Chapter 41: Retaliation
The dog was in the kennel.
Buffy, Dawn and Clay smelled Winsloe as soon as they got within twenty feet of the out-building. They scouted the perimeter as Dawn whispered her plan to her sister and Clay. Before she finished, Clay reached for Dawn's arm, stopping her.
"You sure about this, darling?" he asked.
"Oh, I'm sure. Aren't you, Buffy?"
"I'm sure," Buffy said.
"I'm sure I want to do it," Clay said, "and I'm damned sure the bastard deserves it. It's certainly poetic justice. But is it really what you two want? Especially you Buffy, you have never intentionally killed a human."
"It's what I want," Buffy said as Dawn nodded in agreement. "I'm making an exception for Winsloe."
"All right, then. If there's any trouble, though, I'm taking him down."
"No, I will," Buffy said.
Clay hesitated but he understood why Buffy was wanting the kill. After all, not only had the man caught her and Dawn but he had also caught Savannah. This for her was revenge. "Okay, Buffy. If we have a choice, he's yours. But I won't hold back if you or Dawn are in danger."
"Agreed," Buffy and Dawn said as they headed for the kennel.
Winsloe sat in the rear of the middle dog run. His back was to the wall, knees up, pistol trained on the door. Once they'd determined his position by peering through the dusty windows, Buffy and Dawn chose a course of action. Obviously, barreling through the door was out of the question. They weren't bullet proof. Since the entrance was to Winsloe's left, Buffy and Dawn would teleport in on his right. Once the sisters had Winsloe disarmed. Clay would come in through the door blocking off any retreat.
Dawn and Buffy disappeared in a flash of green and reappeared to the right of Winsloe, startling him and causing him to let out a scream. Buffy grabbed his gun and flung it over the wire fence into the adjoining cage as Clay came in through the door.
"Nice scream, Tyrone," Dawn said. "Very macho."
"Sounded more like a shriek to me, darling," Clay said.
Winsloe jerked around to stare at Clay.
"Yes, that's Clayton," Buffy said. "Looking pretty good for a dead guy, eh?"
As Winsloe struggled to stand, Clay strode over, grabbed him by the neck, slammed him against the wall, and patted him down.
"Unarmed," he said, dropping Winsloe.
"What?" Dawn said. "No grenade? No nail gun? And you call yourself a hunter."
"How much do you want?" Winsloe said. His voice was steady, edged more with anger than fear. "What's a life worth these days? One million? Two?"
"Money?" Buffy laughed. "We don't need money, Tyrone. Dawn and I have plenty. Accumulated quite a bit over two hundred years. And even if we didn't. Jeremy has plenty and he's more than willing to share."
"A combined net worth of maybe two million bucks?" Winsloe snorted. "That's nothing. Here's the deal. You caught me fair and square. I'm willing to pay a forfeit. Ten million."
Clay frowned. "What's this? You never said nothin' about a deal, darling. You and Buffy promised me a hunt."
"I'm sorry, Ty," Dawn said. "Clay's right. Buffy and I promised him a hunt, and if we don't deliver, he'll sulk for days."
"Hunt?" Trepidation flashed through Winsloe's eyes, but he quickly doused it. "You want a hunt? Okay. That's fair. Like I said, you caught me. Here's the deal, then. Let me get my equipment and we'll have a real hunt. If I kill all of you, I win. You corner me and you'll get fifteen million."
"The man has balls," Clay said. "Got to give him that." He hauled Winsloe up by the shirtfront. "You want to deal? Here's the deal. We let you go. You run for your fucking life. You make it off the game field and we let you go. We catch you first, we kill you. Okay?"
"That's not fair," Winsloe sputtered.
Clay threw back his head and laughed. "Hear that? It's not fair. Weren't those your rules? The rules you planned to use if you hunted Buffy and Dawn. They'd be released and hunted by a team of trained professionals. If they escaped the game field, they'd live. Otherwise, they'd die. Am I missing something?"
"It's not the same," Winsloe said, glaring. "I'm not a werewolf. A human can't fight without weapons."
"What about those equipment lockers you have out there?" Buffy said.
"They're locked."
"Fine," Buffy sighed. "Let's make it 'fair,' then. We wouldn't want it too easy. No challenge, no fun."
