On the bed next to her, Gary’s snores sounded like a rusty chainsaw. The stench of beer farts and dirty feet rolled off him with each rise of his flabby chest, and Faith had a sudden urge to grab a stake and ram it through the Brazil shaped liver spot on the top of his balding skull.
Her stomach rolled, and she tasted bile rising in her throat. First question: What in the hell had she been thinking? This stinky tub of lard was fifty years old if he was a day, and she was young, gorgeous, and nowhere near this desperate. She could have anyone one she wanted. What was wrong with her? Even Xander, drooling puppy that he was, would have been a better choice—even if she did have to paper train him first.
Second question: what in the hell was this slimeball still doing in her bed? She’d let him spend the night? Something was wrong. Way wrong. Planets spinning off-kilter and the sun trading places with the moon wrong.
Her actions and emotions over the last couple of days were so foreign to her that she didn’t even recognize herself. Maybe it was time for reintroductions. She was Faith, the vampire slayer—the best damn slayer to ever dust sorry vampire ass since before the Council decided it was British, and sidekick to no one. She didn’t need anybody. She had herself, and that was more than enough.
This sudden onslaught of whiny, weak-sister emotions was Buffy’s gig, not hers. Maybe that was the problem. Too damn much time hanging out with the little princess and her creature of the night, cradle-robbin’, “non-boyfriend” (what a joke) had infected Faith, somehow. Even the most hard-core of the Lay ‘Em Then Slay ‘Em tribe could only take so much exposure to the constant stares of tortured longing and the heat of the unresolved sexual tension before she, too, started to believe she desired more than just a scratch for her itch.
It was Buffy’s fault. Buffy and Angel. Making Faith think she’d actually felt something when Spike touched her. Something that wasn’t even real.
Love, after all, was a fairy tale. It had to be, because there were only two types of people in this world. The screwed, and the screwers. Once upon a time she’d been the former. It’d be a snowy day in Sunnydale before she let herself go back.
She had work to do. Even as Gary snored and turned the air in her small room toxic, Faith’s undead lover was hiding from the sun with a belly full of innocent blood. Blood that was on her hands.
She had a vamp to hunt down and stake.
And, as much as she hated to admit it, she should probably head over to do-gooder central and warn Fluffy and her English watchdog that the most brutal and vicious killer to ever carouse the Earth since even before Angel grew a soul had rolled back into town.
Groaning in disgust, at herself and at the thing she’d laid the night before, Faith steeled herself for contact and then gave Gary a forceful shove. He landed thickly on the floor with a bed-shaking thud.
“Jesus! What did you do that for?” he yelled, clutching at his chest.
Faith gave him a sweet smile. “Because you’re disgusting. Now pick your fat ass up and haul it out of here.”
Gary struggled to sit up. “Listen, sweetheart. I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but . . .”
In a flash, Faith was off the bed and hefting Gary to his feet by what was left of his greasy hair. Hitching his breath, he squealed.
“You gonna go, Gary, or am I gonna have to get rough?”
“I’ll go! I’m going! Please, just . . .”
Faith let go of his hair and knelt to sweep his clothes off the floor. Shoving them into his arms she gestured toward the door with a nod of her head.
Gary didn’t even bother pulling on his jeans before he flew out of Faith’s room.
“Good,” she muttered, slamming the door behind him. “That’s a start.”
An hour after an intense total-body scour in a steaming shower, Faith sauntered into the library at Sunnydale High. Giles sat a table, grimacing over an aged text as Buffy pummeled away at a training dummy to his right. It was a little after five o’clock, and it looked like the rest of the gang had clocked out for the day. Faith found she liked that just fine.
“Hey,” she said, by way of greeting.
Giles looked up from his book, startled. “Faith. Uh, Hello. Was there something you needed?”
Glancing toward Buffy, who continued to pummel the hapless dummy, Faith felt her resolve splinter. “Uh, well, yeah. I uh . . .”
Jumping back from the dummy, Buffy turned toward her and smiled, brushing the hair out of her sweat-streaked, but still ridiculously fresh looking, face. “What’s up?”
Faith’s resolve to tell Giles and Buffy about Spike’s return inexplicably shattered. “Nothing earth-shaking,” she answered, shoving her face into a grin. “Just wondering if maybe you wanted to go grab some grub before patrol. Feel like I haven’t eaten in a week.”
