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chapter 12, god shiva - part I

Luke was struggling with her head. He hadn't had that problem before. Usually all it took was a quick snap, a two-handed tug and presto, another trophy to add to his collection. But this one was different.

When he'd walked through the door from the alley, she was perched on the stool behind the cash register, humming and swaying in her seat. Impervious to his presence, her dark-skinned hands were thumbing through paper money as if they were stacks of gold. With her head bent down and her long, thick black hair touching her thighs, Luke couldn't see her face. But he knew what he'd see when she looked up and saw him. Wide oval eyes swollen with fear and unshed tears, and stained red lips quivering in terror. Then she'd scream. He liked that, the screaming. She'd be very beautiful then. All of her edges would melt into round curves, her large firm breasts would bounce as she inhaled sharply. He nearly sighed aloud at the picture in his head of him fucking her from behind and of her collapsing and falling into his arms, blissfully accepting her destiny. He smiled slowly, savoring just how much he loved imagining her like this.

He relaxed his body against the doorframe and watched her.

She hadn't noticed him yet. She was too preoccupied with her cash box and her song. Still he couldn't help but linger. He wanted to remember her looking and sounding like this forever.

Then quickly and silently, he moved across the floor and touched her on the shoulder.

She jumped from the stool, spun around to face him and immediately attempted to flee. But his body blocked her path. She was shorter than he thought she'd be, he consciously noted as he ripped open her blouse, popping off one button after another viciously. He then tore away her bra and placed the palms of his hands over her breasts, pinching her protruding nipples with his thumbs and forefingers. He'd known they'd be hard, long and eager for the touch of his fingertips to squeeze and tease them.

Suddenly, she smashed a fist into his face and rearing back, slammed a forearm into his chest. More than slightly puzzled, Luke stared at her for an instant and started to ask her if this was a joke. Why was she fighting him? How was she fighting him?

“You fucking bastard,” she screamed. “Get away from me.” She kept swinging and cursing.

He'd never encountered such a creature; at least not one that could reject his power. His prey had always accepted their fate easily as far as he recalled. They'd occasionally cry out or whimper just before the end. But mostly, they'd succumb to his will in short order and treasure the bliss of transcending. Why was this one different? He pressed the fingertips of his left hand against his temples and groaned. Maybe she wasn't a gift. He pondered the possibilities. Could it be she was a test? But who or what would dare test him? He latched on to the woman's flailing arms and wrapped his long thin fingers tightly around both of her smooth wrists. She kept twisting and turning her body, fighting to free herself. She also was wailing like a demon hound that had lost its mate.

“Shoosh,” he instructed her and placed his free hand over her mouth and pressed down hard, forcing her into silence. “My muse is waiting for me in the alley outside, and she mustn't hear my business.” He closed his hand more firmly around her mouth. “You see, you were to be a gift.”

He circled the fingers of his other hand more tightly around her wrists and hypnotized, watched her hands turn a deep shade of blue. “Your blood flows to your extremities," he murmured. "You're not in my thrall."

Luke stared into her face intently. “I was bored waiting in the alley. Couldn't tolerate the smell. It reeks out there."

She looked at him without blinking.

“You smell like flowers in a garden,” he whispered and let go of her wrists as he grabbed a handful of her dark hair and pulled it to his nose.

“You're going to kill me." She spoke so softly, he could barely hear her.

“Yes, it is what happens when I collect my gifts.”

“Please before you do, let me make peace with my maker,” she begged.

Caught off guard by her request, he cleared his throat and took a long slow sniff of the air. He couldn't find any power within her. Still he couldn't explain how she'd avoided being under his thrall. He glanced down. The look in her eyes made him feel hot, tiny beads of sweat began pooling at the base of his spine and he flinched. There was so much hope in her eyes he nearly turned away.

“You pray? To whom?” he asked, sincerely interested.

“To the angels of mercy and I beseech them to strike you down and damn you to hell, Satan!” She pulled free from him then, reached down, pulled a large wooden cross from underneath the counter, and promptly buried it in his chest.

“You Spanish whore!” He shouted. “You can't kill me. I'm Shemhazi, not a common vampire!”

He took hold of her hair again and dragged her body to his. He'd have to forego the usual ritual. No fucking this one. He pulled his face as close to hers as possible and captured her eyes with his gaze.

“Oh, god,” she cried. “Not the children! Not my baby!”

Luke had decided to let her see the faces of his next gifts. He grinned broadly, pleased with her reaction as he began to wrench her neck from side to side. But her stubborn thick neck wouldn't come.

“Let go, you silly bitch,” he hissed. “Let me have your fucking head!”

She was taking much longer than any gift he'd ever collected. But then again, he'd already figured out that she wasn't even a real gift. Right? She might be a test. He exhaled slowly. “Oh, god,” he moaned as he sensed the other. A damn witch was nearby, and she was one of his.

