Sequel to Two Days; part of The Voicesverse
Rating: PG 13
Spoilers: The Voicesverse/Shepherd Stories universe picks up from "Grave" and moves on accordingly through an AU Season 7. This is my Season 8 AU.
Summary: Spike returns to Buffy and Sunnydale, with the first team of Initiative-made vampires in response to a brutal serial killer's trail of blood and death. But the killer is literally more inhuman than the usual run of killers and is bent on satisfying a vendetta against our boy and the slayer.
If you're a bit unsure as to how and where this chapter fits in, you're certainly not alone, since it's been three months since the last part was posted. Luckily, the pixies began whispering at Chicago Vulcon. If you're uncertain about the pick up point, previous parts are available right here on Laura's site and at the Sandlot.
Feedback: You beta, you beta, you bet! email@example.com
Disclaimers: All Joss, all ME, all the time...
Author's Notes: The last time I posted a part of this story to the lists was February 9th. Yes, I know. Seems longer to me, too. I have found this season to be so rich with ideas and so compelling that the AU simply paled in comparison. I believe this to be another manifestation in the symptomatic illness known as 'being Jossed.' So I set this aside and wrote other things until such time as the Muse kicked me in the ass.
If you actually still care about "Wolf," then I deeply thank you and hope that these two offerings, Chapters Nine and Ten, satisfy you for now. Ten will follow later this evening.
Wicked child. Left her in chains, with only a few crippled victims for company. Broken their backs, so that they would last, but not escape, while he went off on his silly quest.
He'd been choking on his jealousy for weeks before he'd gone away. She could almost hear the gurgle. Had chained her while she slept, when she couldn't appreciate it.
Crooning, she drank deeply as the last girl gave up her life. There had been a dark man who had loved this one. In the girl's thoughts, the dark one looked something like her Angel. She understood, and did her best to accommodate the girl's dreams as she drained her dry.
Fear made the blood nasty and rancid. Once, she'd fed off that, the acrid taste of fear, but not for a long time. The smell of the frightened made her wrinkle her nose. It was so much better this way, the blood going down sweet and pure. All pink dreams and fluffy clouds.
Sitting back, she regarded the now broken figure. A large and rather nasty fly had perched on the girl's neck and was making its sticky way around the wound. Fascinated only briefly, she watched until she became distracted. The room had begun to reek of death. She suspected her clothes had begun to smell of it, too.
The fresh aroma of blood was like ambrosia. The stench that followed was interesting and momentarily amusing. But after days upon days in this place, she had ceased to be amused. No longer content to study the patterns of red death that decorated her victims and hating in particular the deep dried brown of them, she began to think of leaving.
It had been weeks since she'd seen the stars. Stood beneath them, whirling and dancing to the songs they sung. They missed her, calling out each night as they rose, twinkling, outside.
Patience exhausted with the final breath of her last victim, she frowned as she stared at the heavy chain. Brute force was not something she enjoyed, but she could certainly use it if the need was great enough.
Rising from the dirty floor, she brushed at her skirt, muttering resentfully at the dust streaks that striped it. Filthy hole she'd been left in. It made her want to scrub the stained wood floors clean. Yet another wicked thing from her wicked boy. Cut him to ribbons before she bathed the wounds with salt and bound them with her soiled garments.
Stepping lightly to the spot where the chain had been fixed to a beam that ran from the floor to the ceiling, she tilted her head, turning over in her mind exactly the best way to free herself.
Needn't have chained her at all. She could play the lady of the manor, waiting patiently at home weaving a tapestry of visions until her knight returned. Chains hadn't been necessary, although they did have some interesting uses. Uses that she'd been unable to enjoy.
He hadn't trusted her to stay, but with his extended absence, she wondered just what kind of fun she was missing. She didn't like to miss the fun. Her lip went out in a pout as she considered what entertainment would keep him from her side for so long.
Shrugging, she reached down and grabbed at the chain nearest the post and pulled until the room came down around her and the roof caved in. Dust and debris whirled around her like the stars as she pirouetted in the darkness.
As she dug her way daintily out, clucking with disgust as she realized that the dust from the stucco had done further damage to her dress, Drusilla swore to find her boy and give him the hiding he deserved.
Continued in Chapter 10