Buffy nodded her head toward the adjoining cage as Dawn walked into it and picked up the gun.
Dawn cursed Jack, her love back in the mid 1700's for teaching her how to use a pistol. So, it didn't take her too long to figure out how to open the chamber and dumped the bullets onto the floor. Then she returned it to Winsloe and handed him the empty gun.
"What the hell am I supposed to do with this?" he said.
Clay shook his head. "I thought this guy was supposed to be bright. Let's think about this. We need to Change forms to hunt you. That means we'll be occupied for a while. We're not going to leave you with a loaded gun so you can shoot us while we're Changing."
"You could find us and beat us over the head with the empty pistol," Buffy said. "But I wouldn't recommend it. We'll take turns Changing. If you come near us, we'll kill you. While we're busy, you'll have time to do something. How much time? Well, I'm not going to tell you that. What I will tell you is that you have time to do something. You can run for your life. Or you can go back into the compound and find ammo for that gun. Or you can race to the nearest equipment locker and try to spring the lock. Or you can head for the garage and see if you can get one of the disabled vehicles running."
"There," Clay said. "We spelled it out for you. Fair enough?"
Winsloe stood eye to eye with Clay. "Twenty million."
"Twenty seconds," Clay said.
"Twenty-five mil—"
"Nineteen seconds."
Winsloe set his jaw, looked from Clay, to Dawn and finally to Buffy, then stalked from the kennel.
"He's taking this remarkably well," Buffy said when Winsloe was gone.
"Disappointed, Buffy?" Clay asked.
"I must admit, I had hoped he'd piss his pants," Buffy said. "But this isn't so bad. At least he'll try. More challenge."
Clay grinned. "More fun."
They weren't stupid enough to Change in the kennel. They went outside and found a clearing about fifty feet into the forest. Clay Changed first while Dawn stood guard. Then it was Dawn's turn and finally Buffy's. When they had finished, they returned to the kennel, where Buffy and Dawn picked up Winsloe's scent and followed it.
Winsloe hadn't returned to the compound. Nor had he tried the garage. He'd gone straight into the woods, either running for his life or entertaining the pitiable hope that he could jimmy the lock on an equipment shed before they caught up with him. Worse yet—at least, worse for Winsloe—he'd taken the main path. Had he cut his own trail through the undergrowth; he'd have slowed them down. On the wide path, they could run full-out, side by side. Which they did. There was little need for caution. With only an empty pistol, the worst Winsloe could do was hide in the bushes and pitch it at them as they raced past. Not exactly cause for grave concern.
They passed the lookout tower. Halfway to release point two Buffy and Dawn caught a whiff of metal. Their memories looped through that initial hunt with Lake, and they remembered the next landmark: an equipment locker. So that was Winsloe's plan? Unless he had lock picks handy, he was in for a big surprise. And they were in for a very short hunt.
Buffy and Dawn rounded the corner and saw the locker ahead. No sign of Winsloe. Had he given up and run? As they drew closer to the shed, they noticed something on the ground. Night-vision goggles. Beside them, a carton of ammunition. And binoculars. Buffy and Dawn skidded to a halt. The locker doors were open. Sunlight glinted off a metal key in the lock. Winsloe had a key all along, or he'd known where to find one. Now he was armed with god knows what kind of artillery.
As the sisters stared at the mess, Clay slammed against their shoulders, knocking them into the bushes. A round of gunfire shattered the silence. Clay prodded them farther into the undergrowth. When Dawn didn't move fast enough, he bit her haunch. The sisters scrambled into the bushes, belly scraping the ground. Clay followed. Another round of automatic gunfire showered bullets in a wide arc far above their heads. Wherever he was hiding, Winsloe couldn't see them and was aiming by sound alone. They slowed to a crawl, slinking noiselessly through the brush. When they were out of range, Buffy and Dawn found a thicket and stopped. Clay crept in behind them. He snuffled along their flanks, up to their necks, sniffing for blood. When he finished, Dawn checked him over. They'd all escaped unscathed … so far. How many guns did Winsloe have now? How much ammo? Any grenades or other surprises?
