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B L A C K  W I D O W
 

II

 

The club is stifling hot.

 

The air chokes. Dry ice, sweat and the acrid bite of cigarette smoke. Music pounds through it with fast thumping beats. Primal rhythms like sex and heartbeats and breath.

 

The dancefloor is packed with a press of bodies. Youth throwing off the worries of the week for a damn good time. Buffy hears their hearts beating as surely as she feels the pulsing techno.

 

Joins the dancers. Lets the music take her just for kicks. Loses herself for a while in the confusion of the swirling light show. Fantastic colours. Red to green to pink to blue. Stop start strobe. Strike a pose.

 

Nothing to it.

 

Doesn’t let her guard drop too much. Always on the lookout. Enhanced hearing surveys the crowd for the dead. Slayer senses honed. Hopes to catch her bleached blond bad guy if she can. Counts off the pulses one by one. They all check out. But they’re out there. She knows. Just needs to find them.

 

A few of the boys move in. Ever hopeful. She plays with them. Allows them a dirty little bump and grind, a few wandering hands, and she moves on. They’re living. No good. Not what she’s looking for.

 

Spots the first in the shadows near the DJ booth. He’s standing at the edge of the dancefloor. Watching. Knocks back his beer and scans the crowd. Just like the other young men not drunk or brave enough to dance yet. There’s a hunger in this one’s eyes that sets him apart from the rest. Not looking for his friends or an easy lay. Wants a victim.

 

Allows the tide of the dancers to drift her over towards him. Gets his attention with a fuck-me glance and a cute little smile.

 

Oh yeah, he’s hooked.

 

Swings his way. Takes his arm. Reels him in. Pulls him out into the dancers. He’s just a boy really. Probably underage if he’d lived. Good-looking. Fresh-faced. Definitely dead. His hand is cold and citrine sparks glitter in his eyes when the spotlight catches them. He’s newly risen. A couple of weeks at best. Can’t quite pass as human. He’s not very convincing.

 

Nice try, vamp, but it’s all in the details.

 

He moves with her. She gets in close. Presses herself against him. Puts her arms around his neck. Lets him think she’s just drunk and horny. A girl looking for a dance with a hot guy and maybe a bit more. He puts his hands possessively on her ass. Tonight she’s just what he’s looking for.

 

The song changes. They switch tempo to match. She dances with him for a while.

 

Don't make him suspicious.

 

Lets him feel her up as if they were doing this dance for real.

 

She leans in when she thinks he’s ready. Whispers. "Let’s go somewhere."

 

He smiles in reply. No warmth there.

 

She leads him to the restrooms. The quieter ones near the back. Bounces up onto the counter. Hooks him in with a leg. He moves in and kisses her. He’s not very good, but he’s enthusiastic at least. Teaches him a trick or two with her tongue.  He’s a quick learner.

 

When they break it off she looks straight into his game face. He’s grinning. Thinks he’s got her. But he’s puzzled by the lack of screaming. Doesn’t see the stake she has against his heart until she jabs him gently with it. Doesn’t break the skin. She isn’t finished with him yet.

 

“Get down,” she snaps. “Get busy.”

 

She slips off the hot pants and sets him to work. Back against the mirror. Bare ass on cold tile. Legs clamped around the vamp’s broad shoulders. Closes her eyes and pushes herself against his fang-filled mouth. Winds her fingers round his hair. Digs into his scalp. She could twist his head off if he doesn’t obey.

 

Might do it anyway.

 

She tries to get into the moment, but it doesn’t work. He licks like a kitten. Laps at her cluelessly. Doesn’t know what he’s doing.

 

Useless.

 

Almost doesn’t see the girl watching them by the door. She giggles uncomfortably, but doesn’t interrupt.

 

Buffy turns and scowls at her. “Fuck off.”

 

“I just…” the girl starts.

 

The glare Buffy gives her is lethal. The girl retreats back out into the club. The crash of the door makes the vamp beneath her look up. Wants to know what’s going on. Doesn’t get that privilege. She pushes his head back down.

 

Didn’t tell him to stop.

 

She’s getting bored though. Cuts her losses. The stake lands true. The vamp disintegrates into a peppery cloud. She pulls her pants back on and leaves his dust for the cleaners to puzzle over.

 

One down. Start again. Find the rest.

 

Grabs a drink from the bar. Just water. Drinks as she stalks the fringes of the crowd. Finds nothing. Just a bunch of kids. Starts checking the darker corners. Finishes the drink. Stops beside a booth where two women are necking entwined. One white. One black. Ying. Yang. Not a heartbeat between them.

