unlocked and dumped all over the place. And that was, without a doubt, what fueled her most to tear the necklace off again.
Then, she could think clearly. Remember that she didn't have to feel sorry, not one bit. That it was a waste of time to mourn taking the soul of someone who was only going to live seventy years more or so. Alright, that was ignoring the whole sudden immortality getup, but it was easier that way. It wasn't like Jade was supposed to live forever. And besides, it was part of the vampire package. Forever life, no having to worry about mortal wounds, or breathing, or drinking—except for blood of course—super strength, and not having to worry about dying again unless it was by beheading/sun/fire/staking, and really, that was a much shorter list than the normal one humans had to worry about. So just because Jade wanted to be an exception, Lyth shouldn't be the one to blame because she was just putting things the way they were supposed to be. Vampires didn't have souls. Lyth needed one, and she'd been ever so patient, and she deserved it. Deserved freedom, just like any teenager trying to get away from thousands of years of tradition. So she didn't feel guilt for her very necessary actions, not at all.
Until the amulet was around her neck. And it was unbearable. And she'd borne and bared quite a lot of things, but this was worse. This was conscience, and what was she supposed to do with one of those? How did anyone get anything done with this little voice in the back of their head telling them that everything they were doing was wrong? It was distracting, and distracting and distracting and annoying and it was driving her crazy.
So she folded the pendant into her purse and went out to have some fun. And she didn't pull out the necklace for at least an hour. And then it was in her hands again. And it wasn't like she was a glutton for punishment. She really did just want to flirt with the Adonis-like man who was drinking at the bar, but the soul had its own weight, and it kept tugging at her, like a bet. Lythia'l didn't give up. She was stubborn and tenacious and anything she was told she wouldn't have been able to do she'd done anyway. It'd taken years, but she always did. Nothing had stopped her, but now she was being defeated by a little shining stone, and it was just Jade, and she was 1139 and she'd worked so hard to get this soul, it was going to do its job too.
So she put it around her neck again. And she walked confidently up to the man slung across the bar, and she was going to flirt and not be crazy, except his hair wasn't blonde enough, and his eyes were brown, and he wore a white coat, not a black one, and, and, and… And he was perfectly Lythia'l's type. He even had an adorable chin dimple, and okay, his hair was golden, and chin length, and he was probably a surfer, and he was definitely tanned, from what she could see beneath the clothes he wore, which at the same time too many and not enough.
And when he pursed his lips in a welcoming smirk, she all but turned and fled, all sorts of doubts rising up, the he couldn't have possibly meant me, he's not my type, he IS my type, but it was wrong. Her stomach fell like jelly as she approached him, and she was never, never this nervous when flirting, she treated herself like a Goddess, and all should be lucky to have her, which was true enough. She was over a thousand years old, and she was gorgeous, who wouldn't be that lucky? But even now her confidence was over-surged with doubt, doubt that she was enough, doubt that she was worthy, and an overwhelming guilt as she sat in the empty stool next to the man and smiled at him, one that was a bit too nervous and not seductive at all.
"This seat wasn't taken?" She asked, as if she cared, she had no qualms about pushing someone out of the way to get what she wanted, or at least she normally did. Now she was worried about the prospect of a beautiful woman coming back to claim her Adonis, and Lythia'l was sitting stupidly in her spot. Or perhaps he hadn't even wanted her to sit there, he just had an empty seat and she was so presumptuously—
"Not until now," He said, in such a deep, husky voice that was all the perfect shades of provocative and alluring, the kind that could really melt her insides, except she felt a surge of disappointment. He doesn't have an accent. And that'd never bothered her before, who cared about accents when Lythia'l's first language wasn't even English, although of course she'd taken to it so naturally, as she did most things, that no-one could even tell anymore. And it wasn't that he didn't have a accent, it was that he didn't have the one she wanted. The cockney, tantalizingly British accent that would have soaked right through her sexy, laced underwear, that she'd worn for an occasion such as this, for she was absolutely looking to populate her hotel room with someone, and the man before her fit the bill.