They huddled in the thicket, not so much hiding as staying still and safe while they pinpointed Winsloe's location. After a few minutes, Clay nudged Dawn's shoulder and pointed his muzzle northeast. Dawn lifted her nose, but the wind blew from the south. Clay flicked his ears. Listen, don't sniff. Dawn closed her eyes, concentrated, and heard a faint shuffling, the sound of fabric rubbing against fabric. Dawn then nudged Buffy and then flicked her ears. Buffy nodded as she listened and heard the sound of fabric rubbing against fabric.
Winsloe was northeast, at least a hundred feet away, back by the equipment locker. Judging from the sound, he was arranging his equipment or shifting to a better vantage position, but staying close to one spot. Good. Dawn indicated to Clay that they should split up and circle around. He snorted softly and eased from the thicket. By the time Buffy and Dawn got out, he was gone.
From Clay's scent, Buffy and Dawn could tell he'd gone left, so they went right. Giving Winsloe a wide berth, they crept through the bush until they calculated they were directly north of him. Then they slowed, slunk down, and crept south. Now the wind was in their favor, blowing Winsloe's scent into their nostrils with each breath.
Another twenty feet brought the sisters close enough to see flashes of Winsloe's gray jacket as he moved. Hunkering down, the sisters sniffed for Clay and found his scent. Homing in on it, they squinted through the trees and picked up the faint sparkle of gold fur against the drab undergrowth. Clay was closer to Winsloe than the sisters were, so they slid forward until they'd made up the difference. Now they could poke their muzzle through the brush and see Winsloe clearly. He was crouched in a clearing, hands wrapped around a large automatic weapon, eyes darting from left to right. As the sisters watched, he shifted position, turning south, surveying the forest, then rotating north and checking from that viewpoint, never leaving his back to any direction for long. As he moved, Buffy and Dawn scanned his clearing for weapons but could see only the gun. They were sure he had more, likely hidden in or under his jacket.
As the sisters watched, they heard a soft growl to their left. It was Clay, warning them he was there. As Buffy and Dawn turned, he stepped through the last stand of trees between them. This was not part of the plan. Buffy and Dawn huffed and glowered at him. He shook his head. With one look, they knew what he meant. The game was over. Winsloe was heavily armed, tipping the odds too far in his favor. Time for a quick kill. Clay made a circling motion with his muzzle, then jerked it toward Winsloe. Again, they understood. They use the usual routine, boring but reliable. Clay would circle south again. Buffy and Dawn would scare Winsloe and drive him into Clay's waiting jaws. Buffy and Dawn exhaled a canine sigh and lay down to wait until Clay got into position. But he didn't leave. Instead he prodded Buffy and Dawn to their feet and motioned from Winsloe to them. Ah, a change in routine. Clay would roust Winsloe from the south and drive him into the sisters waiting jaws.
Clay disappeared into the forest. Buffy and Dawn tracked the whisper of his footfalls. When he was partway around Winsloe's hiding place, Winsloe suddenly stood. Buffy and Dawn froze. Had he heard Clay? Tensing for the attack, they listened. All they heard were the normal chirps and rustles of the forest. Still, if Winsloe so much as pointed that gun in Clay's direction, They'd be through the bushes in a second, caution be damned. Winsloe straightened, rolled his shoulders in a stretch, then looked up into the trees, craning his neck and surveying the sky. Was Clay in position yet? If so, this would be the perfect time to attack. But Buffy and Dawn didn't smell Clay on the breeze, so he must still be working his way south. Damn! Winsloe rubbed the back of his neck, then checked his gun, gave a last look around, and stepped from the clearing, heading west.
Buffy and Dawn edged closer to the now-vacant clearing. When they reached the perimeter, they saw Clay on the southeast side, partially hidden in the bushes. Noticing the sisters, he pulled back and vanished. Seconds later, he reappeared at their side. They looked at him. Now what? Their quarry was on the move. Scaring him and steering him in the proper direction would be ten times more difficult. An ambush would be their best bet, but that meant circling in front of Winsloe, conjecturing his path, and finding a well-hidden place to lie in wait. Difficult enough when they knew the terrain, near-suicidal when they didn't. From the look in Clay's eyes, he couldn't think up a decent plan either. Finally, he snorted, brushed against the sisters, then headed in Winsloe's direction. They'd wing it.
