11.

The house had finally gone silent but it wasn't a good thing because it only meant they could hear the distant clanging of the vampire army swarming in front of the gates, probing at the wards to find a way to slip through. They must have been extremely vexed nobody was engaging them but waiting until daylight was the right decision.

The preparations for the sudden escape had lasted late into the night; Effie, on the other hand, was getting ready for a fight.

Her last fight.

Peeta had pleaded with her again when he had managed to corner her alone in her bedroom and his begging had broken what was left of her heart but it hadn't been enough for her to alter her plans.

A burning cold had settled in her chest, stifling any hint of panic or fear. Her mind was clear. Everything was in razor sharp focus.

This was the end.

She should have been sleeping. She had finally convinced Peeta and Madge to go to bed half an hour ago and she had pretended she hadn't seen the girl sneaking right back into his bedroom the same way she pretended she didn't know Gale had been kicked out of it to sleep on the couch in the living-room. Yes, she should have been sleeping too. Her body needed the rest. But her magic was restless and she was a little scared that if she lied down she would crash and not be able to stand up for days. Magical exhaustion was a real thing and she had found the best way to trick it was to not acknowledge it.

She wandered around the house she had been calling home for two decades and a half instead, seeing imaginary ghosts everywhere. Maysilee smiling at her, Caesar teasing her, a smaller Peeta hopping toward her with his arms outstretched for a hug…

She ended up in the ground floor's corridor with a vague idea that she could make herself tea – the good stuff, no sense in saving up now – but she spotted the light slipping through the closed door of the library.

She couldn't muster any sense of surprise.

A glance in the living-room confirmed the teenage boy had crashed on the couch and was out so it only left one other stranger in her house who would be snooping around when she was certain Peeta had assigned him a room in one of the other houses. Or was it still snooping when the place used to belong to you? She had seen the way he was looking around earlier, the mix of regret, yearning and curiosity on his face… How different was the house? She couldn't tell. She had been living there too long. And it had been headquarters for too long too.

She pushed the door open and closed it behind her, sealing it with wordless magic just in case. Paranoia had kept her alive this long and she didn't trust mysterious strangers as a rule.

Abernathy was standing next to the window, watching the street, and he didn't turn around when she walked in even though he must have heard her. He wouldn't have been a very good demon hunter otherwise. His sword and knives were scattered on the free space on the round table along with cleaning and sharpening tools that belonged to her – so he had been poking his nose in her stuff after all. She also spotted the satellite phone on top of a pile of books – he must really have been snooping to find it. She didn't find it in her to get angry. He had probably called Mags. She supposed she couldn't fault him for that.

"You should be resting." he commented eventually, his voice gruff. "Tomorrow's gonna be a shitshow."

She resisted the urge to ask him if he had to be so vulgar all the time.

"You do realize we are not getting out of this fight alive?" she asked instead, in a flat tone. She wished she had been able to be more empathetic but… She simply didn't care. She wasn't able to care. Not anymore.

He snorted as if it was the best joke and finally turned around to watch her. "You should have been dead for a long time."

It was her turn to snort. She leaned against the table, not quite perching herself on it but close, ready to move at the smallest sign of threat.

"I am tough to kill." she replied. "Just ask my mother."

"Heard about that through the grapevine... " He lifted his eyebrows in a very sarcastic way. "Doesn't seem like the apple fell very far from the tree though." He gave her a once over, lingering on her face and she could almost feel the dark veins that weren't visible at that very moment but would manifest the second she used dark magic. "Never understood how you were doing it, keeping this place from Snow. Now I get it."

She flashed him a carnivorous smile. "Yes. I am a dark witch. Yes, I do use the Hellmouth. And, yes, it is the reason I managed to hold the Village for so long."

"Do you use the Hellmouth or does it use you?" he retorted.

There was something to the way he was studying her, studying everything all the time. It was as if he was hyper aware of his surroundings, so used to fighting for his life that he forgot how to relax even in a safe environment.

Effie could relate.

"I am still myself." she deflected. "However I am not stupid enough not to know my clock is ticking. Another reason why there is no point in me trying to run away with the children. This will be my swan song."

That seemed to satisfy him because he lost some of the tension in his shoulders. "They call you the Wannabe-Slayer, you know."

She was aware. Seneca Crane liked to toss that name around when she called Mags. The Council sneered it like an insult but she took it as a badge of pride. She hadn't been Called but she liked to think she would have made the legacy proud. When she had been young, before Maysilee, she used to think she would be a terrible Slayer. It went to show what that clueless girl she used to be had known.

"They can call me whatever they like." she dismissed.