Except he didn't, and the thought of having sex with someone she didn't love was suddenly such a resounding No that it made Lythia'l cringe. She'd known Jade was somewhat against fun, and things that were sure not to last, but she hadn't realised Jade was such a nauseating romantic who was as prudish as a non-virgin could be. If she'd known she'd get such strong protest each time she wanted to have sex with a stranger then she—
She what? Wouldn't have taken the soul? That was ridiculous. Souls didn't matter that much. Just because this conscience was a bit too particular for her didn't mean that she could afford to get picky. She didn't need to find the missing piece that fit right, she'd just needed her freedom. And this was it. And ha, she was not giving it back just because it wasn't perfect. Even though she'd just destroyed her friend for something she could barely use.
No, Jade wasn't her friend. She was a means to an end, and it was just logical. Lythia'l had helped get Jade get out of her little depression rut, and so this was just taking what she was owed, really. Even if it could be said that Spike had been the one who really made little Jade happy again, and now Lythia'l had just taken that from her forever. But… from what Lythia'l had figured, it was just one-way mooning anyway. Jade was just along for the ride, and Spike let her follow about like those little furried—puppies, that was it—followed her around like a puppy. And that wasn't healthy one bit. So Lythia'l had done her a favor. Done her a favor, appearing as Spike, telling Jade that he loved her, just to divert her focus from her neck and rip off the necklace. A favor, leaving her feeling stupid, betrayed and alone.
This self-deprecation was new and utterly deplorable. How anyone managed like this, she had no idea. She was beginning to realise why Jade had not an inkling of fun in her. Was starting to make sense, now. And was starting to annoy her nearly to tears.
"Can I get you a drink?" The slight irritation in his smooth tone made Lythia'l think this wasn't the first time he'd said something to her, and she hadn't been listening, her fingers dragging across the space below her jugular, where the soul hung on her caramel colored skin, covered of course, by her dress, which was far too lacking on cleavage, yet the man was still looking interested in her anyway. Which was good, and bad at the same time, and she should really just tear off the soul and do this part herself: she knew all the steps. At least she had, before this uninvited self-doubt had come in.
"N-Yes," She'd passed her tongue across her lips, frowning at her slip, and after another calculating look at her from the man, the 'is she hot enough to be allowed to be insane' the man'd turned to the counter, asking for a drink.
"What's your name?" She found herself asking, although she'd never been that interested in names before—why should she care when she only had one goal in mind, and that was definitely not going home to meet his parents. And although courting in his realm was so different from her own—mainly in the outstanding contrast that there was nothing like dating in her dimension. No casual sex either. No, at the turn of their second millennium they were told to find a suitable mate, and if it took a couple centuries, one could be assigned, or patience was just as accepted. They did, after all, live for thousands of years, and they weren't in the same hurry as the short-lived mortals were. And there, it was all very perfunctory and organized, and very civil, until there weren't enough potential mates within the clan, and one had to start looking out of clan which involved all sorts of politics that were no less tedious and drawn-out than anything else in the Mok'Tagar society.
Yes, she much preferred the humans' ways to do things, at least in regards to sex and partying. And although Kathy had begun to blend in a little, she'd still taken to this realm in order to do more schooling, which was something that Lythia'l couldn't really fathom, the same way Kathy had wrinkled her nose up when Lythia'l had asked more about social gatherings than education. But Kathy had been dragged back, the humans and all their rules and regimens just a memory that she would have to reflect on for the rest of her long life, while Lythia'l could finally live out her days here, unafraid of being dragged back.
"George," The man answered, and though it was a perfectly sensible name, Lythia'l found it was missing that edge.
"Lyth," She replied, slipping the nickname that Jade had given her without even a twinge of guilt. At least she tried to. And they'd segued into boring smalltalk that she somehow found comforting, just talking about boring things, and not rushing anything. But she wanted to rush. Wanted to live, now that she didn't have to twiddle her thumbs. She could explore the whole world now, and she should be doing so, not just sitting at the bar with an ordinarily named 'George', she should have had him in her bed by now. So with an invitation that was non-subtle, the blunt, straightforward language she was used to, she invited him for sex. She'd taken the necklace off in their conversation a few times, to relax and get her head back in the game, and she slipped it now in her purse so she wouldn't be interrupted, nothing to distract her from his wandering hands and her equally curious ones as they left the bar and back towards her room. She'd done this so many times before, and it was no different, except she wasn't trying to worm them back into her apartment, hoping she wouldn't run into them again. She'd move on from Las Vegas soon enough, and she'd never have to see this handsome lug again, not have to worry about a thing.