They emerged from the clearing into a thick stand of forest. Ahead, Winsloe's jacket bobbed among the trees. Moving carefully to avoid noisy piles of dead leaves, they crept after him. He didn't turn. He was moving fast. As they picked up speed, the forest thinned. Late afternoon sunlight pierced the thick canopy overhead, speckling the ground with ever-widening pools of light. The forest was ending. They broke into a slow lope. Winsloe disappeared in a flood of sunlight. A clearing. A big clearing. Buffy and Dawn sniffed the air. Water. They were coming to the river. Buffy and Dawn glanced at Clay. He grunted, telling them he smelled the water and wasn't concerned. Did Winsloe think he could lose them in the river? Swim away or douse his trail? It wouldn't work. They could swim just fine, doubtless much better than Winsloe. As for losing his trail, it was true that they couldn't track him through water, but they were so close that it didn't matter. Even if they lost sight of him, Buffy and Dawn could pick up his scent in the air.
Winsloe walked to the water's edge, stopped, and wheeled fast, flourishing his gun. Seeing nothing behind him, he turned to the river, looked up and down it, and then began pacing the bank. Clay snorted impatiently. So long as Winsloe was thirty feet from the forest's edge, they didn't dare move closer or he'd have time to shoot before they brought him down. If he waded in and started walking, they could move alongside him, staying in the trees until the forest weaved nearer to the river-bank, bringing them close enough to attack.
Winsloe finally stopped pacing. He stood at the foot of a huge oak, tilted his head back, and shaded his eyes to look up at it. Then he grasped the lowest branch and gave an experimental tug. As he slung the gun over his shoulder, Clay shot from the forest. Winsloe didn't notice. With his back to them, he grabbed the branch again and hauled himself up. It was then that Buffy and Dawn realized what Winsloe was doing. Climbing the tree. By the time the sisters leaped from their hiding place, Winsloe was ten feet off the ground. Still running, Clay crouched and sprang. Only then did Winsloe see him. He glanced over his shoulder a split second before Clay's teeth sunk into his knee. Winsloe howled. He kicked with his free leg, knocking Clay in the side of the skull. Clay hung on. Blood sprayed his muzzle as Winsloe flailed, shouting and fighting to keep his hold on the tree. Buffy and Dawn were still several yards away, running full-out. They could see deep furrows in Winsloe's calf where Clay's teeth had ripped through his leg clear to the bone. As the flesh tore, Clay began losing his grip. He danced on his hindlegs, not daring to release Winsloe long enough to get a fresh hold. Buffy and Dawn covered the last few feet and Dawn leaped at Winsloe's free leg. He kicked at exactly the right moment, catching Dawn in the eye. She yelped and fell back. Buffy was about to leap when Clay's grasp slipped to Winsloe's shoe which slid off and Clay tumbled backward. Winsloe swung his legs out of reach, scrambled to the next branch, and grabbed his gun. They bolted. A round of gunfire rang out, but we were well clear, hidden in the forest again.
They stopped behind a thick stand of trees. Clay motioned for the sisters to stay put, then turned and headed back for a better look at the situation. They didn't follow, not because Clay had told them not to but because it was safer for only one of them to venture out.
Winsloe climbing a tree posed a problem. A big problem. Next time, they'd be a lot more careful about asking for a challenge. Dawn and Buffy knew Winsloe was smart, but they hadn't expected him to keep so cool under pressure. Given what they'd seen of Winsloe they'd thought he'd panic when he realized his life was in danger. Maybe he didn't think it was. Maybe this was all still a game to him. Unfortunately for them, it was a game he was winning.
The forest exploded in a flurry of gunfire. Buffy and Dawn bolted from their hiding place, then stopped in mid-run. They shouldn't go out there. They were safer here. Clay was safer with them here. But what had happened? Was Winsloe shooting blindly? Or had he seen Clay?
