1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 |12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41 | 42 | 43
Annie
She walked after a moment’s hesitation up the staircase leading up to the second floor.
The thick rug under her feet enabling her to easily move stealthily, hardly making a sound as she carefully made her way through the dark hallway, the moon shining in through large French windows to her right. She made sure to check that nobody was following her and when she figured the coast was clear she slowed down a little, starting to relax.
She could feel him close… But she didn’t know where he was.
Her heart was beating hard in her chest and she tried to get rid of the sudden anticipation her body was gearing into.
Maybe I should just head back, she thought, her heart beating even harder in silent protest. God, what the hell am I doing?
The pictures of him with all the girls she had seen him talking to during the course of the evening blinded her for a moment and she felt a gush of the good old craving for him blow through her.
Him touching her, telling her that he still needed her…
She tried to shake it, once more telling herself to just go back down, asking herself exactly what good would come out of her seeing him in the…mood she was in?
Then a hand grabbed her left hand and pulled her in through a door she hadn’t even noticed opening. She raised her right hand to hit who ever was pulling her but another hand easily took the blow and then his voice:
“Buffy.”
The shivers started immediately this time and she swallowed hard as she whispered:
“Spike?”
“Who the hell did you think it was?” he asked as he closed the door.
Her eyes were getting used to the dark now and she could see his silhouette clearly.
“Well, I might have been expecting one of those eight helpers this evoker is supposed to have,” she said, trying to sound sarcastic but not really being able to.
He took a step forward and she started to feel like she had trouble breathing.
“Did I scare you then?” he asked, she recognized the tone in his voice, the smugness in it made her smile a little, her legs starting to feel like they could actually carry her as she turned from him.
“Always,” she mumbled, thinking of how scared of HERSELF he managed to make her.
Suddenly the room was lit up and she turned to him again, blinking in the sudden light. He was standing by the bedside table, his hand still on the knob for the carrageen lamp. Then he retrieved it and straightened his back, looking at her as she looked back.
He had taken off his frock coat, waistcoat and tie and the traditional hat and gloves were thrown on the heap. He looked absolutely irresistible.
She clenched her jaws together as her heart started picking up its pace again, feeling her mouth go dry and her breathing start to get unsteady.
Dammit, this is NOT good, she grumbled in her head, tearing her eyes from his and turning from him.
“I… I managed to find out some things about lord Hart,” she said, walking slowly up to the chest of drawers in front of her to pick among the small frames collected on top of it.
He didn’t say anything and she didn’t want to turn and have to look at him again and so she continued:
“This really nice old man, who has known the good old lord for, like, ever…Eh, he said that lord Hart has started collecting urns, if you can believe that,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady but it proving difficult as she had some trouble breathing properly. “Well, of course you can BELIEVE it, I mean, it’s not like it’s something really REALLY weird or anything, but I… I just don’t know if… Well, it might be important and Sarah thinks that you and me… that we should…”
“That we should what?” his voice asked quietly behind her and she closed her eyes, trying to get some moisture into her mouth but this proving to be even harder than keeping her voice calm.
“Look into it… tomorrow,” she said, still refusing to turn to him.
“Well, I’ve heard some stuff too,” he said, she could hear him sit down on the bed. “It’s about a rumor going around that the lord not only has a ‘thing’ for young women but that he likes to watch them bleed… I don’t want you to see him tonight.”
The calm statement made her open her eyes, taking a shaky breath she said:
“I HAVE to see him tonight. I don’t want him to get suspicious, it’s the last thing we need. Besides, I’ve dealt with worse.”
He got up again, she knew he was going to protest more and she felt like she would give in the moment she heard his voice again and so she turned to him, shaking her head slowly.
“William,” she said, and he looked at her, a little surprised, her own eyes growing slightly. “I-I mean, Spike. I mean…”
He took a step forward and she tried to take one back, her shoulder hitting the chest of drawers and making some of the frames fall over.
“I’m going to see him, and you KNOW that I can deal with him, Spike,” she said and he frowned, shaking his head.
“I don’t WANT you to SEE him,” he repeated, the sudden anguish in his voice hard to bear.
She furrowed her brow a little:
“It’s not up to you to decide,” she said, trying desperately not to look into his eyes, not to see the pain in them.
Then a flame of anger started up and he turned away from her.
“No, it never was, was it?” he asked and she sighed, looking at his back she stated:
“It’s NEVER been anybody’s but my own.”
He turned around, looked at her for a moment and then suddenly smiled. She felt her knees buckle and took a step forward.
“I need to go,” she mumbled, now starting towards the door, brushing past him as she went.
“Buffy…”
“God, Spike, don’t,” she said, turning the doorknob.
But then his hand was on hers and she closed her eyes as he shut the door again.