"Luke." Anyaka's excited voice sounded agitated as she called to him from the alley. "They're here," she shouted from the other side of the door, beneath the exit sign at the rear of the restaurant's kitchen.

"Good, my love," he called back to her. "I'll be right there." He pulled on the woman's neck one last time, and finally freed it from her body. Dipping his long fingers into the open wound, he sucked her blood into his mouth. She tasted bitter. She wasn't a gift. Not a gift at all.


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“How long have I known you?” Buffy was walking slightly ahead of him, but Spike heard her clearly.

He didn't answer right away, though. He wasn't certain where she was going with the question and wanted to hear what more she had to say before he dove into the briar patch. They'd marched out of her apartment and walked five blocks in friendly silence. He'd been enjoying the quiet and how comfortable he'd felt being close to her, being needed by her. It reminded him of their walk from Revello Drive to Glory's tower, except this time he'd make certain the night ended differently. It was during that walk nearly a year before that he'd fallen more deeply in love with Buffy than he thought possible. She'd invited him back into her life that night. Even trusted him with her sister's life. Nevertheless, he'd failed them. Okay, Dawn hadn't died, but Buffy had. Spike stretched his neck from side to side, trying to clear the lump in his throat. This time he swore to whatever god, demon or powers that be that might exist, he'd be dust before he'd let Buffy make that kind of sacrifice again.

Buffy stopped, turned, and looked at him. Her eyes round and wide seemed uncertain. "How long?” She asked him again.

“Well, pet, we met five years ago,” he began. “Though wouldn't say we got to know each other ‘til last year, when your Mom got ill.”

Since Spike had arrived in New York City, Buffy had surprised him more often than she had in all of the years he'd known her (except for the time she'd kissed him for allowing Glory to kick his ass). In the past 24 hours, she'd apologized to him three times, bandaged his wounds, tucked him into her bed and kissed him. Bloody hell, he thought. Not as intimately as he'd dreamed of, but it was still a kiss.

“Five years?” She appeared to be mulling the number over in her head.

“You don't remember?” He paused and tried to focus on what he knew versus what he wanted to believe. But he had to face the soddin' truth. This carefree, happy to see him, Chosen One, wasn't his Buffy. He'd been ignoring the signs since he dropped into the alley. No matter what she claimed about not being affected by the thought spell, she'd changed and Spike knew it, even if he didn't want to admit it. Now, perhaps, she was finally figuring it out for yourself.

“Can't exactly say I don't remember.” Buffy shoved her hands into her pockets, turned and started walking again.

“Know why you kissed me last night?” Spike blurted out.

“Yes.” She didn't slow down her pace as she spoke. “I always kiss you when you're hurt.” She glanced over her shoulder and gave him one of her radiant smiles. He nearly stumbled. She'd never smiled at him like that before.

Spike reached out, grabbed her by the arm, and squeezed it. "Buffy, what do you remember about Sunnydale?"

"A lot. I remember you, Giles, Willow, Xander, Anya and Tara." She pulled away from him and continued to walk down the street. "I remember Mom getting sick and dying. I remember Glory, Dawn being the key, and I remember dying."

He was walking next to her now. "But you don't remember how long you've known me?"

"Well, it's not about how long,” she stopped walking and looked into his eyes. “It's that I don't remember not knowing you. It's as if we've been forever.”

Spike reached out to touch her face, but before he could, Buffy took his hand into her small hands and pulled it to her mouth.

“Buffy,” he whispered and closed his eyes, cherishing the warmth of her lips pressed against his skin.

“Yes, Spike?”

He opened his eyes. “Love, the spell changed you." Spike didn't want to say it, but he had to. "Never cared this much before, pet.”

“You mean you don't like me.” Her eyes began to fill with tears.

“No, Buffy,” he had to explain, faster. “You don't like me. Well, not this much.” He glanced at his hand, the one she was still holding.

Spike pulled his hand free, and reached into his pocket, searching for his cigarettes. “We tried to kill each other most everyday for nearly five years, Buffy. Only time you looked at me without a stake in your hand was after I got the chip in my head."

"The what in your where?"

"Jesus Christ, Slayer,” exclaimed Spike, exasperated. "Chip. In my head.” He held a finger to his temple.

Buffy stared at him, still confused.

“The bloody Initiative?" He didn't want to say the name, but he had to get through to her. “Captain Cardboard? Bloody hell, you called him Riley.”

"Okay. Okay,” breathed Buffy. “So the spell did change me. But I don't remember how I was before. I just know how I am now. And for now, I know that for the past two months Dawn has been safe. No headaches. No portal jumping monster.”

Buffy grabbed Spike by the sleeve of his duster. “And I like you.”