And his mouth was on hers and they broke open her door more than actually turned the knob, and she could feel his heartbeat beating in that handsome chest, and she deserved this, this was a well earned prize, complete with the pendant in her purse. She'd earned it all, so she should enjoy herself as he pushed her onto the bed and she fell willingly, and her fingers were in the stranger's soft hair, and she wouldn't be focused on anything else—and then the purse slipped from the bed onto the floor, and it wasn't within hands reach anymore, and though his lips were pressed to her skin, sucking delectably at her neck and his hands were lifting up her dress, paranoia sank in. And she wasn't the kind to get swept away in someone else's pleasure, for she was more important, thank you very much, so she firmly pushed him back and reached for her pendant. She realised her mistake as her fingers found the stone that carried the soul first, and not the less potent string. But she was already reaching, and she pulled it up, even as her companion had grumbled impatiently and continued peppering kisses along her bare shoulder that were hasty and self-serving, rather than affectionate, and he hadn't released his hold on her waist.
And she was suddenly very, very ashamed. Disgusted. He wasn't—right. He was too warm, and he was too unfamiliar and he was too devoted to his own pleasure instead of hers, and he had no right to touch her because she was better than him but undeserving at the same time. His hair was too long and it wasn't white, and this WASN'T SPIKE and how dare she, and in her attempt to scramble away as he was leisurely but slowly pulling her to him, she panicked and elbowed him in the nose. That shattered the mood, somewhat. He released her like she was a hot poker, clutching at his nose, which of course had started bleeding. He was an ordinary human and she was a Mok'Tagar and he was too weak for her, and he half rolled off the bed, embarrassed and angry.
And her fingers were still around the pendant, and she could have dropped it and tried to rectify this whole thing.
"What, are you crazy?" He asked, muffled by the hand over his face. "Just because you're hot—" And he was see-through and predictable, as she had glimpsed on his face, and not all men were like that, some men were kinder, understanding, even when they were angry, and the eyes that blazed back at her would be blue and not brown, and they wouldn't care about a broken nose, after a snappish comment, they'd get over themselves.
"You can leave," Lythia'l said, in her voice of a monarch, and he didn't argue, picking his slightly ruffled self up and slamming the door behind him, and he was gone, and she was relieved. And she felt dirty where he'd touched her, even though they hadn't gotten very far and that should have displeased her more than anything, all this pent up sexual energy that had no release, no release because he'd just been too—not Spike for her. And wasn't that a goddamn pin in the balloon or some other human expression because her mind was rattled and she was emotionally exhausted as she held the soul in her fingers, to her chest and let herself bathe in her frustrations.
Lythia'l wasn't a coward. She wasn't going to falter before this stupid little necklace. She'd fight it back, but it was such a tiring experience, and her fighting spirit threatened to crumble each time she put the soul back on, because it wasn't the soul she should be fighting, but she was anyway. She didn't want to care about right and wrong, she thought it was a waste of time, she knew what she knew was right, and so little wrongs shouldn't matter. Having hot, dirty sex with a stranger shouldn't be a wrong at all, but she still cringed at the thought of him touching her, undressing, and it was so ridiculously unfair, because it was her choice to do those things, not Jade's.
So, with the amulet clutched in her hands, she was determined to try again, and again, until it bent to her will. Because it had to. There was no way she'd spend the next hundred years trying to solve this, she didn't need that much time. She was stronger than this soul, and she'd prove it.
Her next attempts didn't go much better. Handsome, incredibly handsome men that saw her as gorgeous—which she was, but the moment she touched the Soul, she'd be filled with guilt or crippling self-doubt, or if she was extremely unfortunate, a wild dose of both. Jade was ruining her with her insecurities and her loyalty to Spike. But she couldn't leave the necklace far behind, she was sure the Mok'Tagar would track her again, they'd be close. They always seemed to find her, even if they couldn't recognize her with skin on her face, if she kept her natural blue eyes at bay and a soul within her then they wouldn't be able to detect her. But they'd always be looking. So she had to find a balance, and it was irritatingly trying. To keep the necklace on her and avoid the Seekers, and to not go mental from having the pendant on too long.
