[Reviews - 145]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Microsoft Word Chapter or Story | ePub eBook Chapter or Story | Printer Chapter or Story

Has been viewed 4650 times

- Text Size +




AUTHOR'S NOTES: I am so happy with the response I got for the first chapter! I really hope this one is as well received! Thanks for reading, hope you enjoy chapter number 2! :)
___________________________

He didn't show the next night, or the night after that.

Buffy woke up with a weight on her chest the morning after, her first thought of Spooky Eyes. She really didn't think she could call him that anymore. Of course, she didn't know his real name, but somehow giving him such a childish title didn't comfort her any longer.

Something eerie had happened between them, and her heart still didn't feel right.

Buffy turned her head to look at the clock on her nightstand. It was three in the afternoon. She'd slept so late, but had only gotten about five hours of rest.

Her stalker was going to kill her; hopefully, not literally. What happened between them shouldn't make her any less scared or feel any more secure. If anything, the man had given her more reasons to be afraid of him- He wasn't even a man.

Yet somehow, someway, the fact he could've done anything to her last night and didn't... put her at ease. And it shouldn't. She SHOULD want to call the police again, but Buffy couldn't bring herself to pick up the phone. She hated herself a little for that.

Even though something like common sense kept telling her it would be a waste anyway, she should want to try and get rid of this person- monster- thing that was hounding her.

Why couldn't she conjure the terror she'd been able to experience so easily before? Before last night's... whatever that was. Fear was the lowest ranking emotion right now. If he was so dangerous, and she so vulnerable, why wasn't she petrified any longer? How come she couldn't sleep last night not because she was scared of his presence, but because he'd left her... uneasy. Like there were questions floating around in her brain and she didn't know what they asked. She felt confused, not scared.

Buffy took a shaky breath as she sat up in bed. Upon standing, she realized she was dizzy.

She shook her head and went to the bathroom. She opened the cabinet and applied toothpaste to her little blue toothbrush, catching her reflection in the mirror, noting the circles beneath her tired eyes. The hazel green stood out starkly against her pale skin, like little neon signs, but they sure as hell didn't glow.

Why did his eyes glow? Why did his face change? Why did he have fangs? What was he?

Buffy spit into the sink and rinsed her mouth. She let out a sigh, fogging the mirror in front of her. She rubbed her eyes. Why couldn't she muster up the desire to leave?

If she left home for a little while, maybe went to stay with Dawn and Xander (they were always inviting her to come visit), she could clear her head and sleep peacefully for a night. Her friend Faith would welcome Buffy at her apartment in a heartbeat too, if she knew about the stalker guy. Hell, she'd probably decide to threaten the man face to face.

Buffy sighed. She had places she could go, but leaving her home behind, running away, didn't sit well.

The day passed on, and she went about it as any normal person might. Cleaning the kitchen was simple and the dishes went fast, she dusted around the whole house, took out the trash. The sun set slowly and quietly. Around six it started raining, the water droplets splattering dirt and grass to create muddy puddles. The magnolia tree was beginning to lose its pink and white flowers, the smell of them combined with the thunderstorm was a perfume she wanted to bottle. It calmed Buffy down more than hours of mindless television or buckets of chocolate ice cream ever could. The rain copied her pulse and made her feel less alone.

Huddling in her bed with a book that night, Buffy was only able to keep her eyes on the pages and words for so long. She checked out the window nearly every fifteen minutes after the sun had gone, and the entire night passed without seeing the monster in her garden even once.

The following day went by nearly just the same, and while more sluggish and tired than usual, Buffy wasn't sure why she couldn't feel relieved over the prospect of getting better sleep if he didn't show up again that night. Which, he didn't.

The moon was dim and hidden behind clouds again when he did return, on the third night since she'd first really talked to him. Buffy didn't know why she sensed there would be a second time.

He stood near the tree for about five minutes before approaching her backdoor, and Buffy ran barefoot down to the kitchen. She wore a long nightgown with a hem that reached her ankles, and thin spaghetti straps that wrapped around her shoulders. The cool air should be causing a chill but her heart was racing too fast to even notice. Her hand met the doorknob and the other hit the glass, their eyes locking.

