The lone figure stood in
the shadows of the school, his lean form
briefly illuminated by the flicker of a cigarette lighter. It had been
years
since he was last at this place. Almost too long.
The last time he was here
was with Drusilla, the woman he had been
in love with for over 100 years. *Crazy bint,* he thought. When they
had
been there, his sire, Angel, had lost his soul and become Angelus once
more,
returning to the duo and taking Drusilla from him. Well, there was
no chance
of that happening now. When Angelus had been given back his soul it
had been
made permanent, delighting the man's sire, but on the other hand sending
Drusilla over the edge. One day the stars had apparently told her to
go and
look outside, and she was dust before his brain could register that
it was
daytime.
An ear splitting scream shattered
his thoughts like shards of glass,
bringing the startled man back to reality. He whirled around, his long
leather coat flying behind him. His eyes narrowed as he tried to place
where
the scream had come from. He scanned the area, mentally cursing himself
for
coming back to where he wasn't wanted.
Breathing in large amounts
of unnecessary oxygen, he waited silently
for any other signs of life, of what had made the sound, of what had
caused
it. He sighed and took a drag from the cigarette, knowing that it was
pointless to wait for the creature - whatever it was - to appear.
Taking another look, he documented
how different the school looked
to when he was last in Sunnydale. It was in ruins, the rubble still
there
after however many years it had been. The residents had either been
to
scared to investigate why it was ruined, or too stupid to realise that
the
area could be used again. Dust no longer covered the grass nearby,
but the
school- or what was left of it- was thickly layered in it. The area
was lit
only by the full moon, hanging above, shining brightly through the
clouds
that scattered the sky. The entire scene was cold; uninviting; lonely.
Over the ten years that had
passed since he was last there, the
school had changed, but the man hadn't.
Aged a little over 150 years,
he was regarded in the eyes of many as
28. Only those trained to recognise the signs of the creatures that
lurked
in the night knew him for what he really was. A vampire. A vampire
that, in
his years of the dark side, had become one of the most feared ever,
by
mortals and demons alike. A tiny part of him regretted the terrible
things
he had done, but this vague feeling was overwhelmed by the force of
an urge
for blood.
Mentally shaking himself,
he dragged his mind back to the present to
join his body. He shrugged after hearing no further signs of life in
the
area, and continued to walk alongside the trees.
He descended the slight hill,
turning slightly to manoeuvre around a
particularly overgrown bush. He absently noted how the grass on either
side
of him had not been cut for at least a year, and how bright the full
moon
was.
He turned the gentle corner,
a familiar smell hitting his nostrils;
blood. He looked down to see the body of young woman at his feet, certainly
dead, having been so for at least an hour. Her matted hair hung down
in dark
brown curls, spoiled with splashes of deep red blood. Her partially
intact
clothing consisted of dark trousers and trainers, a simple blue shirt
and
white jacket. Fragments of material were shredded and scattered around
the
area surrounding her, tainted with blood. Pools of thick red liquid
seeped
from cuts and gashes on her corpse, spreading on the gravel terrain
below
them and onto the vampire's chunky boots. Knowing instinctively that
the
woman was not suffering from a lack of pulse due to a vampire attack,
as
there would have been no spilt blood, he tried to place the scent that
was
irritating him. It was familiar, and yet, peculiar. The creature that
had
initiated this attack was certainly not human, as no mortal could have
placed the savage and animalistic wounds on the young woman. This was
undoubtedly a demonic attack. All demons carried a certain odour, it
vaguely
wavered from each member of that species.
A howl echoed nearby. The
vampire looked sharply up to the sky. The
full moon. The howl. The mauling of the woman. Something registered
in the
man's brain. Werewolf.
Adopting a predatory stance,
the vampire re-spread his weight until
it was evenly balanced between both of his feet. He shifted to the
face of
his true nature. His canine teeth lengthened, becoming much sharper
and
prominent. Ridges formed on his forehead and his eyes glowed an intense
yellow. He crouched slightly, the moonlight reflecting off the white-blonde
of his hair, glinting from his fangs, making him look all the more
dangerous.
