Hold Me Thrill Me Kiss Me Kill Me

Part Four

******

Spike lit his cigarette and stepped out of the abandoned house he’d been staying in. He’d spent a week in Sunnydale looking for Angelus, but the bastard still wasn’t home.

Surprisingly enough, he hadn’t gotten stinking drunk since that first night. Xander was right on that account; while at first drinking made him numb, after a while he got even more maudlin and depressed to the point of breaking down and crying in the child’s arms. Plus he’d need his wits about him when he did find the poof. Angelus had more than a century of experience and power over him, even if he was living on sodding cow's and pig's blood like the boy said.

He hadn’t seen Xander since that first day, but when he’d left he hadn’t harmed the lad. Part of him had thought about killing him because the human had seen him break down but Xander had totally ignored it afterwards. The human had done what few being on the earth twice and three times his age had done.

He'd earned Spike’s respect.

Xander had talked about the current situation in the power structure of Sunnydale, how the Master was dead and so were two of his childer. While waiting for the sun to go down Spike had even heard of some of the boy’s adventures, and had laughed at the thought of a preying mantis trying to get it on with the young man. Yet in all that time he didn’t give away the identities of his friends. He had a loyalty that Spike envied. The only person in the past century that had been loyal to him was his Dark Princess.

Now here was this man-child that had her dark looks promising he wouldn’t tell the slayer about him. He didn’t ask for Spike to spare his friends, or even to give up plans for his revenge on Angelus. Spike respected that; he just found it funny as hell that he had found probably the last truly noble human on the earth and he lived on the fucking Hellmouth.

It was ironic.

He shook his head and stopped brooding. It was time to go hunting.

He made his way through the town. The abandoned house he’d appropriated was on the far edge of the city limits. He had decided not to challenge the so-called Master of the Hellmouth just yet; he could oust the little pipsqueak at any time but it would lose him the element of surprise. Just why anyone, even minions, would follow a child vampire that hadn’t even been undead for a year yet and was still a fledge himself, he didn’t know.

It suited him, though. Except for the Anointed One, all of the other vamps in this town were minions, exceedingly stupid minions at that. It was an embarrassment to demonkind, and he was more than willing to ignore them and let the local white hats kill them off. It would keep them all occupied until he was ready to either take over or sit and wait for the dawn, either way.

This was what was confusing him so much. In the past week his view had changed. Yes, he still wanted to find Angelus and torture him for leaving them. See how long it would take the great souled hero to scream when faced with having every inch of his skin painted with holy water. In fact Spike was rather disappointed that Darla was dead; he’d have gone after the blonde bitch as well and made her scream.

He’d been having dreams, though, dreams of Dru and her saying she’d sent him a pressie to take care of and to make sure to feed the kitten and it would be his puppy forever. Just like the real Drusilla, they made a strange sort of sense. He just had to puzzle it out. He had truly loved his Wicked Plum but sometimes figuring out her dreams and visions was more trouble than it was worth, but there was just the off chance that it was a message from Dru.

Because if there was any vampire that could talk from wherever it was vamps went when they were dust it would be his Drusilla. She’d probably had a personal calling card to speak to the bloody stars or dolls or what have you.

Still, thoughts of Dru and her mysterious pressie had him curious. He could never leave a mystery unsolved; he just had to pick at it till it unraveled. He’d always been the sort to try to figure things out before Holmes or Dupin did. So now he not only had to stick around long enough to torture and mutilate Angelus-lite, he had to figure out what his Princess had sent him and figure out if it was worth unliving for.

There were worse reasons. Plus there was always Manchester United.

*****

An hour later and he was well fed and more than a little buzzed on the adrenalin and drugs that had been in his prey's blood. He’d found four young men, not much older than Xander really. These were drunk, though, and were in the middle of terrorizing two little girls that looked twelve and whose waists were narrow and arms were stick like.

He’d dismissed the two girls, not so much because he was playing the good guy or what have you but because they looked like they wouldn’t have enough blood put together to fill a shot glass. He’d have to roll them up starting at the bottom like a bloody toothpaste tube to get a decent drink.