She glared at him, fiery hazel meeting and challenging a bright gaze of azure blue. He looked at her like he'd missed her, and she didn't get why, but she could tell he did. He also looked demanding and impatient, and suddenly she was opening the door.

He pulled her close the second her wrist cleared the doorway. Buffy didn't realize what was happening until she was in his arms and the wind made goose bumps rise up on her skin.

"Why do you keep doing that?!" she yelled, as soon as awareness came back.

"Doing what?" he asked calmly. Her hysteria and confusion didn't seem to penetrate his brain, or bother him in the least. The man/monster merely stared at her unblinking, while his arms stayed wrapped around her, banded.

"How- Wh-Why did you make me come out here?"

He stood in silence, and Buffy didn't fight his grip on her. She waited until he murmured, "Because I needed to see you."

"How do you even know who I am?!" Buffy shouted.

"Because you belong to me."

"The hell I do!" That's when she started fighting. She pushed and shoved, tried pinching and finally resorted to biting, but he stopped her. He ran them both to the side of the house and pinned her with his own body. They were breathing heavily, and he looked angry, but Buffy still went for a headbutt. He dodged it before allowing his face to morph.

Her eyes widened in disbelief and she started shaking. Anger fairly clouded her vision, even as she stared at a monster.

A low, little growl emanated from somewhere deep in his chest, followed by his slow murmuring again. "Have you considered the fact you're not afraid of me anymore?"

Something about the tone of his voice didn't sound right; he sounded slightly... scared? What was he risking?

"Why you aren't scared" he whispered, "of my fangs?"

Buffy breathed deep and quick before growling a question of her own. "What are you?"

He moved his face in closer to her, their lips almost touching. "I'm your mate. And you are mine." He took a slow inhale and his nostrils flared. "I need to be near you, and you need me to be. It's a vampire... thing, hard to understand when you're trembling in the arms of somebody you barely know."

"I don't know you at all," Buffy breathed quietly, almost to herself.

"You will," he replied.

The confidence with which he said that scared her. The fear was so familiar an emotion that she gladly latched onto it, and allowed it to enter her voice. "I don't want to know you. I want you to leave me alone."

She jolted at the insane sensation that hit her after those words, the revolting feeling of objection. Something inside her didn't want him to leave her alone. What was that telling her, asides from that she was certifiably insane?

He leaned in even closer, and Buffy tried to ignore the look of hurt in his eyes. Why did it so much as register?

His forehead pressed to hers, and all breathing ceased. He said, "No, you don't."

She wanted to hit him and run from him and go back inside, hide in the safety of her bedroom and never see his face again. The most frightening thing, though, was that she didn't really want to do any of those things.

He let her go. Stepping back, Buffy pressed herself further into the wall propping her up and watched him move away. She finally took note of his clothes and realized how threatening he might look in broad daylight, wearing a smile. The long leather coat, black shirt and jeans, Doc Marten combat boots, and bleached blonde Billy Idol hair on top... She ground her teeth together.

"Go to the library, get a couple books on vampires. You'll find everything you need and more." He scoffed as he walked down the steps of the deck, his back turned on her. "Probably a lot of useless rot, too, but at least you'll get facts along with the bullshit."

She spoke up again when he'd reached the middle point in the grass, nearly twenty feet away from where she still stood. "I don't want you coming back here."

He turned around and pulled a lighter out of his pocket, followed by a cigarette which he quickly placed between his lips and then lit. "We don't always get the things we want, pidge."

"Well this time, I will." She stomped forward, placing her gripping hands on the railing of the deck. "You will stay out of my life, away from my house, and away from me. Because that is what I want."

He breathed out a cloud of smoke, as calm and impassive as a statue. "Tough."

Buffy clenched her fists at her sides, and nearly punched herself in the chest when something inside it rebelled against his leaving. When his leather coat was no longer flapping in the wind, and the backyard was empty, Buffy ran into her house and slammed the kitchen door on the night.

