Author's Notes: Big apologies for the lack of updates. I wanted to take my time to process this story a bit better than what I was doing with Weight of the World. Hopefully the updates will come more quickly. I forgot to mention that this story is a bit inspired from the movie Fright Night, which happens to be one of my favorites. I hope you guys are enjoying the story so far. And thank you, as always, for the reviews. They help keep me going and help me try to become a better writer. Now, onto the story. Enjoy!

The vampire landed against the door of the weathered crypt with a loud thud, breaking the double fragile doors in the process. "Had enough?" Buffy taunted, performing a somersault over the ridden corpse that lay motionlessly on the grass, venturing towards the staggering vampire who was struggling to stand on both feet before she begin her assault with a various of swift kicks and punches, breaking the cartilage of his nose, then bruising his jaw.

With the uncomfortable closeness of his enemy, his face remained in shadow as he threw a rapid punch across the Slayer's cheek, knocking her senseless.

Almost immediately it began to convert into a bruise that consisted of varying colors as she spiraled onto the area near the pale corpse that was now entering rigor mortis. "Slayer," the shadowed vampire whispered with a seductive Southern twang. It sent shivers down the Slayer's spine.

"Okay, you really don't want to say that unless you can actually come out of hiding and face me. And hey, creepy Southern accent there," Buffy cued, wiping away traces of wet grass from her leggings as she regained her footing. "I guess I can do that," the vampire bowed in the darkness, a hint of amusement latched in his voice. "You may rise, my child," he commanded to the corpse, which was now mobile as it rose to its' maggot-infested feet, reveling itself in all its' naked glory.

Buffy had the slight urge to gag, before sense overcame her as she tackled the corpse onto the ground. The corpse's dirt encrusted fingernails attempted to claw at the Slayer, but to no avail. "Hold still why don't ya? I can't put the stake in you if you can't hold still," She muttered impatiently, reaching for a silver dagger that was hidden underneath her hoodie, while keeping her firm hold on the vampiric body that was thrashing wildly at nothing.

"We won't have none of that Slayer. My child, you may attack," the Southern voice ordered from behind Buffy, distracting her while she felt a hand clutching at her throat, constricting her wind pipe. Taken by surprise yet impressed by the body's strength, Buffy scratched at the corpse's hand, only to see her nails covered with pieces of falling, decaying flesh.

"Okay, way beyond eww," she muttered. At the last minute, she placed a firm kick directly against the lower area of the stomach, simultaneously connecting her foot towards the kneecap, and within seconds, the corpse lay muddled against mounds of dirt.

Without hesitation, Buffy pressed the dagger against its' throat, slashing it. In seconds, it was truly dead. She spun around, facing the mysterious vampire. "Next," Buffy smiled in confidence. Then the battle truly began.

It was not easy coming home late at night, especially when one was caked with tracks of matted mud, water, and dust that sputtered throughout the many layers of clothing, especially on a constant daily basis, but that was the essence and sacrifice of the Slayer. Getting down and dirty was part of the job, even if Buffy didn't enjoy it.

Approaching the front door to her house, she wiped the last, faint traces of vampire dust away from her leather jacket, and remotely sighed, tucking traces of hair behind her ear. "In desperate need for a bath. I make even Mr. Gordo look clean," Buffy cackled, shoving her stake under her pant legging before unlocking the front door, entering the hall carefully.

The smells of spaghetti sauce wafted through the living and dining room, making her mouth water. Her stomach grumbled in response. "Buffy, is that you?" Joyce entered the dining room, taking in the repugnant scent that seemed to radiate from her daughter. Her nose twitched. "Let me guess. Slayer patrol?" She cocked her eyebrow in amusement, holding a skillet.

Buffy looked down at her appearance, then shrugged in awkward embarrassment. "Am I that transparent?" A forced laugh resonated from her mouth, the urge to crawl into her room and never coming down increasing.

"Well, you could use a bath. Why don't you go up, take a shower, and get dressed. We got company coming in an hour, and I'm cooking dinner." At this, alert signals went off in Buffy's head, but she answered calmly, even though puzzlement etched at her facial expression. "Company? Mom, since when did we have company? Someone from the art gallery?"

Joyce was a bit taken aback from her daughter's rapid fire questions, but answered reasonably with a "Well actually, no. They're the new next door neighbors. A client of mine told me that someone was moving in next door to the Jamesons' residence. I didn't know about it until I saw a few moving trucks parked outside earlier myself. What a surprise that was."

Buffy's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why Buffy, is something wrong?"

She shook her head furiously. "No, nothing. No reason Mom. Just wanted to know, since we haven't had company over in like, what? Ages?" She shrugged her shoulders casually in an attempt to mask her rising suspicion. She hadn't noticed that there was no sign of any new neighbor moving in next door. Not even a Sold sign that hinted at their arrival. "Are you sure?" Joyce suggested. "Yeah, I'm sure Mom. Why don't you finish up with the dinner, and I'll go up and get ready." With that, Buffy took off directly towards the upstairs bathroom, slamming the white door behind her.

"Buffy, honey, the guests are here. Are you ready to come down?" Joyce yelled from the bottom stair. "Coming!" Buffy yelled in response, before exiting her room. She scurried down the stairs, taking two at a time, unconsciously tying her silver cross necklace around her neck.

She entered the kitchen, all eyes quickly laying on her presence. For a moment, shyness overtook her as she reluctantly eyed her guests in return. "Buffy, I'd like you to meet the new neighbors. This is William, originally from England. He's an art collector," Joyce introduced her to a man who deemed a few years older than her. He had chiseled, small-boned features, bleach blond white hair slicked back towards his neck, dark eyes piercing, his lips curving into a wicked, yet friendly smile as he shook out his hand. Buffy had noticed a small scar above his eyebrow before placing her small hand in his.

"Nice to meet you mate. Buffy, I presume?" William spoke belligerently before dropping his hand. Buffy had noticed that his hand was abnormally cold. Hairs rose on the back of her neck as she introduced herself, but quickly looked away, until she locked eyes with a pair that resembled a warm, rich chocolate brown color.

Her breath was taken away at the beautiful sight of the other guest. He trotted towards her slowly, taking his time to approach her with a kind, handsome smile, revealing a set of perfect white teeth while his eyes was drinking her in. He was wearing a v-neck sweater that accentuated all of the right curves and muscles, hugging at his slim, but muscular hips, his black trousers revealing fit, long legs.

Buffy's heart began to pick up speed as a slight blush began to rise in her cheeks. "The name is Angelus, but you are free to call me Angel," the handsome stranger introduced, placing a small, yet gentle kiss on the Slayer's hand. Buffy had scarcely noticed that his lips were icy cold.

She didn't care. She was already falling.