She tried to draw a breath but it was as shaky as its predecessors and she almost moaned as he slowly turned her around to face him.
“What?” she asked in a voice close to a whisper, not able to resist meeting his gaze.
“I can’t stand it,” he murmured and she felt everything but his voice start to melt away.
“What?” she asked again and he stepped into her, her heart practically beating its way through her ribcage as she felt his body press against hers.
“The thought…of him and you…” he mumbled and she leaned her head back against the door to look up at him.
“Spike…” she breathed, her eyes wandering to his mouth for a moment, then back. “Spike…please!”
He held her gaze with his own before gently asking:
“What are you begging of me…?”
Time stood still for just a moment and then he leaned closer and his mouth found hers.
His tongue parted her lips easily as she didn’t fight it, couldn’t fight it anymore. Her hands traveled up his neck and buried themselves in his hair as she pulled his mouth harder, closer onto her own; the sensation of his kiss, his mouth, his lips, his tongue completely swallowing her and she felt a wave of heat shoot through her as her hands slid out of his hair and down his chest, the muscles hard underneath her fingers. She hardly thought about what she was doing before she was opening his shirt up, letting her hands roam free on the cool landscape beneath it.
She felt his hands on her back, pressing her body against his, and she felt the taste of him fill her mouth.
He couldn’t really grasp the fact that she was letting it go, letting the restrictions slide. But the small groans rising out of her throat as he kissed her and let his hands master her body only encouraged him further.
“I’ve missed you,” he breathed into her mouth and she kissed him again, bidding him to let his tongue rule her.
Then she pulled her lips away, slowly bending down and running her mouth across his bared chest.
Spike closed his eyes; the feel of her lips against his skin was more intense than it had ever been. He slid his hands into her hair as she pulled up again, his eyes locking in hers, he could tell that she could read the question in them.
She answered it by pulling his face close again, parting her lips to his and once more letting it be filled by his taste and the feeling of his tongue playing with her own.
His hands were unbuttoning her dress. Her whole body was screaming for him to do it quicker.
“Buffy,” he moaned, lips still to hers, as his hands finally slid inside the fabric of it and caressed the skin of her back.
Now she kissed him, passionately, and her hands were tugging at his shirt, tucked inside the hem of his pants. Finally she got it off him and she pulled him close again as he slid the dress off her shoulders, the low-cut under dress beneath it stubbornly staying up. He didn’t care.
“God, you’re so beautiful,” he murmured, bending down to kiss her collarbone.
She leaned her head back, feeling so relaxed and still so on the edge, a place where only he had ever brought her, as his lips journeyed back to her mouth.
The dress slid to the floor at her feet and she kicked it away impatiently before starting to work on his trousers. They were an easier task and soon they came off as well. Then his strong arms grabbed a hold of her and lifted her up against the door, the skirt of the under dress pulling up and gathering above her thighs, her legs wrapping around his slim waist.
I love the way he kisses me, I love the way he feels, she thought hazily as his tongue once more plunged into her mouth and her hands and arms clung to him.
Then, suddenly, he stopped. Slowly removing his lips from hers and looking concentrated he sat her down again.
She stared at him, confused and still lost in her own emotions.
“Someone’s coming,” he whispered, just as suddenly pulling her close again, kissing her deeply before letting her go. “Get dressed.”
She watched him bend down and gather up his clothes, throwing them on the bed before turning to her.
Her hair was a mess and the glow still remaining in her eyes reminded him of the unsatisfied need within himself.
Buffy slowly started coming down from the place where he had brought her with his touch and his lips, her head started thinking coherent thoughts again. What had she done?
“Oh, God…” she mumbled and she saw his face go from hesitantly waiting to starting to harden.
The small hope that she had seen in his eyes started to fade and she felt her heart twitch in her chest.
“You could say that again,” he said with a small smile, picking up his trousers and pulling them on.
She stared at him.
“Spike, I’m so sorry…” she mumbled and now he looked like she had hit him, then he shook it off, cocking an eyebrow at her and shrugging.
“Why?” he asked. “It’s not like I don’t have a brain, Slayer, even though it wasn’t doing much of the thinking in this case,” he added with a small smirk. “Don’t think more of it.”
She would have given anything to get the sudden emotionless resonance out of his voice, and the glassy look of his eyes almost frightened her to death.
He was throwing his frock coat over one shoulder, having put his shirt on lazily after buttoning the trousers and leaving the rest of the attire on the bed.
“But, Spike, I’m really just so sorry, I didn’t mean to…”
“You never do, do you, Slayer?” he asked and she swallowed as he walked up to her dress, still in a heap on the floor.