She went to the refrigerator and got a bottle of cold water, downing half its contents in four gulps. She slammed the bottle down on the island, breathing fast and raggedly. She wasn't going to look for any books, or even web search. She wasn't going to admit he was in her life, that he was obviously trying to change it, or drive her nuts.

Buffy was going to cut him out. No matter how loudly the unknown sensations inside her protested, or why.

***

The next day, she woke up with a headache. Three cups of coffee into the morning, and she still didn't know how to fix her Friday. The afternoon came and passed quickly, then the moon rose, and with it, her heart rate. Buffy finished off a bottle of aspirin.

The last two pills in that old bottle did nothing to relieve her pain, so she went to a 24-hour pharmacy. When she was driving back, her head still throbbed and so she took two fresh pills while at a stop sign.

Once she got home, she parked her car in the driveway. Leaning her head against the seat, she sighed and bit back a groan, feeling oddly unsteady. Buffy opened her door and shivered, getting dizzy after standing straight. Closing it, she walked up her front steps. She dropped her keys on the welcome mat that didn't say anything, and it took her longer than she thought it should to open her own front door.

She carried the aspirin inside and tossed her purse onto the little table in the hallway, pulling her arms out of her jean jacket and then grabbing a throw blanket off the couch. She wrapped it around herself and headed to bed.

Reaching the bathroom on her way, Buffy didn't realize she'd turned and knelt on the ground in front of the toilet until she was vomiting. She flushed, then sighed as her teeth chattered, and she came to the unfavorable and disgusting realization that she had the flu.

Stumbling, Buffy stood up, bumping her forehead into the toilet paper roll on her way. "Take a couple sick days, end up sick. How ironic," she muttered.

It was a quick and uncomfortable journey to her bedroom, where she finally fell asleep after throwing up twice more in a garbage can. She didn't wake until morning. Through the night she dreamt of the monster in her garden, all the while said monster stood outside her bedroom window, watching.

***

Two days later, Buffy had stopped hurling up everything she ate, her fever was gone, and the coughing had just begun. Her headaches were finished with, and she'd been through two tissue boxes already. She was getting better, although slowly, and finally felt like downing some good old Vitamin C.

When she entered her kitchen for the first time in almost forty-eight hours, Buffy couldn't help looking out the backdoor's window. She'd been thinking about the monster all throughout her flu-bug fight, and for some reason didn't question the thoughts.

They were not surrounded by questions and fear, or even worry. She just thought about him, almost casually, like he was somebody she sort of missed.

But that was crazy.

Buffy squinted at the sunlight streaming inside and looked at the tree. Empty of his presence, the ground was covered in browning magnolia petals and she bet the air smelt of rain.

She wrapped her white silky robe tighter around herself and opened the door, stepping out onto the deck, her slippers formed against the damp, mossy wood beneath her feet. Her lungs welcomed the fresh air, her eyes took in the bright green color of the grass and the blue above her head.

Something was missing.

Buffy frowned to the sunlight and went back inside. She poured herself a glass of juice, stuck two bread slices in the toaster, and went through her mail. She called in to work and explained that she was getting over the flu. Willow Rosenberg was a bit of a health nut sometimes, and told Buffy to take another week off.

Buffy couldn't decide whether she wanted to be home or working at her desk, and that had never happened before since she'd started this job. She enjoyed it, liked to keep busy, and more importantly she was good at what she did.

But something was making her want to stay home, something besides being as sick as a dog the last couple nights.

Reading the paper over breakfast, alone in her living room, Buffy jolted when the phone rang.

She leaned over and picked up the ringing device from the coffee table. "Hello?"

"Buffy? Hi again, it's Willow."

"Oh." They'd just talked an hour ago. "Hey. What's going on?"

"I need to ask you a favor."

"Shoot."

"I need you to host a dinner party at your house for an important new client. I'd do it myself, but Oz and I are having some remodeling done at home."

Buffy frowned. Remodeling? That seemed a little odd and out of character, but hey, maybe the boss lady wanted a change. She shrugged, and Willow continued.