He stepped closer, his grey eyes staring at her with a bit too much intensity. "I just don't get how you did it. Even with the magic. My mom couldn't. My girl couldn't. And they were worth a hundred witches."

Had they been, though?

Effie had started this journey as a clueless teenager with an attitude and weak magic powers. She had built herself up into the fighter she now was, into the witch she now was. Everything had been taken from her piece by piece and she had patched herself up with magic and determination. She had no doubt his mother and his girl had been good, the same way Maysilee had been good.

Perhaps Effie was just… exceptional.

She closed her eyes and shook her head briefly to chase the arrogant whispers the Hellmouth was trying to convince her were the truth. She could smell Its stench, feel the disgusting vines of Its magic wrapping around her like a protective cocoon – a cocoon that was consuming her from the inside out.

She felt him creep closer but she didn't move, didn't open her eyes… She didn't need to. She barely tensed. She could kill him easily enough if she felt like it. One wriggle of her fingers and his neck would snap.

He was well into her space when she opened her eyelids again.

He was watching her in that way again, half-repulsed and half-fascinated. She liked that. Half-fear and half-worship… It satisfied her inner witch.

He reached for her face and she had to quickly get a grip on her magic because it wanted to lash out at what it perceived as a threat. He brushed her dark hair away from her face and not in any delicate way. His fingers grabbed the thick curly strands and pushed them back… He searched her features, her eyes… Again, she felt as if he could see the dark veins of power running along her skin even though she knew he couldn't. She hadn't given herself to the dark magic recently enough that it would show directly on her skin but her hair, the darkness lurking in her blue eyes... He must have found what he was after because he frowned. His grey eyes turned a little sad but it was short-lived.

"You're burning out." he commented.

She chuckled. She wondered if it sounded crazy to his ears. It certainly did to hers.

"Like a candle." she confirmed.

How long did she have, really, before the magic took her over? Before it killed her or the Hellmouth turned her completely evil and she forgot what was driving her in the first place? Not long. Not long… It was just as well her death was imminent. Hopefully she could help to even out the odds when she went. Protect the children. Kill Snow if she could get to him.

"So you're planning on going all out tomorrow… We die in style." He didn't sound particularly upset by the prospect of his imminent demise.

Then again, neither was she.

Maybe, like her, he had always known it would end like this: in the Seam, fighting the monster who had stolen their lives from them.

"We die in style." she approved.

He still hadn't let go of her hair. The tension between them shifted when his gaze left hers to fall on her mouth.

"The way you fought out there…" he said hesitantly. "That was hot."

She licked her lips and he seemed to take that as an invitation to step closer. She wasn't sure why she sat more firmly on the table or why she opened her legs just widely enough for him to step between them. It took her a second to realize her body was responding to his because she wanted him.

Desire was nothing new, her magic craved a lot of things. Desire was a side-effect of the Hellmouth. But carnal desire? There weren't enough adults around for that to have become a regular thing. She had found a few people who had held her attention for a few days over the years but her current dry spell had lasted… She renounced counting. It was depressing.

And it wasn't just about availability either.

She wasn't sure letting go would be a good thing given how tenuous her grip on her magic was.

"I could rip your heart out." she pointed out.

Again, she didn't put enough emotion in there. She felt him shiver. At least he had the good sense to be afraid.

"I've never been really good at resisting dangerous women, sweetheart." He snorted, placing his hands flat on the table on either side of her hips. He didn't do more. He waited, his eyes staring straight into hers.

He wasn't handsome. Perhaps he had been once upon a time but a whole life on the road fighting demons had taken care of that, the same way it had ebbed at her own beauty. The cropped hair didn't suit him, the beard made his face look gaunt, the scar that marred half his face made him look slightly asymmetric… No, he wasn't handsome.

And his hygiene was dubious. Unlike her, he hadn't taken advantage of the showers. He smelt like sweat, blood and death. He smelt like battle and that aroused her more than it probably should have.

She felt a pull for him that she hadn't felt in a very long time, perhaps not since Maysilee, and, for a selfish second, she let herself wonder how it would have played out had he showed up earlier instead of at the midnight hour. Perhaps it was the fact they had similar stories, perhaps it was the fact they were both a little broken or perhaps it was fate. She couldn't tell. And she didn't care.

She leaned back a little, propping herself on her hands, and tilted her head to the side in the oldest invitation in the book.

She had the sharp sense that if she had told him to get lost, he would have stepped back and never mentioned it again but he didn't need a verbal confirmation either and she liked that. Once the tacit permission was given, he pounced and he didn't pause to ask if she was sure.