Another rapid-fire round of shots. Then silence. Buffy and Dawn stood there and listened. Dawn cursed for using up all her magical energy. She could really have used that telepathy spell now. When Winsloe fired again, Buffy noticed that Dawn nearly jumped out of her hide. Dawn nudged her sister who nodded and they barreled down the incline toward the river clearing. More shots. They stopped on the edge of the clearing, hunkered down, and crept forward until they could see what was happening. Ahead was the old oak with Winsloe perched twenty feet up, squinting south, gun poised. Other than that, the clearing was empty. Empty and quiet. Suddenly a crackling of leaves broke the silence. Buffy and Dawn swung their heads north. A flash of gold darted through the trees. Winsloe turned and fired, shooting at the noise. Clay was long gone. A waste of bullets. Buffy and Dawn realized that was the idea. Get Winsloe to empty his gun firing at phantasms. A good plan.
Dawn considered retreating to her hiding place, but couldn't do it. She knew it would be safer to let Clay do this alone, but she'd go crazy with worry if she couldn't see what was happening. Buffy knew her sister's thinking and didn't move either. Dawn was safer with her just as Clay was safer with them. Before long, Clay smelled them there. He came over and tried to prod the sisters deeper into the woods, but they wouldn't budge. They lay down, put their heads on their front paws, and stared into the clearing. He got the idea. Dawn needed to watch, to be sure he was safe. And Buffy needed to watch Dawn to make sure her sister was safe.
Clay knew that Buffy cared for him but he also knew for her family was more important than the Pack. It's why except for the times he and Dawn were alone she always hunted with her sister.
He quickly nuzzled them both, the grabbed the backs of their necks in turns in his jaws, not biting but pinning their heads, telling them to stay here and stay down. They grunted their assent. He brushed his muzzle against Dawn's, and then disappeared into the forest.
Winsloe emptied his automatic quickly, going through several reloads of ammunition. Then he pulled a pistol from under his jacket. He was more careful now, less willing to waste bullets on mere noises in the woods. So Clay had to be more daring. At first, he'd only come near the edge of the clearing, allowing Winsloe to see a flash of fur. Eventually, though, even that didn't work and he had to dart into the open. By that point, Dawn's eyes were firmly closed. Buffy nuzzled her sister comfortingly as they waited. Eventually, though, it was over. The last shot was fired. After several minutes, Clay slipped from the forest. He stood there, in plain view, muscles tensed, and waited. Winsloe threw the empty pistol at him and cursed. Clay walked closer, slowly, presenting the perfect target if Winsloe should have another weapon stashed under his jacket. Nothing. Winsloe was done.
Now Dawn had a plan. She sent out a telepathic thought to Buffy of just one word, "Change." Buffy crept farther into the forest, found a likely spot, and started her Change.
Less than ten minutes later, Buffy walked to the edge of the clearing and whistled. Winsloe's head shot up and he scanned the forest.
"Hear that?" he called to Clay. "Someone's coming. Guess you didn't kill every guard after all."
He leaned over the tree branch and peered down, but Clay was gone. Seconds later, Clay and Dawn burst through the forest perimeter and looked up at Buffy as if to say we're ready.
Buffy headed for the oak tree. By the time she emerged from the forest, Winsloe had climbed partway down, staying a dozen feet from the ground, obviously thinking Clay had run away but not willing to descend completely until help arrived. When he heard Buffy coming, he called, "Over here!"—then saw who it was. Disappointment flitted across his face. Not fear, just disappointment. Seeing Clay and Dawn at her side, he climbed to the next branch.
"How long you planning to stay up there?" Buffy called.
"As long as it takes." His eyes flickered over my naked body, and he managed a humorless smile. "Hoping to entice me down?"
"If I could stomach the thought of seducing you, I'd have done it while Dawn and I were trapped in that cell," Buffy said.
His mouth tightened. Even treed by three werewolves, Winsloe was more concerned about his pride than his life. Buffy walked to the base of the tree and grabbed the bottom branch. He only watched her. It was still a game to him.
Buffy swung onto the first branch. He climbed higher. She went to the next branch. So, did he. Beneath them, Dawn and Clay circled the tree. Ten more feet up and Winsloe's stockinged foot slipped. The branch he held gave way and he grabbed the tree trunk for support. After steadying himself, he squinted at the remaining branches above.
"They won't hold your weight," Buffy said. "But don't take my word for it."
He didn't. He grabbed a branch and tugged. It snapped in his hand. He hesitated, then lowered himself onto the branch under his feet until he was sitting on it. When Buffy got close enough, he kicked at her. As if she wouldn't see that one coming. She ducked easily and Buffy seized his injured leg. He gasped and jerked back, nearly tumbling off the branch.