She never thought it would be this difficult. She didn't expect to deal with all of this baggage. And she didn't think she deserved it. She wondered if all consciences were so annoying. Well, her movements weren't restricted now. Perhaps she could buy a soul from the black market, although it was rather sketchy to do so. She had no idea what she'd end up with. At least she had a varying idea of what Jade was like, although she realised now that there was far, far too much going on in the background. All humans couldn't possibly be like this, could it? Perhaps she'd go for an older, relaxed lady next. Or even an older gentleman, someone who was blunt and a little unsavory, and as wily as her. That'd work better.
And then she could return this where-it-belonged, and she wondered how much of her thoughts had been swayed by the soul around her neck and she took it off again. That was the problem. It made it hard to think, hard to focus. Hard to separate the thoughts that were hers and those that were tainted by the conscience.
She ran her fingers through her curls as she went to the mirror, looking at herself. Gorgeous. Another dress on her that shined and sparkled and ended halfway down her thigh. Tight to her body, and though it was high on the front—a necessary change to keep the soul hidden, her back was exposed, smooth, silky skin—an unnecessary layer for her people, but one she had grown into quite beautifully. She highlighted all the best features of her face, her lips succulent, a bright red. Her eyes were such a dark, captivating brown. Though she'd kept some of her glamour appearance-changing rings, she hadn't used any. She was a knock-out on her own. And she was doubly determined to net someone this evening, after her debacle with whatever-his-name-was the previous. And she turned to step out into the hallway that led to the club when she tucked the necklace into her clutch purse, her fingers tracing the edge of the gem. A this is wrong feeling jutted into her as she stepped back into the fray, so determined to be caught that evening, to get some satisfaction and sexual relief, and she'd manage it with the soul because she was stronger than it, and so just before she passed the bouncers and joined the dancing, she passed the necklace back around her neck, where it belonged now.
And she chattered, and danced, and drank, but hesitated in the face of the handsome and stunning. She somewhat grudgingly settled with a group of young women who were celebrating a bachelorette party, although one of them kept looking at her, and she noted something odd about the intensity on the woman's face when a man sidled up to her during a song and held out a drink. And he was ordinary. He was taller than her, but certainly no built Hercules, and his hair wasn't blonde—bleached or otherwise—and he seemed anxious, uncertain, and he only had one eye. And he was flirting with her, or at least trying to, in an endearingly inadequate way.
"H-hi," He said, as loud as he could over the din. "I saw you, and I just… couldn't look away."
"I don't blame you," Lythia'l returned, disinterested. At least, she thought she was. She was planning on roping the ones she wanted, she didn't have to go for second best. But there was something about him that wasn't intimidating in the least, relaxing. "Now, how did you get that intriguing eye-patch?" She wasn't the one to be demure or tactful. If it was from cancer or something, well, call her shallow, but she wasn't going near that. The last thing she needed was to grip him too tightly during sex and break him. She might not have—alright, past tense was needed, she used to not have one—a soul, but that didn't mean she went around killing things. She wasn't the uncivilized vampires. And the thought of him just crumpling in bed made her uneasy, to say the least. And she wasn't quite sure why she was still able to think of sleeping with him without having a single twinge to knock him away and put him down hard. Her little conscience hadn't kicked in yet. If anything, it seemed intrigued by the little amateur act.
Maybe that meant she beat it. Or at least, it wasn't objecting to her right now. Well, that made this man a lot more appealing—even if he wasn't her type, his goofy, crooked smile and uncertain shoulder shrug was mostly amusing. Testing her soul, she reached out and snaked him closer to her, nearly jarring him enough to spill the drinks in his hand. It was still silent, ready, waiting. She smiled in slight triumph. "Looks like I'm glad you came by," She said, something that couldn't possibly have the same meaning for him as it did for her.
"G-great," He stammered. "I'm… Xa—Alexander." And she wasn't interested in his name at all, but delighted in her quieted conscience as she pulled him in nearer, and thought she might not have to spend the night alone after all.
He seemed to bring up the drinks belatedly, as if he'd been so stunned he'd forgotten he'd brought them over.
