A VISIT FROM THE DARK MASTER
by Soledad
A ''Pathways in the Dark'' stand-alone story.
Re-write of the BtVS Season 5-opener ''Buffy vs. Dracula.
Disclaimer: See Introduction.
Rating: PG-13, for violence.
Author's note: Most of the dialogue is taken directly from the TV episode. The rest is based on information found on various Lasombra-websites.
Durga Syn (progeny of Vladovos) is a 6th gen. Ravnos character, said to be a counselor to Dracula. I chose to make him Nahir's associate rather than that of the actual Vlad Tepes. Oh, and there actually is a Ravnos character of unknown generation called Zander.
CHAPTER FOUR: DANCE OF ENCHANTMENT
Sunnydale, 22nd September 2000The cemetery
The reaction of the Slayer surprised Nahir, but for a moment he was distracted by a mental warning from Spike. Their blood-sharing from the previous day created a temporary mental bond between them – which worked excellently.
[Watch out, Master, the witch and the whelp are coming!]
He knew, of course who was meant. Spike had given him a detailed – and not very flattering – introduction to the Slayer's little group. The girl and the youngster were no threat for him, but he had to divide his attention between them and the Slayer, and that interfered with his plans at the moment.
He prepared to wield the Living Darkness again, while waiting for the information he'd just given the girl to sink in. Apparently, when it came to thinking, this Slayer was a little slow.
"So let me get this straight," she said. "You're... Dracula, the guy, the Count?"
"I am," Nahir replied, amused. Though he had the feeling the real Vlad Tepes would nod appreciate a description like this. The Inconnu had always been more than a little behind their time. Vlad himself had been lurking around in Hunedoara Castle since 1848, for which Nahir was grateful. It have him plenty of chance to use this disguise and to keep his true identity secret.
"And you're sure this isn't just some fanboy thing?" the Slayer asked in suspicion. "'Cause I've fought more than a couple pimply, overweight vamps that called themselves Lestat."
Nahir felt annoyance interfering with his concentration. That Anne Rice person had caused more harm the undead society than a dozen Slayers. And all that because an insane Ravnos with a sick sense of humour thought it was a good idea to tell her some utterly ridiculous stories. An idiot of Weak Blood, who, fortunately, won't be able to cause any more trouble. Nahir would be eternally thankful his only Ravnos associate, Durga Syn, for eliminating this particular nuisance.
"You know who I am," he said, mastering his impatience with some effort, none of which was visible for her. "And I would know without question that you are Buffy Summers."
That got her attention. She actually seemed pleased, just as he had expected. Mortal girls of her age were so predictable – and shallow.
"You've heard of me?" she asked in surprise.
Naturally," he replied with grave respect he didn't really feel. "You're known throughout the world."
Of course she was. The undead society kept track of the current Slayer all the time. Doing otherwise would have been foolish and dangerous. But it was better to let her believe she was famous for her own deeds. Which, to a certain extent, she actually was. Having stopped the Harvest four years ago was an important event for vampires as well.
"Nah," she said, eyes wide, self-conscious little smile playing around brightly painted lips that made her look unsuitably older than she was. "Really?"
Nahir allowed himself a slightly raised eyebrow. Strictly speaking it didn't match the expressionless Dracula image, but his natural sarcasm got the better of him. Dealing with such young creatures could be tiring sometimes.
"Why else would I come here – for the sun?" he asked dryly. "I came to meet the renowned killer."
That blunt word took her visibly aback. "Yeah, I prefer the term Slayer," she said indignantly. "You know, killer just sounds so..."
Nahir raised another eyebrow. "Naked?" he asked, amused. He'd never expect from a Slayer who obviously enjoyed the killing so much to be this… sensitive about semantics."
"Like I paint clowns or something," she waved off, annoyed that her elated calling was compared with common crimes. "I'm the good guy here, remember?"
"Perhaps." Nahir was not going to debate good and bad with her. Not now. Not before she had become one of his kindred. "But your power is rooted in darkness. You must feel it."
"No!" she shouted, angry and confused, grasping for the only thing she truly understood: violence. "You know what I feel? Bold!"
Nahir was prepared for the stake, reading her primal emotions easily. He wielded his Living Darkness, distracting her mind to see nothing but black mist as she hit the place where he had stood seconds before with the stake. Twice. Nahir evaded both times without any effort.
"Okay, that's cheating," she declared angrily, looking around in vain to find him, though he stood directly in front of her, about two meters afar, wrapped in darkness safely.
[Master,] Spike warned again, [they're here!]
Indeed, he could see the red-haired girl and the clumsy young man in that ridiculous shirt reaching them. Now, it would be interesting to see their reaction – especially that of the girl. She radiated some real power and was apparently oblivious of her true strength.
Nahir shook off his mantle of shadow and waited.
The young man noticed him first, staring with open mouth for a moment – then bursting out in laughter.
"Nice! Look who's got a bad case of Dark Prince envy," he chuckled.
Nahir withstood the urge to kill him on the spot. The whelp was a lot worse than Spike had described. How could an obvious idiot like this one survive at the Hellmouth? The Slayer had only been here for the last four years, after all. Fools truly must have a guardian angel, he decided.
"I have no interest in you," the ancient vampire said, which was the complete, utter truth. "Leave us."
