The Bronze was in real form, crammed to the ceiling with young, lithe, teenage bodies that filled the air with a frenetic sort of energy that hummed along the surface of Buffy's skin. She had strutted confidently past the line of highschoolers waiting for entrance, flashing the bouncers hired just for the occasion a flirty little smile before stepping into the darkness of the club. Buffy's eyes glowed as she scented the hot, heavy air hanging over the tight-packed crowd, filling her head with the sweet tang of clean sweat and alcohol fueled desire. Gliding along the outskirts of the dance floor, Buffy made her way towards the bar, her eyes scanning the throng. She didn't quite recognize it but she was hunting, the shadow in her pushing furiously for freedom, throwing her towards the human mob with few things on its mind. Preoccupied, she wasn't prepared to back into a broad, solid chest, bumping off and whipping around with accusation flashing in her eyes.
"Sorry!" a voice laughed, halfway to drunk.
Buffy immediately calmed, smiling up salaciously at the wide hunk of American campus douche before her. The dully grinning college brunette reached out a hand as though to steady her, cupping around her shoulder and sliding down her arm to her wrist. And didn't he just look delicious. Buffy ran her eyes appreciatively up and down the length of him; he was a big one, just how much blood was pumping through him right now…?
"Hey, uh," he chuckled, lowering his voice, "Can I uh, get you a drink?"
"Yes please," Buffy purred automatically, staring at his neck.
The guy didn't seem to notice, only smiled lopsidedly and slipped away, pushing into the mosh pit that surrounded the bar and disappearing from view. Buffy frowned; that hadn't quite gone the way she had hoped it would. But three steps to the left and she could fix that. Striding confidently onto the dance floor, she zeroed in on two young men dancing awkwardly on the fringes of a group of girls, doing their best to integrate themselves into the movement. Both were dressed in their football jerseys, a rival school of Sunnydale's in fact, with streaks of black greasepaint on their cheekbones. Not very inventive, but Buffy wasn't one to complain. They both had the most lovely biceps, and as she drew in close, she could smell the hot salt of their bodies and it made her stomach growl.
Spinning around to press her back against number twenty-four's chest, she reached out and grabbed hold of number six's belt buckle, pulling him in roughly towards her. Both boys' eyes widened in surprise, but they certainly didn't let the opportunity pass. They both followed Buffy's lead, grabbing hold of her hips and beginning a dance that was as close to dirty as one could get fully clothed in a public place. Buffy closed her eyes, leaning her head back on twenty-four's shoulder as her body gyrated between the two of them. She reveled in the pounding beat of the music as they swayed with the crush, dozens of heartbeats pressing in on every side, hammering through every fiber of her being. It was beautiful, and her mouth watered.
As Buffy's fingers ran down through the dark curls of the boy in front of her, her fangs began to prickle at her gums. Too caught up in staring at her cleavage, number six didn't notice when her fingers began to trail lightly down his neck, coming to rest on the place where his pulse beat a rapid tattoo against his skin. Bearing sharp incisors in a nasty grin, Buffy began to lean forward, drawn to the crook of his shoulder and the hot promise of blood just beneath the surface.
In that moment, the DJ's voice burst through the intercom to announce the start of a live set, stopping the dance and jolting Buffy back into her head. Suddenly aware of the way she was sandwiched between the two boys, the way she leaned in close to the one in front of her, Buffy slapped a hand over her mouth and looked up at him in horror. He was standing stock still with his eyes closed, his lips puckered in anticipation of the kiss he waited for her to bestow. If only he knew just what type of kiss he had intended. Probably quite a bit more teeth than he would've liked, even if you were into that kind of thing.
Breaking from their hold, Buffy leapt off the dance floor and ran towards the back door, not even slowing down when she knocked into a hard body cloaked in leather and smelling of smoke and liquor. She had to get out of there, and she had to get out now.
Spike left the alleyway licking blood from his fingers. Little Red had made for a delightful little snack, though she hadn't managed to satisfy all of his appetites. Spike didn't go in for that kind of thing; he preferred another type of screaming, another type of begging. He thought briefly of going back to Dru, spending the rest of the night inside where he belonged on Halloween, but the idea of a vampire Buffy was just too much for him to resist, and who knew how long it would last before her insipid Scoobies solved the problem.
Picking up her trail once again, he followed it sedately into town, forcing himself to stroll unhurriedly down the street. He walked in game-face, all suited up on this, the only night when a mask was commonplace. Her scent was fading, but he imagined he knew where she was headed, or rather, where the Poof was taking her; if rumors were true he had a poncy little apartment somewhere abouts. Just as he thought he was about to lose it, her trail suddenly crossed back over itself, alone and much stronger than before. She'd been back this way. Without Peaches.