"Yeah," He said, as he danced with her a bit awkwardly, "I saw you, and I thought, wow. She could use a drink. I mean, not that you need one. Appreciate one, maybe?" He was stammering again, and Lythia'l didn't stifle her laugh, relinquishing her hold on him somewhat so she could swipe one of the glasses from his hand and downed it easily, licking her lips at the pungent taste. That was another thing her people didn't have: alcohol. She was fortunate to acclimatize to it so easily when all they had were glowing liquid refreshments that didn't play with cognitive functions at all, it mainly kept the throat from getting too dry and provided nutrients. Something with a practical use, not something to promote dizziness and odd reaction. She remembered belatedly that alcohol and her new soul likely didn't mix, and she waited with trepidation, but still nothing. For whatever reason, contact with the one-eyed man didn't make her antsy or uneasy, and Lythia'l accepted it smugly.
Maybe Jade's soul was finally learning its place, the most preferable explanation, or maybe she just had a thing for stammering one-eyed men, which was an odd but not completely ridiculous fetish. Either way, Lythia'l accepted it happily, even if the man—Alexander he said he was?—wouldn't have been her first choice. Or even her top ten.
"You're a little inept, aren't you?" She couldn't help but say, the words rolling off her tongue as her opinions often did. And she never apologized for her bluntness—speaking her mind had never been a problem for her. It was encouraged for the first Millennium of her life, and she was told to do it as eloquently and as verbose as possible, although she'd toned down somewhat since she moved here. All the people she talked to were lucky they were only getting paragraphs at a time from her and not more. Still, she'd shortened it somewhat. Now she was even more precise, and her brusque words were no exception. Except—this time she felt guilty, guilty at the wince telegraphed on his face. She'd hurt his feelings. It wasn't as if she had the luxury of acting with a full deck lately, and she had no reason to—"Oh, that was rude," she said, by way of apology, but why was she apologizing. She wasn't one to go around and spare feelings, no that was not her, and she frowned, before realising it was her soul again, reasserting itself. So it wasn't silent at all, just lingering. Prodding at her behavior, and what right did it have?
But she could ignore it, still. It was just a little twinge in the back of her head, and besides, she was about to make it up to the man, there was little doubt of that. "Whatever. You want to go to my room?" And she held her breath, and she could feel that build up in her soul again, uncertainty. Oh, it didn't agree with Lythia'l, did it? Well, she didn't much care, and the protests weren't resounding anyway. It could be ignored. She would ignore it.
The man hesitated, stammering before ending with a less than assertive, "Yes. Sure." Lythia'l tried not to roll her eyes. Not the drooling she was expecting, but that was probably best. Too much would be repugnant, so she shrugged, passing the drinks off to a waitress with a tray and tugged him through the crowd. She caught eyes with one of the women from the bachelorette party, who looked at her with probing green eyes. Later, if she saw her again, Lythia'l'd have a talk with her, seeing as there was something out-of-place about her, and Lythia'l didn't like the way she stared. Still, the woman was forgotten as she flashed her free wrist at the bouncers, the purple band there, and she and the man stepped out into the hallway, where it was far quieter and less crowded. She could see a couple up ahead, entangled romantically as they crashed into a room and kicked the door behind them, and she felt a surge of jealousy. Well, not for long. None of this terrible, forced chastity.
They'd barely gone around the corner when she decided to test the battlefield. The man's steps had noticeably slowed, as if he was losing interest, or heart in it—and how was that possible. If anything, he should be more excited with each step, and she was a little insulted that he wasn't. What was wrong with her? Was she not as pretty as she thought she was? And why was she so self-conscious all the time. Alright, she knew the answer to that, but it was annoying, so annoying, and she was done.
She grabbed the man by his arm, and pushed him to the wall. He wasn't as strong as she was—he was only a human after all, but he did try to resist, even though he couldn't do much. And why was he resisting, and why did she suddenly feel a lump of self-loathing when she pushed him to the wall, because it was just passion, really, but she felt so terribly about cornering him to the wall it didn't feel sexy at all. What a floppy dead fish of a killer moment, but she could ignore this, she was in control here, so she dropped one of her hands from securing him and tilted up his head instead. He looked uncomfortable, but there was that frozen uncertainty in his eye, that bordered on interested, bordered on wanting. He was doing his best to resist her, but he couldn't completely, and so she didn't need to feel bad about kissing him then, stepping up onto her tiptoes so they were nearly even in height, and her mouth sucked at his, firm and triumphant. He was warm, and surprisingly gratifying. She was in control here, she didn't need to listen to the voice needling at her.