"I'll be there along with Oz, and obviously, the client, too. It'd be planned for this upcoming weekend."

Buffy chewed her lip. "Alright," she said, "so long as you don't mind takeout for dinner. I'm not a terrible cook, but you don't want to witness strung out-Buffy, which is what happens when I'm in charge of a big meal."

"Oh yeah?"

"You should've seen me when I hosted Thanksgiving last year."

"Alright," Willow laughed, "wouldn't want that to happen. How do you like Chinese?"

"Love it. You think the client will be happy with it?"

"I think so. He seems like a nice man, easy to please, he'll be bringing his sister along, too. They want to sell off some of their father's things."

"Let me guess, they were left a fortune's worth of art in the will, and they have no appreciation for Monet."

"Nothing as big as that. I think everyone would appreciate a Monet."

"You'd be surprised."

"You're probably right. But anyway, no paintings. And they have proof that their father told them they could sell anything of his they wanted to after he died, not that it would really matter considering the artifacts are theirs now, but-"

Buffy's ears perked up. "Artifacts?"

"Yep." A new note like giddiness entered Willow's voice. "Their dad loved Egyptian history, and spending his money on everything from books about the ancient pharaohs, to things that were actually owned by the ancient pharaohs. This is a big account we could land."

The art expert inside her reared it's official, perfectionist head, and Buffy said, "I'll cook."

"But Buffy-"

"No. They want an intimate dinner setting, so I'll dig out the old oven mitts and work my cook-y magic."

"I hope you meant 'cook-y' as in actual cooking and not the dessert, because we can't expect our guests to be well-fed on just chocolate chips and dough, though the prospect is appealing."

Buffy laughed. "I promise I will have every one of the major food groups."

"You're my favorite employee. Have I mentioned that?"

Buffy grinned before fighting back a cough. It fought back and she quickly took a swallow of her orange juice, and then Willow reprimanded her, in that concerned mothering voice she sometimes used.

"Get off the phone with me, and get some sleep," her boss said. "Don't come back to work until next Monday, and rest up for this weekend."

"Will do." Buffy sighed.

"I'll call you about the time later in the week. Bye now."

"See you Friday, Willow."

She hung up with a beep, and set the phone face down on the table. The day's early sun was peeking through tree branches, meeting window glass and angles in her living room, creating shapes out of shadow. The hours would pass today, and Buffy would sleep through most of them.

She'd spend time flipping through random cooking magazines and Martha Stewart looking for the perfect recipes to serve come Friday. Then, she would sleep, her head pressing into throw pillows and one arm of her couch.

***

Buffy woke up around ten, her stomach empty and the moon shining bright for the dark evening's delight. She looked through her front window at the dimly lit sidewalk and street, wondering if the clock was lying to her. It felt later, but the ticking device on the wall said otherwise.

Buffy got up and walked to the kitchen. She wondered when monster-man would arrive. She was frustrated with herself for no longer being terrified of his presence, and angry for feeling almost... impatient, to see him again. She hadn't looked out her bedroom window for forty-eight hours.

It was contradictory. She wanted to see him, stalking her, no matter how crazy it was. Yet she didn't want to admit to that, so of course Buffy refused to sate any desirous urge to stare into her garden at nighttime over the last couple days.

As she walked into the kitchen, her will vanished. It had been too long, and not only was she longing but she was wondering, and all set to blow should she see his stupid fangy face.

*Why am I not freaked by the 'fangy' aspect anymore?*

She looked through the window on her backdoor, and was almost surprised when she actually managed to find the glowing eyes. This might be one of the first times he'd shown up earlier than midnight.

Before she could think too long on the idea, Buffy yanked open the door and marched onto the deck, arms crossed.

He met her instantly, rushing forward in a blur. Buffy stepped back. Startled, quickly taking in deep breaths, she looked up at him with an expression even she knew was unreadable. However, it didn't seem to matter very much, because he took his hands and framed her face with them, cradling the back of her head. Quick and to the point, he asked, "How are you feeling?"