His mouth went straight to her throat. He licked a hot path before digging his teeth in, making her hiss… She grabbed his head, pulled it back up for a proper kiss, forcing her tongue in his mouth…

It was like lighting a match.

Suddenly his hands were everywhere, tearing at her clothes to get to her bare skin, and she was leaning back…

"Wait." He quickly wrapped an arm around her waist to prevent her from lying down on the table and she didn't get why until he swept his other arm behind her and she heard the telltale noises of a heap of knives and one very sharp sword falling on the floor. He smirked down at her, all smug and cocky. "I know I'm charming, sweetheart, but don't go stabbing yourself over it."

She rolled her eyes, snapped her fingers and buried her hand in his newly opened jeans without giving him room to recover from the magical attack that had unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants. He wasn't wearing underwear, which was just the way she liked things. Easier.

He didn't seem ready to joke after that. His mouth found her neck again and then, eventually, her breasts. She reclined on the table – now safe from accidentally stabbing herself – arching her back… His hands were very talented at what they did and they were everywhere…

She wasn't sure how he got rid of her corset or her leather pants, she wasn't even sure how he got undressed. Maybe her magic had gotten away from her at some point and she had just impatiently wished their clothes away… All she knew was that, suddenly, they were both completely naked and too needy for their own good.

She saw the scar on his side, a huge ugly puffy thing, and vaguely remembered reading about that in Mabel Larson's Watcher journal… Not that it really mattered. It wasn't the only scar. It was lost in a myriad of others that hinted at a life full of close calls.

It matched her own body. She certainly wasn't lacking in unappealing scars.

He kissed an impatient trail between her breasts, down her stomach, her pubic bone and back up before taking himself in hand…

For the first time, he marked a moment of hesitation. "You want a condom?"

Condoms.

She wasn't even sure where she would find one. Peeta's room, maybe. She had shoved them at him a few years ago but since then… They had run out. There were contraceptive potions that took care of that problem. As for the rest…

Did she really care about STDs when they would be dead the next day?

"Just fuck me." she ordered.

The vulgarity must have done it for him because his hips jerked forward and he slipped inside her without much skill. He cursed under his breath, grabbed her hips and then… Yes, that thrust was much more deliberate. And enjoyable.

She lost herself to the hard pace he imposed.

It didn't really last long but damn was it good… And worth it.

Because for a brief flash of bliss, she felt herself again, the pleasure erasing the heavy weight of the dark magic… Then she was back in her body and everything felt gloomy and grey once more but… Worth it, she mused, as she laid boneless, absolutely worth it.

It didn't take much longer for him to find his own release. He came with a grunt that sounded like a name – not her name but she didn't care if he was lost fucking ghosts in his own head – and flopped down on her, his hips still rocking as he tried to get his breath back…

Eventually, he stood back up and slipped out of her. Their eyes met and, during that brief second, she guessed it would either become very awkward or it would be brushed aside, never to be talked about again.

For both their sake's, she chose the second option.

"You should get some sleep." she advised, matter-of-factly, jumping off the table and quickly putting her scattered clothes back on. "You will need to be at the top of your game tomorrow."

He did the same, his grey eyes never wandering too long from her. Maybe he really liked the view. Maybe he didn't trust her.

She didn't know.

She didn't care.

"So do you" he pointed out.

"I am always at the top of my game, Abernathy." she mocked. "Couldn't you tell?"

Perhaps it was too soon to joke about the sex yet but he surprised her by chuckling and granted her the point with a shrug.

She made sure she was decent – because she was not accidentally meeting one of her children in the corridor and explaining why she looked like she had just been fucked over a table – flashed him a smile and headed toward the door.

"Hey, Trinket…" he called when she had her hand on the door handle.

She supposed it was good to know he actually knew her name since he had mostly been calling her pet names since he had shown up.

She paused and looked back at him, a bit curious despite herself. She felt numb inside again, tugged in a thousand different directions by her magic… But he had given her a precious moment of peace and for that she was grateful.

He had picked up his knives from the floor and was now holding the sword. He twirled it once between his fingers with the ease of habits and then crossed the room, handing it to her, pommel first. She took it out of reflex with a small frown.

"It was my mother's." he explained with a shrug. "It's a Slayer's weapon. Guess it belongs with a Slayer."

She was long past caring about what people thought of her or her little crusade. Or so she had thought. Because she felt a burst of genuine feelings in her heart before the magic washed them away.

She didn't thank him because it wasn't who she was anymore.

But he must have seen the secret smile on her lips because he smiled right back.

Wannabe or not, the next day, she would be the only Slayer that mattered.

Nothing says merry christmas like desperate we're going to die smut XD I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please let me know your thoughts!