But she heard it in full force anyway, guilt and self-disgust reigning down on her, a NOT HIM, not right, a big resounding NO that was so strong it twisted her stomach and she leaned herself back off of him, gasping. Never mind the fact that he'd responded, if only slightly, her soul was shouting at her like she'd forced him, made him, and just that it wasn't right, wasn't Spike, and it was so loud and so gripping. And it wasn't even words, just feelings that aimed to mangle and twist her.
And his lips were smeared with her shiny lipstick, and was all sorts of uncomfortable, his expression twisted between desire and discomposure, and she still had him there, caged, but she couldn't move back into it. Her soul was so far from accepting now, she wondered why it had been silent until now.
"I mean… I really don't think that…" He was stammering out some response now, sounding increasingly agitated and in a hurry to soothe her, and she was only half listening. Something was wrong, something was off, and she hadn't noticed until now because of this blasted soul that was always turning her topsy turvy anyway. How was she even supposed to know what normal was when she had this around her neck.
And then she saw them, rather than heard them. Vampires. Fast, quick things. Quiet, when they wanted to be, and these ones wanted to be. And she could see it in both of their eyes, the souls radiating through them. Both of them had what they weren't supposed to anymore, but all that mattered then was Spike, standing before her. And she wanted to loathe him, because he was trying to throw a wrench into everything but he'd tracked her here? He'd gone after her? She hadn't suspected that it would be him. Maybe Jade, out of revenge. She'd expected Spike to run back to his lover, Buffy. Hadn't expected to see him. Hadn't wanted to. But at the same time, she felt her blood warm, her breath grow erratic.
She'd always had a certain amount of dislike for Spike, although thankfully little contact. She'd noted his attractiveness of course, but he hadn't extended the same courtesy to her, acting in disinterest. And she didn't think he would ever see anything in Jade. The look in his eyes had been guilt when he'd been so willing to leave Jade on Lythia'l's doorstep. Part of Lythia'l had doubted he'd even bother to return. But she'd been… wrong, hadn't she? The intensity in his expression now, it was breathtaking, the anger that blazed through him. He was frightening, the passion, the fury in those blue eyes, so of course she'd grabbed the one-eyed man as a barrier to protect herself. To keep her from throwing herself those last steps towards him.
And she shouldn't want him, but she was no stranger to lust, and she'd accepted that he was attractive, but now it was so impossibly hard to ignore, and while Jade's soul had drawn her back from all the men that Lythia'l had desired, it was doing everything it could to pull her towards Spike.
Thisisright, it told her, treacherously, begging, pleading. This is right. PUT IT BACK. But she couldn't, oh she couldn't. This was Spike, who might have been cut near from the same cloth as Lythia'l, mouthy and carefree, but he was trying to stop her, and that made him an enemy. THE ENEMY, she reminded herself, but she couldn't believe it, not with any confidence. He stared at her with such desperation, such wanting, it didn't seem like the same Spike at all. This one was forlorn and vehement and he glared at her with such vicious loathing that she nearly shivered at it, but glares had never overwhelmed her before. But this was Spike and that mattered to her, so much more than it should.
And when he spoke, he drilled her with such precise remarks, so close to the heart of it all, and how did he know, how did he know more than Lythia'l did about what this soul was doing to her. And she'd done all the research. She knew what a soul was, damn the reaches, it was just morality. And it could be ignored. It was ignored, every day, by ordinary people. Each time wars were fought, each time someone murdered or stole. It could be neglected, and she could do it.
But everything he said struck her hard to the core. She of course hadn't had the amulet on her while she was sleeping, afraid of how it might affect her—so in fact, she'd barely even slept since she'd gotten it. And the thought of seeing Spike in her dreams both excited and horrified her. And seeing him everywhere—she ought to scoff. She could teleport. She could be anywhere faster than he could. Go anywhere she wanted. If he found her, she'd skip away, like she was about to do now, and it would be no trouble. She didn't have to worry about him sending her into another dimension, although the thought of having someone else on her tail for the rest of eternity bothered her. Not again, when she'd just made it so she'd evade one set of would-be captors, to exchange it for another. But Spike was lacking by comparison. He had no magic. He could walk or drive or even fly to her and she'd always be one step ahead.
The thought shouldn't sadden her, but her thoughts were morose. She should take the pendant off so it didn't corrupt her thoughts, but she didn't want to give the vampires an opening, no matter how slight. No, it had to stay where it was. Where it didn't belong.
Where she would keep it anyway.