He picked it up and brought it over to her, his face expressionless and she almost felt tears start to rise in her eyes. He handed her dress to her with that small smile, this time it didn’t reach his eyes, then he said:
“Don’t be sorry, Buffy. For once, don’t be.”
Then he stepped around her, opened the door and left her standing with the awful feeling of irreversibly having wrecked something.
***
She was still standing still, breathing through shallow breaths and not thinking anything at all when she suddenly heard voices approaching and she turned down the light quickly before running to throw herself down behind the bed, her stiff under-dress tangling itself around her feet and making her almost fall.
She landed on the floor with a soft thud and started the struggle of getting her dress on while lying down.
She saw a light shine in through the still slightly opened door and she understood that the someone, who was still talking in a lowered voice, must have been carrying a candle. She didn’t recognize the voice and she could barely make out the words but as she was she didn’t care. As long as they didn’t choose the room she was in to finish their discussion she was satisfied.
Problem was, she wasn’t satisfied. And she felt like she would never feel satisfied again.
Maybe now she had finally learned her lesson, still… this time something had been different and she wasn’t completely sure what it was.
The way he had been touching her…maybe.
“It’s finished…no more of this” she mumbled as she slowly got to her feet, the look on his face as he had left the room penetrating her thoughts and she closed her eyes for a moment. “Dammit, it’s for the best,” she then grumbled, opening them and starting to look around for any kind of blanket or scarf to wrap over her shoulders.
She couldn’t possibly button all the tiny little buttons of the dress through their tiny little loops herself, and even though she would have liked to avoid Sarah and the explanation to why her dress was undone that the woman would surely demand, she knew she had no real choice in the matter.
She found a tattered old cotton scarf and didn’t really care what it looked like, wrapping it around herself all of a sudden feeling cold.
The scent of him was still surrounding her as she carefully opened the door, after making sure no one was around to see her she took a step outside. Who ever the persons had been who had walked past a few minutes earlier, they were nowhere to be seen now.
Her mind silently cursed them for interrupting her and…Spike, her heart twitched again, and then she shook her head at herself, starting to make her way back down the hallway the way she had come before and to the stairs.
She felt weak, every step bringing her forward felt surreal and she thought that she was going to fall when she took her first step down the stairs, steadying herself against the thick wooden railing and staring down at the hall below, overflowing with light, happiness and cheer.
She recoiled from it. She didn’t want it.
“I don’t belong there,” she mumbled to herself.
‘In the dark…with me.’
His voice from long ago so clear in her head.
“No,” she breathed, shaking her head a little. “I don’t belong with you either. I can’t belong with you… I belong with me…”
She turned around and took a step up again, turning her back on the ongoing feast and walking slowly into the shadows of the hallway, leaning her back against the wall and sliding down it to sit with her head resting against her knees.
“I can’t love him,” she whispered to herself. “I don’t love him…”
Then the tears came, and she couldn’t stop them.
***
He was running.
Moonlight lighting the path as he used all his senses to guide him towards his goal.
He wasn’t breaking a sweat; he didn’t have to stop to catch his breath.
He wasn’t breathing.
His eyes were on a keen lookout, but he could feel that he was all alone on the heaths and in the forests, with pardon for the animal inhabitants, of course.
He had stripped William off him the moment he stepped off the grounds of lord Harts estate.
This was it, this was it, this was the end, the line had been crossed and the demon roared with triumph. All of it had to go, all that had to do with her even if it was just a strand of hair lingering on his shoulder.
All that had to do with the feeling inside had to disappear.
Then, he knew, he would be able to kill it. When it was weakened, frustrated, starved and confused he would be able to strangle it out of him with the evil he knew he still possessed.
He stopped as the lights of London came into view. Then continued on until he was at the doorstep of Sarah and Jacob’s home.
He climbed up the wall easily, reaching his own bedroom window. Then, with even less effort, bending the window open and throwing a leg over the windowsill he looked through the darkness at what he had come for.
He stepped inside and walked up to the chair it had rested on since the night of their arrival.
He had missed it, he realized. It truly was a part of him now.
He couldn’t believe he had even wanted to take it off in the first place.
“Never again,” he said as he picked it up, his frock coat already abandoned in some ditch along the way, he couldn’t give a rat’s ass anyway.
He smiled a fanged smile as he pulled the black leather duster on, feeling the fit of it ease onto his back.
He turned his yellow eyes towards the window, all the scents of a time almost forgotten filling his nostrils as he walked up to it.
“Slayer,” he growled, the annoying strength of the feeling in his chest suddenly making it hard to breathe.
He shook it off as he climbed out of the window again.
It’s dark, he thought. It’s the time of the vampire! And yes, finally, it is time to hunt.
With that he headed back the roads and paths he had come, back to the glamour and guests at the estate.
The predator stalking his prey in the night.
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 |12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41 | 42 | 43