“Sounds like a plan. Mom’s in San Francisco and I’ve been living on cereal and peanut butter sandwiches for the last three days. Ribs?”
“Sounds like a winner.”
“Gimme fifteen minutes to shower and change and I’m there,” Buffy said, trotting toward the door.
Faith dropped into a chair across from Giles, who was once again scowling over his book. “You look stressed. What’s the stitch?”
“It happens to be a relic, actually. I believe it’s the Medallion of Cyphrus.”
“Medallion of whatus?”
“Cyphrus. A rather large demon with an unusually cruel disposition . . .as far as demons go. He’s believed to have been killed near Prague, sometime in the early thirteenth century.”
“So how big are we talkin’?”
“Fifteen feet tall, and a half a ton of pure muscle. He’s also rumored to have had six arms, four of which sported foot-long, razor-sharp talons.”
“Kinda hard to miss in a crowd, huh? So what’s with the sudden interest in extinct demon guy?”
“This,” Giles said, reaching into his tweed blazer and producing a golden disk the size of a half dollar. He slid it across the table to Faith. “Two nights ago, Buffy ended a fight near the Tomb of Debois, and that, apparently,” he said, nodding toward the medallion, “was the prize.”
Two nights ago. Two nights ago she’d been at the Fish Tank, hooking herself a prime piece of bleach-blond Piranha. Her body remembered cold fingers tracing the bare flesh of her hips, a cold tongue stealing the heat from her mouth, and, once again, her skin vibrated with the foreign chords of desire and need, rather than the familiar tune of lust and want.
What in the hell was happening to her? She leaned back and shuddered.
“ . . . and the discovery of the medallion could indicate the possibility of resurrection—that’s to say if it hasn’t happened already . . . Faith? Are you all right?”
“Five by Five. So you think this Cypress dude might be among the living?”
Giles grunted. “Cyphrus. And it’s doubtful. Still, I think it best we exercise caution until we can be certain. If the materialization of the medallion does indicate that Cyphrus is indeed alive, we’ll need to be prepared with a battle plan before we confront him . . . or before we accidentally trip onto his path. Unfortunately, such an event would be suicide.”
“Oh,” Faith said, turning toward the sound of Buffy pushing back through the Library doors. She jumped to her feet, eager to get away not only from the watcher, but from the memory of Spike and the reoccurrence of her feelings for him. “You ready, B?”
“Yep. And ready to consume more barbeque sauce than should be legal in the state of California.”
“Buffy, Faith,” Giles said, rising. “I hate to put a crimp in your plans to, um, inhale mass quantities of sickly sweet, sauced beef, but I think it best that you both lay low until I can determine if Cyphrus is a threat. May I suggest you both go straight to your house, Buffy? Order some pizza and watch the telly. I don’t want either one of you patrolling tonight.
Buffy grinned. “Cool. A night off.” Her smile faltered into a pout. “Hey! I finally get a night off and you want me to sit at home? Not so cool.”
Faith shrugged. “Works for me. You got cable, B?”
“Yeah.”
“Let’s go then,” Faith said, draping her arm around the blond slayer’s shoulders and guiding her toward the door. She suddenly wanted to kiss Giles. Faith could think of nothing better than keeping Buffy off the streets for a few days until she could figure out what she was going to do about Spike.
Faith and Buffy were just digging into their third pepperoni pizza when the doorbell rang.
“Angel,” Buffy breathed, leaping to her feet and jogging toward the door.
Faith groaned, and shoved the rest of her slice into her mouth. Great. More of the pathetic tortured lovers show. Better eat quick before she lost her appetite.
“Faith. Good, you’re here too,” Angel said, as he walked into the living room.
“Yeah. Hi.”
“Angel, what is it?” Buffy asked, not two inches off his heels. Hell, if she followed him any closer, she’d be inside of him, Faith thought with a smirk.
Angel turned toward Buffy, nearly knocking her over. Buffy grabbed him to steady herself, and then apparently forgot to let him go.
Angel didn’t seem to mind. “It’s Spike. He’s back. I was down at Willy’s trying to get some info on Cyphrus, and I overheard some of Spike’s old gang talking about seeing him at the Fish Tank.”
Faith’s smirk fled as her heart galloped. So now they knew. Shit.
Buffy wrinkled her nose. “The Fish Tank? What would Spike be doing at an Aquarium? Does Sunnydale even have an Aquarium?”
Angel smiled down at his dimwitted little princess. “It’s a bar, Buffy. And not a very nice one.”
