Summary:  Between the Senior Partners and the Watchers Council, Spike is having one hell of a time staying undead. A chance encounter in New York brings to light just how sore about losing the Senior Partners really are. Another apocalypse is on the way.

Revelations
by Dark-Syaoran

It was her smell that alerted him to her presence.

A vampire’s sense of smell was a very potent thing. Not as sensitive as werewolves, a vampire’s sense of smell was still good enough that when a scent is locked, they can track their prey for miles. Being around this particular scent for days upon days, even having been over three years since, had not dampened his ability to recognise just who it belonged too, even with the street packed with sweaty, musky bodies as it was.

New Years Eve.

One holiday that never failed to fill the streets with hundreds of happy-meals, only... happy-meals were no longer on his menu.

Strict diet.

It also brought out all manner of demon, the utter chaos of the celebration creating a perfect cover for their activities, whatever they may be. He used to take advantage of such occasions, once upon a time.

Stopping to light a cigarette, Spike discreetly glanced behind him through a near-by shop window, his reflection noticeably absent. It only took a few moments for him to spot the familiar figure, skulking towards the back of the crowd that was gathered on the road and sidewalk. She had stopped advancing on his position with his sudden halt, watching him warily as he lazily took a drag.

A Slayer.

In New York.

The Big Apple.

That sure brought back memories, Spike thought with a half smirk, half grimace, watching as the young woman was engulfed in a literal wave of partying humans. He shifted uncomfortably in his leather duster for a second, before remembering that he no longer had the original. It had been destroyed in Rome a couple years back, only a replica hugging his frame now.

He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that.

Moving once again, he merged with the party goers, swiftly navigating the mass of writhing bodies as they danced and drunk and kissed and cheered. They weren’t in Times Square, where the bulk of the celebrations took place, but were close enough that the sound was deafening without taking into account his vampiric enhanced hearing.

Her smell continued to follow him with the breeze, distinct amongst so many.

After taking down the Circle of the Black Thorn, there had not been a moment’s respite. The Senior Partners were not the type to forgive or forget a slight against them – especially one so damaging – and had unleashed an army of demons upon Los Angeles in retaliation, something they really should have expected. Since when did the bad guys care about people being caught in the crossfire?

The ensuing battle had been one of brutal proportions, only ending when sunlight had begun its dangerous ascent over the horizon the morning after.

Wesley hadn’t even made it to the finale, the old warlock he was sent to take out being too powerful for the once-watcher, leaving Illyria to finish the job.

Gunn had been killed relatively quickly, his wounds too much for him to put up much of a fight. He’d been drained dry by one of the few vampires amongst the stampeding, bloodthirsty horde, his body carried from the field of battle despite his and Angel’s best efforts like some sort of trophy, or worse.

The rest of them had lived through the hellish ordeal through some measure of sheer dumb luck, though not all in one piece. The fact that he hadn’t been dusted in that alleyway behind the Hyperion in itself was a blessing and he wasn’t looking for the hows or whys. First chance they’d gotten, they’d left that forsaken city and as far as he knew, none of them had returned since.

Last he heard, Illyria was somewhere in South America – probably the Amazon, attempting to converse with the local flora – while Angel had gone back across the pond, which wasn’t surprising, considering who else now called Europe home.

But things were different now, or perhaps they had returned to the days of old. They were no longer tolerated by the self-named ‘scoobies’ and the newly revamped Watches Council with their ever growing army of Slayers. They were not only hunted now by the Senior Partners and the multiple assassins they sent, but by the hundreds of Slayers around the world who had been ordered not to trust the two soul-bound vampires, to call for backup if encountered and not to engage alone, under any circumstance.

They couldn’t be trusted.

They were Wolfram and Hart, through and through, or so they’d been labelled. Los Angeles had been pulled into a hell dimension after they had fled and it had taken some serious woman power by the Watches Council and their Slayers to reclaim the lost city. Now they were looking for the ones who had damned the already damned metropolis to hell, which was why he knew the pretty little thing tailing him didn’t want to talk so much as put a fist through his chest.

She was alone as far as he could tell; which was surprising considering the wariness the two vampires were being treated with these days, though she had always been a rash one. Always trying to prove herself by running her mouth, wanting to be the leader, even when she was ill equipped for the job.