 

One looks up. Auburn hair flicks over a slim shoulder. Reaches out. “Join us.”

 

Buffy dumps the plastic glass on a table. Takes the cold hand. Settles between them. The black girl smiles at her partner. They think they’ve found someone to share.

 

Lips seek hers. Soft. Supple. They taste of lip-gloss and terror. Fingers behind stroke her hair, her arms. An eager tongue slips into her mouth as she runs a hand down the vampire’s exposed spine. Over the criss-cross ties of the backless dress. There are lips on her neck too. Hands cupping her breasts. Running along her thighs. Sliding between her legs. Turns to meet another mouth, another tongue. Brasher. Hungrier. Fiercer. 

 

A hand disappears into her top. A mouth kisses between her breasts. Someone finds her clit under the silky fabric. Rubs to the beat of the music.

 

Throws her head back. Closes her eyes. Invites them in.

 

Feels them change. Feels the bones shift against her skin. One is on her neck already. The hand over her clit rubs harder. Feels the prick of fangs over her pulse. Ready to bite. Sinks the stake in. The other gasps as her friend crumbles away. Pulls back. Angry. Never gets to realise it’s her turn to be staked.

 

Stands. Doesn’t see the new vamp before he grabs her. Struggles. But she’s in an awkward position and all she can do is thrash. She’s thrown into a back room, a store where the drinks are kept. It’s dark and dirty. A little dank. Lands heavily against a crate. Slides to the cold concrete floor. Bottles rattle with anxious clinks.

 

Looks up. Four sets of amber eyes stare down at her. Three guys and the girl from the restroom. Looks like she’s found them. Seems the girl’s been telling tales. Should have spotted her for a vamp.

 

Careless.

 

Gets to her feet. Slowly. They don’t know what they’re dealing with. She won’t give them reason to suspect. Let them think she’s just some girl who got clued in.

 

“You killed Chrissie and Rena!” the vamp that grabbed her shouts. “You do Nico too? What about the others? Ryan? Quinn? Him too? What are we going to do without Quinn?”

 

Glares at him. Blank. She doesn’t care who dusted the rest of his pals. Wasn’t her. Should have been. Wasn’t.

 

The vamp stares down at her. He’s a big stocky guy. Probably a football player in life. He’s expecting her to cower. Doesn’t predict the smack to the jaw he gets. Returns her kick with a punch. All he knows how to do. Has a mallet of a fist. But the swing is slow. Predictable. She dodges. The vamp punches the wall.

 

He roars with rage. The girl flees. Runs into the stake before she even realises Buffy is there. Turns to get the others. But Stocky Guy is charging towards her. She throws the stake. Gets one.

 

Perfect.

 

Meets the charge. His superior bulk is overwhelms her despite her strength. He’s irate now, running on instinct and fury. Bowls her over. Slams her against the crates again. Pins her. Vodka pools at her feet.

 

“I’ll teach you little bitch a lesson you’ll remember.”

 

He grabs at the waistband of her hot pants. Tugs at them. His other hand tries to clasp her wrists. He can’t do everything at once. The two other vamps step in to restrain her. One covers her mouth. Stocky Guy grins. But he doesn’t get to strip her. Knee strikes his crotch. Hard. He drops. Rolls away. Howls.

 

She pushes from the floor. Breaks free. Flips onto the crates. Over and up. Lands on her toes. Bounces, Jumps off. Jabs with her leg. Her heel punctures an eye. He screams. She lands. Grabs his friend by the collar and smashes his head into the wall.

 

When he falls he leaves a mark on the brick.

 

Turns back to Stocky Guy. He’s recovering. Climbing onto his feet. He’s sore and winded. She kicks him in the head. Follows it up with a disabling jab with her heel that doubles him over again.

 

She strolls over to the dropped stake. Picks it up. Puts Stocky’s friends out of their misery. Goes back. Hauls Stocky Guy up onto his knees. No effort. The stake hovers close to his breastbone. Just a little to the left. Draws out the suspense.

 

He whimpers.

 

Pathetic.

 

She drinks in his fear. His eyes are watering but they track each circle the stake makes. She smiles. Tucks the stake back into her waistband. She twists off his head for the fun of it. Wipes off his dust.

 

Eight kills. All easy. Not enough. Needs more than that. Wants a real fight.

 

She needs to find this Spike.

 

 

Part Three

 

 

 

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