Summary: Sequel to Show Me Something Blue. Set at the beginning of Season Five but will branch off-canon. Spike is in LA and about to return to Buffy when he runs into some trouble. A new threat to the Slayer appears, bringing his own brand of blackmail and magic that will tear all their lives apart.
Author's Notes: When I finished SMSB many people called for a sequel. That's not usually a road I travel, but an idea sparked and I actually wrote it down for future reference and now here it is! this is written for the LJ community Seasonal_Spuffy.
Rating: NC-17
After three nights of surveillance, it didn’t take a genius to work out
that something big was plaguing the vampire. For an apparently soulful
creature, he was infinitely cold. The one time he’d caught sight of
her, Charlotte’s heart had turned to ice. From then on she knew that
Angel was aware of her—he just didn’t care to do anything about it. He
didn’t give a toss who she was or what she was doing. He’d apparently
assured himself of her heartbeat and classified her a non-threatening
human. And one unworthy of protection—at this stage of his game,
helping the helpless was something he was leaving entirely up to his
discarded crew, should they still be interested in following that party
line.
The danger of it gave Charlotte a thrill and with a glimmer of glee in
her eyes, she continued to shadow him, taking note of his every
ambiguous movement. Was he evil now? Sure, she’d heard of how he’d
locked his sire and childe in a room of lawyers, but their boss wasn’t
exactly going to win any Saint of the Year awards. She had no doubt
that each and every one of them had done as much evil as perhaps Angel
had himself. His callousness toward his family, though, definitely
shook her.
She’d not been there to see the actual event, but the burned and
scarred vampiresses had crossed her path just once before going into
hiding and she’d shuddered in horror at what a creature with a soul had
done to others. That they were vampires and supposed to be dusted was
beside the point. Family was a precious commodity that Charlotte
herself had very little of and it shocked her that anyone—inhuman or
not—could do something so wilfully evil to those with whom he’d spent
many a lifetime.
It wasn’t quite enough to dull her fascination.
Something about Angel attracted her like no other man she’d ever seen.
That he was a vampire with a soul tricked her into believing she’d be
ultimately safe around him—if she chose to pursue anything at all—but
his recent behaviour sent shivers down her spine. He’d not killed a
human, other than indirectly, which reassured her that some of his
conscience still remained.
Not that she was ready for any decisions of that kind just yet.
It was poetic justice that the fate of this vampire was forever
entwined with a slayer. Charlotte would make sure that his memory of
Buffy Summers curdled like week old milk left out on the sill, and
died. She’d make sure she twisted his thoughts on that slayer so tight that the very mention of her name would make him shake
with revulsion, not fall so deeply he risked any kind of happiness at
all. Charlotte would make sure that when he settled into the vampire he
was meant to be, it would be her that stood by him and championed him
toward his goal—whatever that may be.
Ethan hadn’t filled her in on all his plans—he’d only promised her
she’d be more than a mere girl playing at being a slayer. She would be the Slayer. There were no doubts in her head now that he cared for her as a
daughter. That he was the doting father she never knew. Everything
she’d ever wanted was being dangled in front of her nose and she was no
fool to reject it. Though some of the implications did make her feel
nervous.
Her thoughts had undoubtedly led her into darkness and Charlotte
cursed. Following Angel blindly had left her in a precarious position.
She stood in the middle of a very dimly lit alley, every sense
screaming in awareness of the danger she’d unwittingly stumbled into.
She didn’t need slayer tinglies to know she was surrounded by too many
vampires. If she made it out of this alive—which she seriously had her
doubts—Ethan was going to kill her for being so careless.
They launched themselves from the shadows—not one at a time like she’d
been used to back home, but all together like they’d tag teamed before.
There wasn’t time to scream for help and while the thought of needing
it curled hatefully in her gut, Charlotte knew without a doubt she
needed a miracle to step away from this.
Fighting with everything she had but quickly fading, said miracle
swooped in with a black leather coat and in the form of an avenging
Angel. Or maybe he was just intrigued. Blood streamed down her face and
a sharp fang was teasing at her throat, and with one breath she fully
believed to be her last, she was forcefully released and sent sprawling
to the ground. Snarls and grunts of pain echoed around her before
several clouds of ash fell across her body, leaving her gritty and
dirty.
Choking on a new lungful of oxygen, Charlotte looked up in time to
catch a vamped out Angel savagely punch the last vamp, the loud crunch
an indication of a dislocated jaw, and then she was breathing dust yet
again, coughing loudly in objection.
As she watched, her vision only slightly clouded by her own blood, his
face calmed back into the smooth façade of a human and her breath was
knocked from her again.
“You might fight like a slayer, but you aren’t one. What the hell are
you doing out here? And why are you following me? Last thing I need
right now is a fan club.” His scowl warned her against approaching him,
but this opportunity was too precious so Charlotte stumbled to her
feet, grimacing at her lack of slayer grace.
“Fan clubs only work if you have more than one fan. Not that I’d call
myself a fan exactly,” she admitted thoughtfully. “More an admirer.”
The expression in his eyes got darker and Charlotte took a nervous step
back, even though every bone in her body ached with the effort.
“Really? Because I’d have no problems classifying you as your pretty
typical fan gone deranged. You’ve got the stalking thing down pat.”
Like he had any room to accuse.
“Well, it takes a stalker to know a stalker, wouldn’t you say?” she
shot back peevishly. “Besides, in my line of work it’d be stupid to not
study my prey.”
“And what line would that be exactly?” he demanded. “The line between
being alive or dead? Or just plain insane? Because I’m shooting blind,
obviously, but until I stepped in a few minutes ago you were on the
fast track to becoming dead.”
“I’m going to pass on the obvious quip about your associations with
insanity and get right to the point. I’ve been in training to be a
slayer all my life. You never know when the current one will be cut
down and the next one called.” She watched closely for any tell in his
eye—a shadow of hurt, a flash of anger—and was surprised when nothing
at all registered. He was apparently a blank slate right now and
Charlotte determined to work with that as avidly as she could.
“Not that I hate to be the bearer of bad news or anything, but aren’t
you a little old to be a slayer?” Amusement confronted her and
Charlotte felt herself bristle irritably.
“I am seventeen. Perhaps not the youngest slayer on record, but nor is my time passed completely. I still have a chance.” A really big chance, in the way that it was completely inevitable and going to happen no matter what.
He laughed at her, a short burst of humour that trickled down her spine
and shook each of her bones. Then, finally, he was looking at her, his
intent gaze seeing what her outfit promised of the body underneath and
his eyes glittered in sudden interest.
“Well, you may not have the powers just yet, but you certainly have the tricks. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around again…?”
“Charlotte,” she supplied eagerly, holding her hand out not to be
shaken, but palm down so he’d be forced to kiss her. He took up her
challenge, the ghost of time in his actions as cool lips slipped
against her skin and his lips bestowed a dry kiss.
“Charlotte. A perfectly British name. It suits you.” He nodded once
abruptly, and then he was gone, leaping high in the air and catching
hold of a drainage pipe. He swept quickly out of sight as he gained the
roofline of the building they stood in front of and vanished from view.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Ethan’s mouth opened, the horror pouring out of him in a silent scream.
His wide and terrified eyes revealed deep torment and yet he clung to
the bowl of blood that his now unconscious charge had allowed—had
demanded—him to fill. It had bubbled for seconds before it had fallen
still and the tortured visage of the spell caster was reflected in the
still pool.
His skin bulged, untold creatures crawling beneath his skin as he clung
to the essence of the spell and rode out the trial. He could bear
this—he would make Charlotte what she was meant to be. And then he’d
mould her into the slayer he wanted
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