Rounding a corner into a relatively abandoned alley – people had to fornicate somewhere, after all – Spike continued with his fast, purposeful stride, all but breaking into a sprint as he rounded another corner, disappearing from the Slayers view in a whirl of black leather and cigarette smoke. Even as sparsely populated as they were, the noise of the celebrations going on inside the bordering apartments drowned everything out in a dull thumping baseline. Someone could scream their lungs out and they’d never hear it unless they were standing on their balconies and even then, would probably think it was nothing more than another couple getting it on.

Perfect.

-x-X-x-

“Shit,” she muttered darkly, increasing her pace, but it was too late. By the time she reached the second corner, he had vanished, the lingering smoke the only sign he had ever been present.

Growling in frustration, she moved onwards, eyes darting wildly from shadow to shadow, taking in everything like she had been taught.

A few garbage cans resting against a wall, overflowing with rubbish.

Rusty – but stable – fire escapes overhead.

Alley doors closed with no signs of forced entry.

Used condom on the ground.

Her pretty face screwed up in revulsion at that. This was not turning out like she had hoped it would.

William the Bloody was a legend, whose reputation was surpassed by very few in vampire history. He had killed two Slayers in his time, both whom he had sought out personally, something practically unheard of. He had also saved the world, sacrificing himself to take out one of the biggest bads in all the lands, tearing a chunk of the Earth out in the process. Despite all this, she never thought much of him. Believed it was all hype and no bite, so to speak.

Sure, he had killed two Slayers, but she had seen more than that fall in the last few years, despite their inherited skills. It seemed any demon could get lucky once or twice – even your garden variety vampire – and that’s all it took in the grand scheme of things. The fact that he had specifically sought them out only proved he was either insane – which was entirely possible as he was one of the strangest vampires she had ever encountered – or overestimated his own abilities. She’d seen him fight in the past and while he was good – great even – he wasn’t that great. She felt any one of the Slayers she knew could wipe the floor with him if they wanted.

And when he saved the world back in Sunnydale? Well, it had been the work of that strange amulet he had around his neck during the fight, something Buffy had given to him before the showdown. All he had done was wear it, that’s all.

Nothing special.

He was just another vampire. One with a reputation, but one she believed was highly over exaggerated. He was nothing she couldn’t handle alone.

Or so she’d thought, before he gave her the slip without seemingly trying.

The sound of metal crashing against pavement echoed from behind her, startling the woman into a half-turn, muscles pulled taut in anticipation. She took in the turned over trashcan with a heated glare, before focusing her attention on the cat darting away on all fours.

“Stupid animal,” she grunted, uncoiling her muscles, before her sixth sense went wild.

“Good kitty,” a voice whispered lightly in her ear, her eyes widening in shock and not a small amount of fear. She spun around as fast as she was able with an elbow strike, only to be met by a hard right hook to the jaw mid-turn, her teeth rattling in her mouth as pain exploded over her senses. Crumpling to the ground in a stunned heap, she was defenceless as the bottom of his heavy boot smashed into her face with a sickening crunch, blood gushing in torrents from her now shattered nose, a crimson river dripping from her chin onto the chest of her tank top.

“This is disappointing,” Spike commented, lifting the dazed woman by her hair as he fought down the bloodlust that roared through his veins at the sight and smell of her powerful, mystically intoxicating blood. She dangled limply, whimpering as her entire body weight pulled at her scalp. “They sure don’t make you Slayers like they used too.” Here he paused, frowning at her smashed nose. “Normally takes a lot more force than that to break something with you lot.”

Still disoriented, she threw a desperate punch which was batted away with ease. Still frowning, Spike lunged forward, his forehead colliding with her face with force, causing her to tumble to the pavement as he released his hold on her hair, delicate features twisted in agony at the brutal blow.

“Lesson the first,” he started, reliving a brief moment in time with a small smile, bloodlust forgotten. “A Slayer must always reach for her weapon.”

She was no Buffy, but still a Slayer. Fighting through the pain, she scrambled to her feet, battered face pulled back in a snarl as she lunged for his throat. Taken by surprise, Spike was slammed against the brick wall of the alley with incredible force, head bouncing off the surface with a sharp crack as the petite warrior wrapped her small hands around his neck, squeezing with all her considerable might. Slightly dazed, the vampire still found it in himself to smirk and give a wheezy laugh as her nails dug into his flesh, drawing cold blood.

