Baptism of Blood (Anna/Spike)
Disclaimer: 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' and all characters/places/objects related are the intellectual property of Joss Whedon. 'Supernatural' and all related were created by Eric Kirpke.
She entered the bar like so many others: an easy target. With hair like fire and eyes like spring grass every eye turned to her and evaluated her worth. At first glance she was as shiny and new like a bright penny. Penny. A good name for a good girl.
Spike crouched over his beer and watched her, her face reminding him of so many he had forgotten. Children. Women. Mothers. People he had eaten and turned, some he had killed just because he could. Because it would make her, his Dark Princess, smile.
But she wasn't smiling. She came and sat next to him, not a speck of dust on her rumpled coat or her fashionable boots. They were scuffed, but she was clean. Just how she had managed that in this middle-of-nowhere biker bar was beyond him.
"Beer." Her voice was soft, musical, a singers voice.
It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. His chest gave a twinge as his demon twisted against the bonds of his newly acquired soul. Strange. He glanced back at the red-headed woman.
"Hey." Someone, human, had slid into the seat next to her. Spike could smell the whiskey on his breath and the arousal in his pants. The vampire was torn. He didn't know what he wanted to do. Help the damsel? Help the stooge? Ignore it? "Get you a drink?"
"Got my own." The little firecracker replied as the waiter dropped it on the table. She didn't even look at the man speaking, simply stared ahead at the wall and sipped her Coors.
The man didn't like that. "Hey, now. Just trying to be friendly."
Her whole body shuddered, Spike could feel little eddies of energy swirl around her, and she turned to the man. Spike watched and saw her eyes. Old. Fathomless.
One word. The human rocked back and made his exit. Picked up his hat and shuffled out the door, dazed and confused, and the girl returned to her drink.
His demon wailed in complete and utter fear.
"Evening." It was surprising how easily his voice came, without a shake or stutter. He feared her, but that was what made her all the more alluring. Would she kill him? Did he want her to?
Green eyes flicked over to him and pink lips frowned. She set her beer on the bar and those ancient eyes bored into him. Confusion. Sadness. Understanding. "You have a soul."
Her hand reached out, touched his cheek, and it was like electricity had shot into his brain. It hurt.
He wasn't sure how they got to the motel. Spike remembers them leaving the bar, remembers the soft golden light from the door illuminating her from behind as they headed out into the night, but not much else. One second they were there, the next they were in the motel.
He stripped off her clothes as she kissed him, her lips like hot embers against his, and every touch of skin brought a flare of pain. But he deserved it. He deserves all of it and can't bring himself to stop as her skin, skin as milky white and pale as a vampire's, sizzles against his own. The pain, the dangerous loving is a kind of penance for everything he's done. Everything his demon urged him to do that he didn't have the will or conscious or care to not do.
She cries out, but he doesn't know if it is from pain or euphoria.
His hands move to her back and he can feel something moving inside her flesh but she presses against him and bloody tears fall from his eyes before he can contemplate what it means. His demon is screaming now, gibbering in absolute terror, but Spike doesn't care. She sucks in a breath and he moves his kisses along her jaw and down her neck.
She is crying too, now, and when the liquid touches his skin it sizzles like holy water.
Howls are echoing in his head and outside of it. He can remember his mother, his cousins, Cicely. It is a mad instinct and wish to die that brings him to bite down on her neck and swallow down the thick blood that nearly chokes him. He rides another wave of pain and bucks into her. She moans whispering words he doesn't understand, doesn't care to understand, and something explodes.
Maybe it was the him. Maybe it was her. Maybe it was the world.
All Spike knows is that he wakes to something soft and white blocking his vision. There's a warm body not far from his own, warm and alive, and a sense of peace within him. It is early morning and the only light in the room is that which comes through the crack in the curtains.
Spike has to use the wall to pull himself up, and he can't quite believe what he's seeing. The light hits her - Anna, his brain supplies helpfully- and seems to make her glow. Pale skin gathers motes of golden light and throws it back, red hair gives off a ruby iridescence, and wide white wings flutter with the movements of sleep.
She looks beautiful. Effulgent.
He falls to his knees and can't stop staring. Sunlight creeps across the room and reaches his hand. It doesn't burn.
His Demon is gone. Dead. Turned to a cinder from the inside out, with the ashes long since drifted away on cosmic gusts. But his Angel is here.
Spike feels his mouth twitch into a smile. He can just imagine what the Ponce would say to that.
A/N- Next up: Dean/Buffybot