He moved swiftly, easily
making his steps silent, so as to take the
werewolf by surprise. Another scream reverberated across the district,
recognisable as the voice that had shrieked before. The vampire increased
the speed and length of his strides, stumbling to a halt as he realised
that
the path gave way to a sheer drop. He paused, and scrutinised the ground
below him. His eyes locked onto a dark shape, and he realised that
it was
two figures, one a petite female with blazing red hair whom he vaguely
recognised, the other a short and male werewolf covered in coarse grey
hair.
The vampire backed up several
steps, and jumped from the ledge. His
coat fluttered behind him, abruptly falling to its original position
as he
landed on the ground with a muffled thump.
Quickly re-assuming the position of a hunter, he stalked silently across
the
grass with animalistic grace. As he neared the figures he paused to
observe
the redhead. She wore blue jeans, trainers and a fuzzy pink sweatshirt.
Her
short auburn hair shone brightly, framing her delicate face. She was
beautiful, there was no denying that, but her face was contorted in
pain as
the werewolf pinned her painfully to the ground. *Bloody Hell!* It
was
Willow Rosenburg, assistant to Buffy Summers, the only slayer to have
lived
long enough to be able to retire. Willow was begging the wolf not to
take
her life, and it seemed like she knew him.
"Oz, please no, no, oh don't kill me please... Oz I'm so sorry for
whatever
I've done, please just don't kill me, no no no no...." The werewolf,
known
in the daytime as Daniel Ozbourne, had no recollection of the woman
at all.
It moved in to make one final, deadly bite when the vampire decided
to make
his presence known.
He growled low in his throat,
and the werewolf's head whipped
around. Dark eyes glared into yellow, maddened that the vampire had
interrupted his kill. It charged at the vampire, it long jaws gnashing
as it
grew closer. The vampire rapidly side-stepped the wolf and brought
his fist
around to connect with its back. He delivered a powerful roundhouse
kick,
connecting with the werewolf's jaw with a sickening crack. The wolf
rose
from its position on the ground and clawed at the vampire's chest,
shredding
the red shirt that the man wore over a black t-shirt.
"Oi!" The vampire shouted. "That's my favourite shirt!" The wolf took
no
notice, slashing his face, drawing blood. The vampire swiftly inflicted
a
series of sharp blows to the werewolf with inhuman speed, giving it
no
chance to retaliate. He paused, contemplating the damage he had done.
This
however, was just the distraction the wolf needed. It rose, intent
on having
its revenge on the vampire. Suddenly it stopped, sniffing the air.
The
curious vampire quickly did the same, making out the scent of another
werewolf, this time a female. The werewolf's gaze locked with newcomer
as it
prowled towards the original group.
"Veruca..." the vampire faintly heard the redhead mutter. The two wolves
moved towards each other, the male desiring to assert his dominance
over the
female, and at the same time find a mate. They rushed together, snarling,
and slashed at each other. Their sharp fangs snapped against each other's
flesh, and blood trickled downwards along their hairy bodies.
The vampire regarded the
two for a moment, and then decided to leave
the scene. He turned to leave and took a few steps forward, before
chancing
one last look at the young woman. His face changed back into its handsome
human façade as he noticed she was bleeding profusely all over
her body. The
vampire's sensitive hearing listened as her heartbeat grew slower and
fainter. He viewed her once more, his eyes drinking in her pale skin
and
attractive complexion.
"Spike...?" she murmured, attempting to reach a hand out to him. "You
came
back..." Her face broke out into as large a smile as she could muster.
In
that split second, Spike made the decision to turn her, to make her
into a
vampire like himself. There was no doubt that if she could keep off
a
werewolf for as long as she had that she would make a powerful vampire,
the
only one that would be able to equal William the Bloody.
He swiftly lifted up her
body and sprinted gracefully with her to a
sheltered clearing far away from the werewolves. He set her down gently
and
kneeled next to her, once again shifting to his true face. He loomed
over
her and brought his mouth near to her swan-like neck. His fangs grazed
over
her skin as he contemplated whether or not he was making a mistake.
Deciding
that he wasn't, he pierced her flesh and drained her until almost all
of her
blood became his. He then bit gently into his wrist and brought it
up to her
mouth, urging her to drink. She suckled weakly for a few minutes, and
then
grew stronger. He pulled away and she lay back down as the whine of
a hurt
wolf was heard in the distance. He waited.
That night, two werewolves found their equal, and yet another innocent
person surrendered themself to the dark side of the creatures of the
night.