No, he was not interested in fools. In fact, he had no tolerance for fools, as a young Ravnos called Zander (were names really omens as the Ancient Romans thought?) had t learn on the hard way. It had been an extremely painful experience, after which said young vampire walked – crept would be more accurate – out to meet the Sun voluntarily.
A common trait of fools seemed to be, however, that they never knew when to shut up.
"No, we're not going to leave you," the mortal whelp replied, completely oblivious of the fact how near he had come to an extremely unpleasant death. "And where'd you get that accent, Sesame Street? Von, two, three... three victims. Mwah, hahahhaha!"
Now Nahir was truly annoyed, and had he not kept the bigger picture in mind, he'd have torn the whelp in bloody pieces before the Slayer realized what was happening. Though in one point he had to agree – the fake accent was truly ridiculous. Still he stuck with it as long as he kept this disguise. Modern media were a powerful tool, and Dracula movies too well-known to ignore this particular detail.
Buffy's instincts told her that the vampire in front of them was an old and powerful one. She was sure she could eventually stake him (a delusion not entirely her fault, for how could she know anything about the real powers of undead society?) but not with her helpless friends in the way. Xander was a liability on an average patrol, and she would not risk his life now.
"Xander," she warned him seriously, " watch your mouth. I'm petty sure that's Dracula."
The speed with which the tall, big-boned young man ran to hide behind the petite blonde way pitiful. Nahir felt utterly disgusted. No wonder that neonates were so worthless when this was the flock their Sires could choose from.
"Really?" the whelp babbled. "Sorry, man, I was just joking around…"
Nahir had had enough. He would deal with the red-haired with later. After he had thought of something… creative for the annoying whelp. Something Spike would benefit from.
"This is not the time," he told the Slayer. "I'll see you soon…"
With that, he turned into a bat and –sweeping down at their head which made both girls shriek in horror, protecting their hair with their arms – swung back again, vanishing in the darkness.
Watching the whole scene, Spike grinned evilly from ear to ear in the background. Seeing Master Nahir in action was always a delight, and seeing Xander almost wetting himself even more so. It made up for some of the humiliation he'd had to endure from the whelp since he got chipped.
"Oh, you'll get more compensation before we are done," purred Nahir, drawing a talon along his throat and lapping up the crimson tail of blood before licking the scratch closed again. "I can give him you as a bed-warmer, a slave or a food-source – whatever you want."
Spike, shivering under the seductive touch of the Master, almost got turned off by the mere idea of Xander in his bed. Caine, not even he was that desperate (especially after the big reconciliation with Angel), and he could not imagine the boy being 'moist and delicious' as Xander had stated once – in a short attack of insanity, because why would anyone in their right mind say something like that to a vampire, even to a chipped one? A slave or a food source sounded nice, though…
"Nah," he replied after some thought, "it won't work. Someone would notice: the Slayer, the Watcher, Red – or Anyanka. And you won't stay here to protect me forever."
"Anyanka?" Nahir repeated in surprise. "So, the Anya the whelp lives with is actually a thousand-year-old vengeance demon? He's got more balls than I'd given him credit for."
"Well, a former vengeance demon," Spike said. "She's human now. Lost all her powers and stuff. Just like meself."
"She might have lost her powers," Nahir replied in all seriousness, "but not her nature. Her nature was what made her to a vengeance demon in the first place. D'Hoffryn never recruits people who don't have the matching urges already."
"The more reason for me to stay away from the whelp," Spike pointed out. "Anya and I get along well enough, but I don't want to make her mad at me. "I've enough problems with other local demons as it is."
"Leave Anyanka to me," Nahir said. "I've known her for some three hundred years… well, my Dracula alter ego has."
"That won't make her willing to share," Spike said. "She's extremely possessive. Nor do I want to touch the whelp in any way – well, except with my fangs probably, which I can't do right now."
"You can, if he offers voluntarily," Nahir answered. "It's their fear and pain that sets the chip off, not the Kiss itself."
"He'll never do that, unless you enthrall or Dominate him," Spike shook his head. "And that would cripple him just as much as the bloody chip cripples me. I do hate the whelp, but not that much."
"Well then, what about a temporary arrangement?" Nahir asked. "Just for the time of my presence here. The others will be distracted enough – and you can't live on animal blood alone, you know that."
"I don't," Spike shrugged. "There are always the sorted-out blood packs of the hospital… or Willie's."
Nahir shook his head. "They help for a while, but they are not enough. You need fresh blood, from the source, if you don't want to lose your strength and wither to your Final Death. And since you can't hunt, you need cattle."
The brutal Sabbat term considering mortals awoke some of the old blood lust in Spike's heart. He licked his lips involuntarily. Nahir smiled.
"One day you'll have to learn the proper Kindred way of hunting – a hard lesson for a True Undead, but not beyond your abilities. Unfortunately, right now I don't have months at my disposal to teach you; nor have you enough Lasombra blood in you to do it my way. Let's return to the mansion now. I'll feed you some of my Vitae again, for you are still too weak for my taste; then we can plan our next step."
Spike followed him eagerly, in the reasonable hope of getting laid afterwards, either by the Master himself or by one of the three Lasombra witches. Unlife, once again, started to become what it should be, and for the first time in weeks, he felt truly content.
TBC