Staring into her eyes, he saw nothing but primal, unbridled fury.

“You forget, luv,” he rasped with effort, smirk still in place. “We don’t breathe.”

Spike stuck hard with both hands, striking at the pressure points located under her armpits with practiced precision. Arms momentarily numbed, her fierce grip slackened as she took a backwards step, the vampire slipping forward through her weakened defence and delivering a well placed front kick to the chest, his boot driving the air from her lungs as she was propelled across the narrow alley, crashing into the opposite wall at speed.

The sound and feeling of her skull smashing against the wall was the last thing she experienced as her vision darkened.

-x-X-x-

She wished she’d never woken up.

Her chest burned something fierce, agony spiking through her frame with each ragged breathe she took. Her face felt like a bomb had gone off directly in front of it repeatedly, the skin tender and swollen, the lower half covered in dried, flaky blood. A painful thumping sensation behind her eyes – probably in sync with her heart beat – signalled a massive headache which continued to build with each second that passed while something wet and sticky – and probably, most definitely red – oozed an uncomfortable trail down the back of her neck from a large wound covered by stained hair.

A brief attempt at moving only brought more pain and alerted her to the fact she was bound with heavy chain, legs together and arms pulled behind her back in a very awkward position, aggravating her bruised chest. Spike had really done a number on her, she shamefully admitted to herself, shifting uncomfortably on the chair that was her prison.

He didn’t even break a sweat, she scolded herself, how pathetic was I?

“Glad to see you awake, luv,” a very familiar voice said, British accent as thick as ever. “I was startin’ to worry, if you can believe that.”

She tensed and immediately regretted it as she cried out, slumping forward as far as the chain allowed.

“Easy does it,” he chuckled, igniting a deep pit of fury in her gut. Surprisingly, she felt no fear in her vulnerable position, only hate. “Didn’t think I’d ever see your face again, so soon...” he trailed off slowly as she opened her eyes, a glare of utter hatred meeting his amused gaze.

“What was your name again, luv?”

“Fuck you,”

“Oho,” he clapped, standing from his previously reclined position on a ratty old couch opposite her. “Still got some fight in you, yeah? Good to know.”

“Take these chains off and you’ll see how much fight I have,” she hissed.

Spike hummed slightly, casually shrugging off his leather duster and placing it over the back of a nearby chair. Taking a quick glance around the small room as he wandered towards an old refrigerator that seemed out of place and broken, she took in the slightly peeling wallpaper, second hand furniture and boarded up window with vague interest. There was an old television in the corner closest to the window and a bookcase along the wall she was seated in front of, completely bare of any reading materials. The carpet had seen better days, nearly worn down to the floorboards underneath and no longer anywhere near the vibrant colour it used to be in times past. There were two doors, one opened and revealing a basic bathroom while the other was shut and locked with a variety of padlocks.

“So, Kennedy, right?”

“You know who I am, asshole,” she snarled, sick of his attitude. The way he looked at her infuriated her beyond belief, as if he was better than her.

“Yeah, yeah,” he interrupted, a mug held in his left hand.

Taking a mouthful of blood, he returned to the couch. She observed him quietly, taking in the tight black shirt and low-riding jeans, pale skin and chiselled, ageless – and though she would never admit aloud – handsome face. Unsurprisingly, everything about the vampire was practically the same, with the exception of his now curly, hair gel free hair. It was the one thing that had nearly made her overlook him back in the streets, despite it being such a small change.

Nearly.

It was still platinum blonde, after all.

“Surprised you’d come after me alone, though you never were too bright,”

Kennedy stayed silent for once, eyes attempting to set him on fire.

No such luck.

That was one power Slayers didn’t have in their arsenal.

“Didn’t even bring the witch with you,” he continued regardless, intrigued at the slight twitch at the mention of her lover, or maybe not-so lover? Spike always knew she was too unlike Tara for it last in the long run.

“Got fed up with you, did she?”

More silence.

He decided to be cruel.

“Always knew you were nothing but a rebound.”