Spike opened his duster and in the inside pocket found his lighter. He placed a cigarette in his mouth, flipped open the lighter and stared at the flame for a second before inhaling. “We're almost to the alley, Slayer.” He said softly as he tilted his head to the side and looked into her eyes, drawing the smoke deeply into his lungs.

Buffy let go of his sleeve. “I hadn't even thought about the portal jumper that much since the Watcher and that head business. Not until you got here, that is.”

“That's right, love. I'm the messenger,” said Spike. “And no matter what you've forgotten or think you remember, we've got to deal with the portal jumper and Jacob tonight.”


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The dumpsters were overflowing with the usual rotten meat and repugnant scents of human shit and urine. Seems human odors carried their own level of disgust, separating them from the typical alley smells, thought Jacob.

He was beginning to feel like his luck was running out. He'd promised the word witch that he'd be able to summon the portal jumper. Of course, he'd been exaggerating. He could only hope that the bastard would appear. But Jacob knew this spot had the best chance of attracting him. Willow was a smart witch, though. She'd certainly figured out his plan. All he needed was a few precious moments to accomplish his task while the witch dealt with the portal jumper and her friends. While she was busy, he'd grab all the gifts for himself. And for once, he predicted, a lowly Aurelian was going to get what he deserved.

A dedicated demon, proud of his lineage and his luck at being sired by Darla, Jacob relished his existence. He'd spent nearly a 100 bliss-filled years in New York City, the perfect town for a vampire of his disposition. Like in London, he could get lost amongst the legion of vampires and demon classes that dwelled above and below the concrete streets that covered New York City. He hadn't needed to complicate his un-life with crusades or plans of world domination. He killed what needed to be killed; fed when he was hungry and fucked whatever struck his fancy. However, as he smiled and hummed an old blues tune, he recalled the truth of its lyrics. Yes, boss. Times, they was a changing.

The sun had settled behind a wall of dilapidated high-rise apartments across the street from the alley where he and Willow had materialized. They'd left the big-boned girl at his house. He could tell that Willow clearly had feelings for that witch. She seemed to have feelings for quite a few things, thought Jacob, somewhat terrified by the idea of Willow and feelings. Shemhazi should have none of that. Just seemed wrong to think of them that way.

Turning his mind back to the alley where he'd landed flat-footed a few moments before, Jacob nearly groaned. This was the same spot where he'd fought Spike and the Slayer. Two Aurelians, a Slayer and, he looked at Willow who stood with her hands on her hips underneath the streetlamp, and a Shemhazi witch. My goodness, un-life was getting interesting. He watched her as she examined the alley with blazing black eyes and hair shining with bright orange streaks of light.

“Where is he?” she asked.

“Give it a moment, my love,” Jacob purred. “The jumper doesn't appear with a snap of a finger or even a few choice words from your deadly lips.”

He placed his back against one of the dumpsters and stared at Willow. She didn't have that California girl glow he'd seen in television commercials. He imagined she liked being cooped up in dark caverns. She looked liked she'd been dipped in vinegar and sealed shut.

He then noticed Willow's hand begin to shake. Was she nervous? Odd, he thought.

“Willow?” A young woman stepped out from the shadows. She looked a little like Spike's Slayer except she was taller and her hair was darker.

“Anya?” asked the witch.

“Jacob, my friend,” said the portal jumper, stepping from the shadows behind the woman named Anya. “It's me, Luke.”

Such a personal greeting, thought Jacob absently as he sensed another vampire approaching from a few blocks away. Damn, he cursed silently. This alley was going to get bloody crowded, bloody fast.


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The hip-hop melody of Carlo's cell phone's personalized ring made Dawn giggle. She could never understand why he liked those crazy lyrics screaming, “I'm a Soldier.”

He was in the bathroom.

“Carlo, your phone's ringing,” she called to him.

“Okay, I'm coming.”

“Hurry up, it's your mom.” Dawn recognized the number on the caller ID.

“Answer it, babe.” Carlo was rummaging around in the kitchen now.

Dawn sat forward on the sofa and picked up the phone.

“Hello, Mrs. Hernandez?” No answer.

“Sorry, Carlo. I missed her.”

“That's okay,” He walked into the living room with a bottle of apple juice and a chocolate-chip cookie. “She's at the restaurant. I've got to get over there to help her with inventory. She's likes doing it at night.”

He dropped down next to Dawn on the sofa. “You wanna come with me.”

“Buffy told us to stay here.”

“And so?” he said, leaning closer to Dawn. “We're just going to the restaurant. You can leave her a message or call her on her cell.”

Dawn didn't want to stay in the apartment alone and stood up. “Okay, let's go.” She would call Buffy from the restaurant. Let her and Spike know she was safe.

to be continued…





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