Spike

Disclaimer: I “still” do not own Harry Potter or Angel.

A/N: This chapter is actually based during the last chapter….Well, you’ll get it.

*****

“Come and get a taste, mate—got the best meat in town!”

The vampire gave a cocky grin, running a tongue almost suggestively behind his lower lip. He was on his toes, all tooth and claw, his face torn, trickling metallic candy down into his mouth, throwing his blood-lust-adrenaline-rush into overdrive. Spike was jam packed with demon fury, unleashing it as he fought, cracking horns and bones and putting a spare fist or foot wherever he could fit it. With every verbal punch and physical kick, he gained a bit more of his old self, though he wasn’t quite sure if it was the English Sex-Pistol-punk or the quivering poet.

Either way, wasn’t a beasty there that was going to steal his cavalier swank from him, no sir. The vampire lunged forward, wanting a taste of the foul, black blood oozing from the Hell minion’s second, communicative orifice—but that blasted soul kept him from partaking, making him, instead, keep an eye out for his friends.

Friends?

That was a good laugh, now wasn’t it? Friends? Ha! Associates, maybe. Allies? At the moment, they were. Eventually. . . .family? But never truly friends.

“Is that the best you got?” He teased the demon, putting a knee into its four-eyed face.

One more down—only a few thousand left. For all the “kiss my arse” play, he was frightened. He’d have to be beneath a pendulum to ever admit it, but he was actually scared. However, he knew that staying in one piece meant not showing it, just keep going like the world doesn’t matter, like the war’s inside.

As a man, he’d never fought, even for love.

As a monster, he had never stopped fighting.

As a being trapped between those two extremes, he had been able to keep himself at bay. Buffy had been his light, leading him, always. Everything he did he knew was right because he did it for her. She made it easy to die. But she wasn’t here, now was she?

His ghostly rebirth had left him in despair, unknowingly clinging to the past that he had with his ol’ gran’, Angel. It was easy to listen to his soul when it said to save the innocent, do the right thing. But what was it saying now? Angel had told all his warriors to prepare. . . .for the end. Why, then, was his soul shaking it’s head?

Was it right to leave this place so defenseless, the rest of Hell literally spilling out into the streets? Was death the answer? Spike’s mind was a haze. Just fight, dam nit, he chided himself. That’s all he could ever do, no time to think.

“Oh, shi. . . .”

Perhaps he should have been concentrating on the battle at hand.

Spike flew backwards, crashing through a wooden door, splinters sticking through skin and cloth as he rolled over in the heap of debris. The door in front of him hung pathetically on one hinge, a horrid picture of a nine-foot demon displayed from beyond the frame.

He let out an anguished groan, feeling the tension leave his forehead as he lost his furious game-face, taking on the appearance of a human man again.

The vampire took no time to rest, scrambling to his feet and jumping back into an isle of books, just as the demon swept at him with its long claws, tearing into his leather jacket as if it was as if were soft as butter. Spike knew what blades that sharp would feel like, slicing open flesh, and he was in no mood to feel his inners diced into stew bits.

With that thought, he ran around the back of a seven shelf book stack and pushed it over onto the approaching demon. Then he slipped through a curtain of beads, eyes trained so hard on the spot where he’d just left, that he didn’t realized where he was.

I just attacked with books, he noted suddenly. How the Hell did I manage to bust into a bloody book store?

“Malfoy?”

The question—accusation—came from his side. Spike frowned. Oh, crap.

“What?”

He took the girl behind the desk in within two seconds, studying her form long enough to make the rough evaluation that she was human, young, and, somewhat pissed. She was shouting at him (to which he almost formed a decent retort), but Spike didn’t have time for that, eyes back on the curtain that led to the other room.

“Get out of here!” he growled, his preternatural senses alerting him that the demon was up and headed in his direction.

“I’m not going anywhere!” the girl snapped.

Spike barely heard her, only aware of the fact that she hadn’t heeded his warning. Their time was up. The demon burst through the back, angry, and definitely ready for a taste. But, apparently, vampire was not longer on its evening menu.

The monster turned, letting out a dangerous growl and charging toward the girl, horns low, the better to impale the pretty with.

Spike grabbed the closest object, which happened to be a cash register and hurled it toward the beast. The machine hit the demon in the head, catching the monster between its threatening horns and cracking one of the deadly bone projections. The creature let out a cry of aspiration, its view blocked as it turned toward the wall, banging its head against it in an attempt to knock the register off.

The vampire wasn’t going to let the distraction go to waste. He jumped up, sliding down the counter on his rump, past the demon. Spike hopped off in one graceful move, grabbing the young woman’s wrist.

“Come with me!” he ordered, pulling her along before she could fight his assistance, headed toward the front entry way. She let out a cry but stumbled along behind him, trying not to loose her hand.

Time to save the girl.

Or so he thought. A glance up told him that dreams were clouds. Sometimes, so damned unreachable.

A short, ruddy demon slammed into the barred glass front doors, shattering the thick plates into broken webs. And he wasn’t the only one. Past the windows, a number of demons had taken to the streets. Spike grimaced, coming to a sudden stop, eyes darting for another exit.

“Upstairs!” the girl at his side shouted.

Without another word, she put it in reverse, yanking the vampire to her right, toward the hidden staircase.

Spike didn’t have time to question her, a “chinging” cash register flying by his head. “Faster!”