“Oh,” Buffy said, nonplussed.
“I think we should gear up and take care of him before he can do too much damage. I think Drusilla might be with him. The vamps were talking about some dark-haired female companion . . . though it’s odd that they wouldn’t call her by name if it was Drusilla. They’d know her. Anyway, we can’t take that chance. Spike’s bad enough on his own, but if Dru’s with him, there’s no telling what they have planned.”
“I say we dust them first and ask questions later,” Buffy said, locking her eyes with Angel’s.
Faith watched the pair lose themselves in each other, and groaned. “So what about what Giles said? Might not be such a great idea to be out on the streets. Might be big bloody death. Is this Spike really that bad? And who’s this Dru chick?”
With obvious effort, Angel tore his eyes from Buffy’s and looked at Faith. “He’s really that bad.”
“And Dru’s his girlfriend. Just as nasty, and insane to boot,” Buffy added.
“She’s the wildcard,” Angel agreed. “Spike loves her more than he loves the kill. Whatever crazy plan she’s come up with this time, Spike will bend over backwards to make it happen, or damn near kill himself trying.”
“Better to dust them before they get started,” Buffy said, nodding.
Girlfriend? Love? Faith felt flush with . . . oh my god, was that jealousy? “Love, huh? Didn’t think demons knew how.”
Angel shrugged.
“So let’s go hunting, then,” Buffy said. She turned to Angel. “Come upstairs and help me pack up?”
“Sure.”
Faith watched the pair head up to Buffy’s room. With any luck, they’d suck face for a while before they got down to the stake gathering, and give her a decent head start.
As soon as she heard them walk into Buffy’s room, Faith bolted out the door.
Faith didn’t find Spike. He found her.
She’d been back to the Fish Tank, to the Bronze, and to half a dozen other bars where she knew vamps often passed as human clientele, but with no luck. Twice she’d narrowly escaped being spotted by the love-sick duo, who, thankfully, seemed to be more concerned with each other than with hunting Spike, no matter what they might be trying to tell themselves.
After more than two hours of searching, Faith found her frustration bordering on panic. If Buffy and Angel found Spike first, they’d kill him.
But then, wasn’t that exactly what she was going to do?
Yeah. Yeah it was. Stick a stake in him. He’s done.
So Faith found it a little strange that she didn’t even move for her stake when the firm, cold hand grasped her shoulder from behind as she paused beside the mausoleum in Shady Rest.
“Slayer,” he said. “Here for a little more rough and tumble, or are you looking to stake me right and proper?”
Shaking off his hand, Faith turned toward him. His eyes glittered in the moonlight, and despite the darkness, she was mesmerized by how blue they were.
“You were looking for me, weren’t you, Pet? You have the air of a lady with a purpose.”
Faith opened her mouth, ready to spit out half a dozen smart-ass replies. Instead, she heard herself whimper, “You left.”
“Well, yeah. Thing about vampires, you see, we have this allergy to the sun. So we’re not too keen on being cornered in tiny hotel rooms where one quick sweep of the drapes could fry us to ash. Not to mention the fact that you’re a slayer. You slayer. Me, vampire. Figured you’d wake up with your senses intact, and bye-bye William The Bloody. I haven’t lived this long by being a stupid git.”
She stared up at him, her heart racing, her skin tingling, fighting for words. But all she could think was about how much she wanted him to kiss her, cold-blooded straight up killer or not.
Spike caressed her check with the back of his hand. “But you’re not going to kill me, are you Love? No,” he whispered. “You came for something else.”
“You’re wrong,” Faith murmured, but she didn’t back away from his touch. She couldn’t. Didn’t want to. “I came to send your sorry ass straight to Hell. You and your girlfriend.”
Spike smiled, and leaned toward her, closing the small space between their bodies. Faith’s breasts pressed into his chest as his lips brushed against her ear. “Don’t have a girlfriend,” he whispered. “Not anymore. Think you might want the job, Faith?”
Before she could consider a reply, Faith found her traitor arms wrapped around the vampire’s neck, as her warm tongue dueled with his cold one. The sensation of fire and ice was delicious and electrifying, and her whole body hummed, begging to be touched, aching for more of him in a way it had never ached for anyone before.
Lost in her urgent desire, she never heard the rustle of the approaching pair of footsteps through the leaf-shrouded ground. She didn’t know they had company until she heard Buffy gasp.
“Oh my god. Faith.”
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