'Well,' Buffy thought, staring up at the ceiling, 'That was…'
Boring. Frustrating. Fast. Take your pick of adjectives, but the demon in her was supremely unsatisfied. The girl? The girl was confused, and happy, and maybe a little hurt. The girl just wasn't sure. Shrinking back from the reality of what just happened, she let the demon come to the fore, take charge and make the next move. Slipping silently from the bed, she rolled amber eyes at the sight of a sleeping Angel, who lay on his stomach with his arms clenched around a pillow, red sheets pooling at his waist.
'An unfortunate performance really,' the shadow in her whispered. Time to go in search of better things.
Picking up her scattered clothes, she tugged them back on and waltzed silently to the door, stepping out into the night without a backwards glance. Taking a deep breath of air, Buffy tipped her face up to the stars and threw out her arms, spinning in a circle as a light laugh spilled from her lips. It was a beautiful evening, and it was still young, magic and mayhem hanging heavy in the air. Rain was coming, and… something else. Something dark. It was her kind of night.
So. If she were an insipid teenager on Halloween, where would she be?
Buffy smiled toothily, flashing fang. Nearby, the beat of a party thumped in the dark like life's blood, calling to her. Her body began to sway gently to the rhythm, the shadow of a dance, and she had the sudden deep desire to find herself in the middle of a crush, hot bodies pressing in on her on all sides as the music pounded through her and they moved to the beat of the music. She wanted to dance. She wanted to flirt. She wanted to satisfy all the things inside of her that Angel had woken up but hadn't put to bed.
She wanted to drink.
Spike might have caught up with them sooner, but he was distracted by the chaos surrounding him. He was quite enjoying himself in fact, strolling leisurely through the streets along the path the Slayer had taken. Not even the scent of the souled poof accompanying her could dampen his spirits. He had always given credence to the demon code that made Halloween off limits, but this was just… delightful. Whatever spell this was, whoever was responsible… Spike would like to shake their hand. And the girl in the center of it all? Well wasn't that the million dollar question.
A vampire. A vampire. Slayer. He'd thought about it once, a long time ago. What it would mean. What would happen to the line, to the balance of the world if he or any of his brethren ever got their one good day and turned it into something… perverted. He'd never have done it himself. It was... wrong. Disgusting. No, vampires killed Slayers, he killed Slayers. You didn't sire them. It had never been done, and it never should be.
So why was the thought of Buffy in fangs giving him a raging hard-on?
Pausing as he stalked along a rooftop, he dropped to his haunches at the edge of the building and looked down into the alley below, watching in silence as teenagers far too old to be trick-or-treating headed up the street. The soddin' hell he was doing thinking about the Slayer with steel in his jeans he didn't know. He was Dru's and only Dru's. They were in this God forsaken town to heal her! The fact that the Slayer was here was just coincidence. If he happened to turn Buffy into another notch on his belt before they left, no more's the pity.
He would bet she was gorgeous.
Snarling viciously at his wayward brain, he shoved thoughts of shining blonde hair and golden eyes out of his head, leaping down to land lightly on the bricks below him as rain began to fall. He was just a bit peckish, that was all. Spot of blood, he'd be just fine. Be bloody hard to think about the blonde bint with his fangs buried in the throat of some other tender young thing, wouldn't it? Speaking of…
A dark-haired girl came trotting up the street, a hooded red cape tied around her shoulders and a woven straw purse swinging from her arm. No little girl's costume, this Red Riding Hood was working everything she had, garters bared, breasts defying gravity and standing at attention. Spike grinned cruelly. Just as she passed the mouth of the alley, his hands flashed out, one latching onto her wrist and the other clamping over her mouth, holding in a scream. Dragging her into the darkness of the alley, he pulled her flush against him, using his body to hold her immobile against the wall.
"Out all alone?" he asked in a low rumble, running the tip of his tongue over sharp teeth. "The better to eat you with!"
They didn't call him the Big Bad for nothing.
Angel awoke with a choked gasp, his body lurching upright in the bed. His chest heaved, a burning sensation ripping its way through his torso as something pressed upwards into his throat, blocking his airways. Stumbling up, some small part of his brain registered that Buffy was gone, no longer in the bed beside him, and if he weren't already panicking, that would have sent him over the edge. She was gone, for all he knew still a vampire, confused and conflicted and loose on an unsuspecting Sunnydale.
A strangling sensation brought his thoughts back to a slightly more pressing dilemma; something was terribly wrong. Tripping out of his apartment, he fell to his knees on the pavement, hands clawing at his throat, desperate for air that he didn't need but that his brain was suddenly screaming for. Rain beat down on his bare back, doing nothing to cool his fevered skin as something inside him detached, tearing away in one painful, bloody, wrenching breath. Sucked up out of his chest and twisted out of his throat, one final gasp passed his lips before there was nothing left, and he was empty.