'Slip your leash luv?' Spike wondered with a wicked grin.
Abandoning the old track for new, he followed it at a much faster pace, abruptly eager to get in on this little piece of action. Oh what deadly mayhem this could be, what fun, what bloody carnage could be wrought this night if only with a little…
'Steady on there mate,' he chastised himself. No need to go all… nostalgic for the good old days of nest and blood and family.
A cacophony of noise began to grow in his ears as he neared the center of town and the dreadful little club that so enticed the young people. Rounding a corner, a long line of people came into view, all clamoring for entrance. Without a girl on his arm, he could be stuck standing outside for hours at the rate they were moving, but since Buffy's scent disappeared into the swarm, that certainly wasn't an option. Striding to the front, Spike dug deep into his pocket and pulled out a thick roll of stolen bills, peeling off a fifty which he tucked surreptitiously into the palm of one of the meatheads guarding the door. He wasn't stopped.
Inside the club, he dropped back to his human face, the chaotic party overwhelming to his heightened senses. The flashing lights and pounding music, the dozens of people in constant motion were almost enough to make his stomach turn. Slinking silently around the edge of the crowd, he was struck with an eerie sense of déjà vu, flashing back to the very first night he had ever seen the Slayer, prowling through the dark of the Bronze as he stalked his prey. Never before had he felt so intent on his target, not even then, as though the world had dropped away and nothing else, no one else existed.
And there she was.
She was gorgeous. Life still flushed her cheeks, thrumming through her like a heartbeat, but there was more to her. It was in the flash of a canine as she smiled, the rim of amber around her irises as she struggled to contain the demon that Spike could sense inside of her. As he crept slowly forward, all trembling black-clad muscle and curled power, a panther coiled for the leap, he couldn't help but marvel at the way she moved, the way her golden haloed around her as she danced. She was sex and wickedness and fire burning from the inside out; there was both sun and shadow in her.
Spike watched, entranced as she manipulated the bodies of her two partners, moving them just as she liked though he was sure they thought they were the ones in charge. The ones about to get lucky. He grinned cruelly. In that moment he wanted nothing more than to see her end them, take the hands that rudely groped her ass and tear them from their respective bodies, to go for their throats and drink her fill in one vicious bite. And wasn't she beautiful in red? Spike felt his jeans tighten again as it looked like he was about to get his wish. Buffy's hand trailed casually down to caress the pulse point of the All-American douche in front of her and she leaned in close, to all outside appearances going in for a kiss, but Spike knew better.
In that moment, a hideous crackle of static exploded out of the speakers as the DJ clambered onto the stage, announcing something that had to do with a band and wild dogs. It must have snapped Buffy out of her daze, broken the hold that the bloodlust had over her because she immediately clapped a hand over her mouth, her face going pale, eyes wide. Wrenching away from her football flunkies, one of whom stood smacking his lips like a guppy, the Slayer barreled straight for him. To his eternal surprise, she simply bounced off his chest and kept going, pushing through the masses in a desperate attempt to gain the exit. He should have been offended, he knew, to be given the cold shoulder, brushed off as though he were nothing more than occupied space, but he had gotten a hot and heady lungful of potent Slayer perfume as she passed, and never before had he sampled anything that so closely resembled pure sin.
"Ok, one more time!" Willow demanded as she struggled to keep up with the furious Watcher. "You're going to confront a powerful, chaos-worshipping sorcerer alone?!"
"Yes Willow!" Giles barked. "I will not expose you to the danger that is Ethan Rayne. I will handle this; you must find Xander and make sure that Angel has Buffy secured. We cannot allow her to…"
Giles trailed off, unwilling or unable to speak the thing that both feared so much. Willow's heart ached with fear and guilt, for it had been she who had found the vampire's mask, she who had convinced her friend to purchase it in place of the innocuous princess's dress. Hurrying along the sidewalk, she twisted the sleeves of her ghostly hooker outfit nervously.
"Super heroes from now one," she vowed. "Smart, stable, powerful super heroes."
"The spell will end tonight," Giles vowed in return, slowing where the sidewalk forked off in opposite directions. "Go, find Xander and Buffy. I'll do the rest. You'll… well I'm sure you'll know when I've achieved success."
Without thought, Willow attempted to give the older man a quick, hard hug, but her own incorporeal body made it impossible.
"Um, yes, well…" Giles blustered.
"Just be careful!" Willow commanded. Giles nodded, unconsciously touching his fingertips to the side of his coat, where he had tucked a dagger into the inner pocket. Giving him a sad sort of smile, Willow took off up the street towards the Bronze, while the Watcher turned to take the lower road.