Spike
 
 

She was right. It must've have something to do with the islands—all that self-righteous peacocking was enough to drive a regular bloke off the bend—that is if I was a regular bloke.

But me being a demon and having lots of practice of tuning out the diddles of morality with my sire, I easily let it go and instead found myself answering the call of my blood—starting with her neck.

It was just so damned enticing. Her skin was so soft to the touch that I just had to touch it—with my fingers and lips. And her scent! A wonderful combination of lilacs and strawberries that just increased my desire for her.

He hadn't even turned the corner before I found myself enjoying the sweet taste of her salty, hot skin as her pulse throbbed invitingly against my tongue.

Pulling her against me—my erection hard against her buttocks—I growled in her skin.

Gods, I wanted her now.

Small whimpers escaped her lips as she sagged against my arms. Grinning, I felt my fangs elongate and scraped them against her skin, careful not to break any skin, but clearly letting her know my intentions.

"Spike…" she moaned out my name as she lifted her arms and hooked them behind my neck—leaving her body open to my pursuit. "…apartment…a mile from here…"

"Hmm, pet?" I asked as I dropped one down and cupped her sex through her jeans as the other moved upwards and teased her hard nipples that were visible through shirt. Feeling like the demon I was, I slowly unzipped her jeans and managed to squirm a finger underneath her underwear to her hot, wet cunt. She moaned, squirming against me. "Like that, pet? Want more?"

"Yeessss," she whispered breathlessly. "Apartment now!"

Chuckling, I withdrew my hand and zipped up her pants and then smoothed down the front of her shirt. Kissing her once more on the neck, I gently pushed her back and grabbed her coat off the ground where she had dropped it so carelessly minutes before.

It wasn't until it was in my hands, did I realize it was much heavier than a trench coat should be. Something was in it—weighing it down. Curious, I opened it and nearly dropped it when I saw what looked like a sword in a handmade sheath sewn in the inside of the cloth. I looked up at her to see her watching me—fear and apprehension apparent on her face.

"Willow, what's this?" I asked as I pulled the weapon out of its holder. A small, lightweight sword came into view. It reminded me of the one that the Slayer used to fight Angelus with during the time of Acathla, right before she sent the prick to hell. I carefully touched the edge and was surprised to feel how sharp it was. It also appeared to be as deadly as hers was as well.

She took a deep breath, her eyes clouded with pain and shrugged. "Vampires have slayers and Immortals have other Immortals," she whispered as she held out her hand for her weapon. Reluctantly, I gave it back to her and watched as she held it with ease and familiarity as she waited for her coat.

Passing it over to her, I knew that this—not just the Immortality—was the reason for the pain in her eyes.

And I wanted to know why.

Willow

Spike always seemed to bring out a whole myriad of emotions in me. When he kidnapped Xander and I for that love spell, and he buried his head in the crook of my neck, I found myself wanting him, fearing him, hating him and standing up to him all at the same time.

Apparently, not much has changed in nine years.

One minute, he played my body as if it were a fine instrument, making me putty in his arms and nearly coming from the experience…

…And the next, I felt all my defenses raise and I was just seconds from walking away from him…forever.

All because of fear.

Not the same type of fear that plagued my life those last five years living on the Hellmouth, but the other kind—one that I was on a much more intimate basis with—the fear of rejection.

Earlier, I had told Spike that I left Sunnydale without a word because of my Immortality and how all my dreams died with my First Death. As I stood there, watching him wait for me to explain why I carry around an antique sword in my coat, I realized that wasn't the whole truth.

Before Buffy came to Sunnydale, I had two friends: Jesse and Xander. The same friends that I had most of my life. They knew me as shy, meek, loving Willow: the smart one, the gentle one, the caring one. And with Buffy's arrival and friendship, not much of that label changed—just a few more titles got added on to my persona: the witch girl, the watcher-in-training girl. But those first descriptions remained with me until my First Death. With the exception of my anger and resentment towards Faith, nothing I ever did change that fact.

The Willow of Sunnydale barely had the heart to dust vampires much less kill anyone with a soul.

And I condemned Faith for doing just that, when it was apparent that her killing the mayor's assistant was just a horrible mistake.

But now, here I was seven years older and now a killer.

I had the blood of ten Immortal's on my hands—

And that sword was representative of everything I despised about Immortality.

It made me into a killer.

And goddess, I hated it and had yet to come to terms with it and here was Spike standing in front of me—demanding an answer.

Spike, who only knew of the kind and gentle Willow of the Hellmouth; not me—the killer.

"Pet?"

My eyes shut as I heard the ten heads fall to the ground in my mind.

I took a deep breath and looked up at him. His pale chiseled face now sodden with both impatience and worry.

He, William the Bloody, a killer long before becoming a demon—and yet a demon that could love like few others of his kind could.

Would he understand?

The logical, intellectual part of me knew he would, but my heart was filled with such doubt. That old adage, 'how can anyone love you if you can't love yourself' flittered through my mind and found myself inwardly laughing at the absurdity of it all—worrying if a demon could accept a killer—and wondered if I'd ever find my voice again…
 

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