It wouldn't have been a strange thing for anybody she actually knew to ask, but it was for this person- er, kind-of-a-person. "What?"

"You've been sick," he said matter of fact. Was that concern in his eyes?

Buffy shook her head. "I'm fine."

"Sound a bit too nasal to be 'fine,' love."

"Gee, thanks."

He sighed. "Damn it, are you alright?!"

She blinked at his harshness. "How did you know I was even sick?" she demanded.

"I sensed it," the man answered, his face telling her he might be losing patience.

"Yeah," Buffy scoffed. "Right. You probably just heard me coughing while you stood outside my bedroom all night like a creepy stalker guy."

"Don't sugar-coat, tell me how you really feel," he replied dryly, his brow flicking up.

"You're lucky I haven't offered more than just my opinion of you, buddy."

He stared straight into her eyes, still holding on. "I knew you were sick because we're connected. It's the same reason you're not afraid of me any longer when I'm little more than a stranger."

Buffy gave him a vainly sweet smile, something like lemonade without sugar. "You're right. You're a stranger, who's insane and looks like he should be living in the 80's, but hey, at least you've got this great stalking habit to keep you entertained while you daydream of the years gone by." She gasped with fake enthusiasm and wonder."Hey, I guess we are connected, because I think I just nailed your personality."

He released a growl and stepped closer, at the same time pushing her backward. Their torsos hit, his cool breath touched her cheek as he spoke. "I'm not stalking you."

"Really? What would you call standing outside a person's bedroom at night and watching them sleep? Leaving behind creepy notes and flowers? That's definitely got to be in the peeping-tom pamphlet."

"I had to do something to get you to open the bleeding door."

"Right." She tilted her head in thought, eyes narrowing. "How'd you manage to get me to do that, by the way?"

He smirked all of a sudden, raising one cocky eyebrow and immediately pissing her off. "You'd know if you'd gone and researched vampires like I told you to, love."

"Excuse me for getting sick. And not wanting to listen to the psychopath trying to stress me to death!"

"You're my mate." He suddenly glowered at her. "You want me to tell you what that is, then you take a look at the books? 'Cause I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart, no matter how long you push me away."

Buffy said nothing. Instead, she glared harder, her jaw clenched and her anger rising by the second. Nothing. No fear or apprehension. She didn't know how, or why, but she knew he wasn't going to hurt her. She was sure of it now. It was like every time she saw his face, got close to him, more reassurance planted itself in her psyche. She wasn't comfortable yet, but she could feel herself situating, the familiarity becoming accepted, and it was ridiculous. Her mind and heart protested. For once they were both in total agreement with each other, but at odds with her gut.

At her long silence, the man finally let go of her head. She didn't even know his name, yet she was starting to... dare she say it... trust the maniac.

"You may as well get used to me being around," he muttered, taking a small step back in contradiction to his next words. "Because I'm staying close, and before you know it you'll wonder why you ever thought I'd try and hurt you."

He turned away from her. Buffy was so caught off guard to see him retreating that she couldn't help the question which popped out of her mouth on instinct. "What's a mate?!" she shouted.

He turned around, and Buffy knew their startled expressions must match. She had a sudden feeling of knowing him again, and understood it was because she was connected to him. A moment of blinding clarity happened that she really wished hadn't.

Why had she asked that stupid question? Her heart was beating a mile a minute now, and her brain screaming that she run back inside. Yet... her gut was telling her to stay, and get some answers.

It didn't matter. What she said had already met the air as well as his ears. He stared at her warily. He didn't seem to want to say the wrong thing, or maybe he just wasn't sure whether to respond at all. "Vampires... have them. They're sort of like soulmates, if you believe in that rot."

Buffy frowned. "Soulmates?" She'd never thought of such things.

He continued. "There are multiple mates, each another half to one another. They claim and get claimed, then spend eternity together." He took a step closer to the deck and rolled his eyes up at the moon, seemingly frustrated with words, treading carefully. "There're hardly a handful of them for each vamp, and they change. There's no 'destined' match, and more often than not they die off before they can ever find one. Most never meet. It's basically a myth at this point, some don't even believe in it."

