The blade glints hot silver under the moonlight. It screams its message silently. Fear me. Compared to the glistening fangs on display though – Angelus always has loved to make a show of things – the weapon in his hand looks harmless. Why he even has the knife, she cannot fathom. She asks him merely by glancing from the blade to his face and furrowing her brow in confusion.
"Got this off a nasty smellin' creature back at the Bronze," he explains. Only then does she see the smear of red across his lips. "Tasted better 'n he smelled thank the higher powers."
"That's…uh, that's good," she says, uncertainty in her smile.
"Aye." He grins, twirls the knife in his hand and then slides it down into the sheath at his hip. His moves are fluid and practiced.
Under his gaze, Willow shivers. "Did you, uh-"
"I'll be thinking you don't want to know the answer to that."
"Right." She sighs. "The low point of having a vampire for a boyfriendy, lover…person."
"Do you have a problem with my ways?" In one smooth motion, he's standing inches from her. His breath is chilled as it presses into her skin.
Though her body tingles nervously, she locks eyes with him. "If it means being with you, I'll let my concerns slide. I mean, not that I have concerns! Just, if I did have concerns they'd be slide-able 'cause I love you and-"
Angelus presses a finger to her lips. "I love you too." That said, he retrieves the knife; she swallows.
"Let's find something to kill." He hands her the weapon as she stares at him, wide-eyed, and nods. And then they're off, two silent companions drifting through the cemetery each with their own slivers of light – for Angelus, his fangs and for her, the knife – breaking through the darkness.