"You want to fight me, go ahead," Buffy said as she climbed onto his branch. "But you'd better have a spare gun under that jacket if you hope to win."
He said nothing. Buffy teetered on the branch, getting her balance. Winsloe sat still, as if resigned to this. Then his hand shot out and smacked her ankle. She grabbed the limb overhead and steadied herself. The branch beneath them swayed.
"Don't be doing that," Buffy said. "If this branch breaks, I can jump to the ground. Even if you survive the fall, you won't survive what's waiting at the bottom."
Winsloe muttered something and made a move to settle, then slammed both hands into Buffy's calf. She grabbed his collar, hauled him to his feet, and smashed him backward into the tree trunk.
"You want to fight?" Buffy said. "Okay, let's fight."
He didn't move. His gaze flicked down. Buffy whacked his head against the tree.
"Thinking of knocking my legs out from under me? Don't bother. You do and we both fall. Now, in case you hadn't noticed, I'm not trying to kill you. In fact, I haven't laid an unprovoked hand on you, have I?" Buffy said.
A glimmer of cunning lit his eyes. "You want to negotiate."
"Maybe," Buffy said.
"Fifteen million."
"I thought we were up to twenty-five?" Buffy asked.
"Twenty then."
"Oh, so that's how it works? Once I show some interest, the offer goes down. A true businessman," Buffy said.
His mouth tightened. "Fine. Twenty-five."
Buffy pretended to consider it. "As I said before Dawn and I don't need money. We have enough. And even if we did need money, Jeremy provides more than we ever would need. Wanting more on top of that would be greedy."
"Thirty million."
Buffy grabbed him by the shirt collar and swung him over the side. His feet scrambled for purchase, finding only air. She shifted sideways and rested her back against the tree. When he clawed at her, she thrust him out to arm's length.
"Offer me more," Buffy said.
His mouth tightened. Buffy let him slip to her fingertips. He flailed, all four limbs jerking, convulsing, lashing out. She started to release her grip.
"Fifty million," he said.
"Not enough." Buffy let him slip another half-inch. "Offer me everything."
"What?!"
Buffy released one hand from his shirtfront.
"Okay, okay! Fine!"
Buffy grabbed and steadied him. He gulped air, then cast a surreptitious glance at the ground and shuddered.
"Let's clarify that," Buffy said. "What exactly are you offering?"
"My estate. All of it."
"Your personal estate? Not good enough. I want your business holdings, too. Every dollar, every share, every last thing you own. Offer me that," Buffy said.
"Wh—what would I live on?"
"Start over," Buffy said. "You're a smart guy. You could make a living. At least you'll be alive. That's more than we can say for Lake and Bryce, isn't it?"
"I'll give you my holdings in everything but Promethean Fire."
Buffy let go. He shrieked, arms windmilling. Before he fell, she grabbed him by the shirtfront, hauled him up, and bent over him.
"Wanna try again?" Buffy said.
His shirt tore, just an inch, but the sound ripped through the silence like a chainsaw.
"All of it," he said. "Goddamn you. Take it all."
"'Cause nothing's worse than dying, right?" Buffy asked. "Tell me, Ty, what would you have done if Armen Haig had made you the same offer? Promised you everything he had? Would you have let him live?"
Winsloe's shirt tore another inch. He stared at Buffy, wild-eyed, lips moving soundlessly.
"Let me answer that for you, Ty," Buffy said. "It's 'no.' He could have offered you millions and you still would have killed him. Why? Because his death was worth more than all the money he could give. The few seconds of amusement his death offered was worth more."
"Please," he said. "Please, I'm going to—"
"Fall?" Buffy said. "Hah. Too easy. You fall. Clay or Dawn rips your throat out. Game over."
"It's not a fucking game!"
Buffy cupped her hand behind her ear. "What's that, Ty? I think I misheard you."
"I said this isn't a fucking game. It's my life!"
"No, it's your death," Buffy said. "Hey, there's an idea. Not a game, but a game show. This Is Your Death. Let's cross it with, Let's Make a Deal." She pulled him back onto the branch and helped him get his balance. Buffy kept her hands wrapped in his shirtfront.