Buffy's brow wrinkled, but somehow she was following. "Then why should I?" she couldn't help but ask.

He scoffed and smiled ironically. "Because apparently, chance loves the both of us, pet."

Buffy hugged her shoulders and swallowed, allowing herself a minute to accept his words. Some instinct told her he was simply right, and that she should ask the new question that had just popped into her mind quickly, before the moment passed. "And a vampire," she started, "can have a HUMAN mate?" Her forehead wrinkled. "What kind of sense does that make?"

His jaw clenched and she saw a vein jump in his neck; Buffy stepped back. He rose an eyebrow but didn't comment on the move, instead saying, "None, if you want my opinion. And it's even rarer than finding a fellow vampire as a mate, but somehow..." He shook his head and scoffed again. "Somehow, love, I managed to find you."

Buffy headed for her backdoor. She turned back around before entering the house. "How do you know it's me?!" she yelled, pure aggravation wading in her veins. "How can you be sure?"

"I knew it the moment I saw you," he said. "Even if I hadn't, after spending one minute talking to you I would've figured it out." The man shook his head again, seemingly baffled by his own statements. "You can feel the same thing I do here, pet. It's not one-sided."

"You have no proof of that." Her eyebrows went up as she caught on another point. "And maybe this thing- What you're feeling -will go away. If it's like you said, mates can change. Who's to say time won't alter who we are? You could leave and this would all go away."

Perhaps saying that had set him off, Buffy noted. He sped up the deck's steps and grabbed hold of her arms, bringing her close enough so their noses barely brushed. She gasped but couldn't get much else out before he said, "It's not that simple." He squinted at her, and there was something dangerous in there, sparkling and sharp-edged like blue crystal. "You see, pet, you're it for me."

"What?" Buffy asked tightly.

"Not many vamps get a human mate, I wager it's on account of the soulless part of our makeup. But once in a while, there's one unlucky bastard out there, and if their mate is human then they don't get another shot." Her eyes widened, and he only continued. "They don't have any other options. No other puzzle pieces, no switching up. It usually takes years to alter mates anyway, and you wouldn't even live long enough for that to happen." He bent his head closer so their lips nearly touched for what felt like the hundredth time. "If you had such an option. Fact is, I get one. And apparently, that's you. Sorry to barge into your perfect little life, Buffy, but you're stuck with me."

He pulled back, and smirked nastily at her frozen expression that spoke volumes. She was scared again, not of him but of what he was telling her; then she was scared because something inside her pushed her to believe him.

He spoke again. "And I'm not letting you go."

She tore away, storming inside. Staring out the window, she breathed hard and fast, and watched him turn to leave. She followed his retreating back with her eyes until he was out of sight.

Buffy ran out of the kitchen and up the stairs to her bedroom. She quickly grabbed a notepad and pencil.

Letters scribbled onto the paper. Things like "Vampire" and "Mate" were her main search words. She got out her laptop and immediately opened her browser, and checked the times for when the local library was open.

If anything in her life was going to change, Buffy wouldn't just be watching it happen. She would not go into this blind.

She knew something big was coming.

That man was truly a monster, and she didn't question it, she believed it and she felt it. She could tell he didn't have a pulse, his breath was cold, and she sensed him. She knew he was gone from the yard not only because she had watched him leave but because her gut was confirming it. His words didn't sound made up, they sounded true; and that fact, Buffy knew, was entirely illogical.

She stared at the light of her computer screen and typed. Then, she read. She read for hours, her head began to throb with the ticking of the clock.

Still she searched. It wasn't until the sun was rising did she find a third website that supported all he had told her. It wasn't until dawn had come and gone that Buffy finally passed out, the computer screen displaying images of monsters and words of legends that were actually fact to light her closed eyelids, as she slept sideways on the unmade bed.

Her dreams told her too many things, and in almost all of them she saw fangs.
_____________________
END NOTE'S: Please review and let me know what you thought! Thanks for reading!





You must login (register) to review.