The four jocks, however, were muscle bound and plump. They’d had lovely chemicals running through their blood, some natural, some not, and they actually were stupid enough to fight back rather than just piss themselves and scream. He hated it when his food soiled itself, made it taste nasty.

The problem was, without Drusilla Spike had no idea what to do with himself. If Dru were here they’d go dancing and play at seducing their partners and see how many they could catch and let go before finally having a bit of dessert. Or find some elite society party and try to get invited into some rich politicians' homes. There were lots of opportunities for someone with Spike’s charm, when he wanted to exercise it, and with Drusilla’s powers it was all too easy sometimes. Still, it had been fun.

At a loss, he found himself wandering the streets. He circled Angelus’s apartments and that local dive where all the kiddies hung out, hoping that the gelled one had returned. All he got from it was a headache from the scent of too many perfumes the local girls were using to make themselves feel more adult and a Britney Spears song stuck in his head.

If he ever got the chance to go to one of her concerts he would, just to rip a few vital organs out. The chit may look a treat but her voice was enough to peel paint.

He finally found himself near Xander’s house, and maybe that wasn’t so surprising. After all, the lad was one of the few people he could have a conversation with, and he had been amusing.

When he turned the corner to the street next to Xander’s he heard the sounds of a fight. Rolling his eyes, he hurried over to the side yard from where the noise was coming. Just as he thought, the human had gotten himself into trouble. Three other human boys, all of them bigger than Xander and with no necks, surrounded his human as he was crouched on the ground.

The smell of blood hit him and he growled. The parts of him that had originally been William hated bullies and the like, people who poked fun at others just because they could. He made it a regular habit to snack on the type, as well as snooty girls who thought they were better than everyone else. It was always fun to bring them crashing to their knees, begging for their life right before he ripped their too-small hearts out of their chests.

The three attacking Xander fell into this category. He could hear them calling the boy faggot, geek, idiot and a variety of other names. He quickly ran up to them, catching the smallish one standing lookout and picked him up and threw him across the street, only to hear him scream like a girl before crashing into a tree and falling silent.

Xander’s breathing was harsh, his heartbeat rapid. The other two were so intent on kicking the boy while he was down they hadn’t even noticed their friend getting his flying lesson. Spike didn’t waste any time, he just came up behind the two and slammed their heads together, not even taking the time to savor the sound of their thick skulls cracking together.

Xander was on his side, curled into a fetal position in an attempt to protect his ribs and stomach. Spike carefully turned him over and checked him out. Bruised stomach, a few cracked ribs and a concussion along with a hell of a lot of bruises in other places. The lad was going to hurt for a while.

One of Xander’s eyes opened. “Larry?”

Spike snorted. It was oddly funny that one of the three idiots was named Larry. He bet the other two were Curly and Moe. “No, pet, it’s your old buddy, Spike.”

Xander’s heartbeat and breathing picked up and the scent of fear almost overwhelmed him to the point he lost his human face. He had to chuckle, though; despite being kicked in the head at least once, the human knew who was more dangerous. “Relax, kid, not gonna hurt you.”

The other brown eye tried to open, even though it was rapidly swelling. “Really?”

Spike fought off the urge to laugh. Here the lad was in pain and he sounded as if Spike had asked him to clap if he believed in fairies. But he knew if he laughed Xander would take it the wrong way; this might be a man-child in front of him but he knew how things worked in the world. “Really. You have the word of William the Bloody, and I might be a bastard and evil but I do keep my word when I give it.”

The brown eyes closed. “Thanks…William.” Xander sounded like he actually tried to snicker but his chest hurt too much and he ended up coughing instead.

“None of that, else I’ll have to start calling you Alexander.”

“It gets worse, my middle name is Lavelle.”

Spike moved the boy around so he could pick him up and carry him. It was going to hurt like hell because despite Spike’s strength the boy was taller and he’d have to carry him over his shoulder. “Bloody hell, your parents really hated you, didn’t they?”

The pain and head wound made the boy fall unconscious, but not before Spike heard a weak, “Yeah, they do.”

*****