"You—you want to negotiate." Winsloe said as wiped sweat from his face and swallowed loudly. "Okay. Good. Let's negotiate."
"Negotiate? Hell, no. We're making a deal regarding the method of your execution, Ty. You're going to die. That's a given. The only question is how?" Buffy said.
"N—no. No. Wait. Let's talk—"
"About what?" Buffy wondered. "You've already offered me everything you own. You have nothing else to offer, do you?"
He stared, mouth working soundlessly.
"You've offered everything," Buffy said. "I rejected that offer. So, you're going to die. Why? Because I finally see your point of view. You've convinced me. Watching someone die can be worth more than all the money in the world."
His face drained of blood, mouth opening and closing like a fish on land.
"Behind door number one we have the most obvious choice. You fall from this tree. Only I'll make sure Dawn and Clay don't kill you," Buffy said. "And I won't drop you, I'll throw you. Hard enough to break every limb, but not hard enough to kill you. Then I'll gag you and leave you to die, slowly and painfully. Behind door number two—"
"No," he said, his voice nearly inaudible. "No. Don't—"
"Hey, we're just getting warmed up," Buffy said. "You know what I admire most about you, Ty? Your creativity. Your ingenuity. Like giving Dawn and I the choice between killing Armen or being gang-raped. You've inspired me to new heights of creativity, so shut up and listen. Option two. Remember that video you saw of me fighting Lake? The one where I changed my hand into a claw? Cool trick, huh? Well, here's my idea. I change my hand and slice open your guts. Not a lot, maybe pull out a bit of intestine, start a steady blood drip. You know what they say about gunshot wounds? The gut shot is the absolute worst. Takes forever to die and hurts like the fires of Hell. Which, if you ask me, would be a good precursor to what you can expect from your eternity. I kind of like that one. Very appropriate. To hell with the game, I'm going for this one."
Buffy pressed her hand against his stomach. He convulsed and a strong, acrid scent wafted up. She looked down to see a wet stain spreading down his pant leg. "Shit, Ty. I was only kidding." she waved her hand in front of him.
"Stop it," he whispered. "Just stop—"
"Can't. You remember Let's Make a Deal, don't you? You probably seen it as a kid," Buffy said. "Dawn and I saw it too. There's a door number three left. And behind this one we have … hmmm." She looked around, then caught a glimpse of something overhead. "There. See that bird flying to the east? Know what that is? A turkey vulture. Also known as a buzzard. A scavenger. That will be the last choice. Death by scavenger. I take you down from this tree and we stake you out on the ground. Then I slice you up. Lots of little, nonlethal slices, just enough to draw blood. Before long, you'll get a firsthand view of every scavenger in these woods. Oh, and I'll need to cut out your tongue so you can't scream. A definite sadistic improvement over gagging, don't you think? You should be proud of me, Ty. I'm your star pupil. Oh, speaking of pupils, I won't blindfold you. That way you can see the vultures and stray dogs as they feed on you. Well, until the vultures take your eyes—"
"Stop!" His voice rose, nearly shrill. "I know what you're doing. You want me to beg for my life. To offer you more."
"What more? You've offered everything, Ty. And I said no," Buffy said.
His eyes rolled, rabid with fear and denial. "No. You won't kill me. I'm worth too much."
"You're worth nothing. Only your death is worth something to me," Buffy said.
"No! You won't do it. I know you won't. You said as the Slayer you protect humans from supernatural threats. You won't kill me. You just want to scare me, but you'd never—"
"Never?" Buffy said.
"You don't have it in you."
"Option one, two, or three. Pick now," Buffy said.
"You're torturing me. That's all. You only want to see me squirm. You don't have it—"
Buffy grabbed him by the throat and hauled him off his feet. Then she pressed her face against his. "Don't tell me what I don't have in me. For what you did to my daughter you deserve death."
"Daughter?" Winsloe said confused.
"Savannah is my daughter. She was adopted by Eve. You killed her adopted mother and then threatened to kill me and Dawn if we didn't play your games, taking the only family she had left from her." She growled. She saw the terror in his eyes and drank it in. Then she let him go. Dawn and Clay tore into him before his body hit the ground.