She attempted to lunge at him, using as much strength as she could muster from her bound position, but it wasn’t enough as the chains held strong. Tears of agony welled in her eyes as she continued to struggle for a few moments before slumping, boneless against the chair as she bit back a scream of frustration, rage and pain.

“Now that was rather stupid,”

“We know why you’re here,” she suddenly said, making the vampire pause in confusion, making sure to keep his lack of understanding from the bound girl.

“Do you, now?” he asked slowly, leaning back, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Don’t play stupid,” she snapped, finally losing complete and utter control of her mouth. It was only a matter of time, he knew. “We know what Wolfram and Heart are up too, but don’t think for a second that you’ll get away with it! We will stop you, traitor.”

Spike stared at the girl, realising he was onto something big and by total accident. He really did love mouthy prisoners. “Is that a fact?”

“Did you really think we wouldn’t notice?” she questioned incredulously, stupidly ploughing ahead mindlessly without thinking about the consequences. “Did you really think we wouldn’t be keeping an eye on the Hellmouths?”

Hellmouths?

Oh boy, Spike thought with a slight grimace, this didn’t sound good at all.

She misread the expression on his face – thinking she had caught him out, surprising the vampire with her knowledge of his plans, of all things – and continued.

“We won’t let you open them, you hear? No matter what.”

Open them?

THEM.

Spike stared at Kennedy in muted shock, eyes locked with hers as he tried to process what she’d let slip.

He knew there was more than one Hellmouth, of course. He’d visited tons of them over the years, though not specifically for the reason of seeing one. While Sunnydale had probably been the most active in terms of potentially world ending events – which really did happen with ridiculous regularity in that town – that wasn’t to say the others were anything to scoff about. Where ever there was a Hellmouth, there was always a huge amount of supernatural activity, the bulk of it decidedly evil. Hot spots like London and Berlin both had them, while the United States alone had four in their backyard.

Had.

With the destruction of the Sunnydale Hellmouth, there were only three left.

One located in Cleveland, Ohio.

Another was found in Houston, Texas.

And the last?

New York City, New York.

What made this different from your everyday opening of a Hellmouth – if you call it that – was the fact that through her words, she had implied that Wolfram and Heart – the Senior Partners – were trying to open multiple Hellmouths, for purposes he did not understand but knew to be bad.

Very bad.

Spike blinked, only now noticing the smug look on the young Slayers face. He hadn’t seen that look from her in years.

“What are you so happy about?”

She remained quiet, a vicious smirk slowly forming as the seconds ticked on, a stark contrast to the rage and fear she had mostly shown tonight. Frowning, he noticed something flashing red on the wall behind her bound body. Standing, he set his mug down and gripped her by the jaw, twisting her head to the side roughly as he peered down over her shoulder, ignoring her cry of protest.

On one of her fingers there was a simple, unremarkable ring with a small gem, coated by a small amount of blood.

A small gem which happened to be flashing red, each flash gaining speed from once every few seconds till it did nothing but shine brightly in the dark room, slightly hurting his enhanced sight if he stared directly at it.

“You’re in big trouble now,” Kennedy sneered. Spike took a step back, releasing his hold on the girl, suddenly understanding.

“Not so alone, I take it?”

Of course she wasn’t, he realised now. They were here watching the Hellmouth. They wouldn’t send one Slayer when they could send a doze-

He was already sprinting towards the boarded window – leather duster clasped firmly in hand – by the time the front door exploded inward in a shower of splintered wood with a deafening bang. A pretty young girl in snug jeans and a leather jacket stepped through the destroyed door, flanked by two equally attractive girls who both held stakes in white-knuckled grips. By the time they realised their prey was on the move, it was already too late as he leapt at the window with everything he had, shouldering through the boards and glass with a loud crash.

Spike experienced a brief bout of weightlessness as he soared out over the street below before gravity took affect, his stomach churning at the sensation. He plummeted four stories, a hiss escaping his throat as he collided with the road like a wet rag, bones rattling throughout his body at the vicious impact. Dazed by the pain, he groaned as debris rained down around him, stumbling to his feet, screams of fright from several directions deafening to his scrambled mind. Ducking, he narrowly avoided the axe that whistled over his head, lashing out with a punishing backhand that collected his attacker right on the cheek with a sharp crack.

Nearly overextending himself and falling on his ass, Spike glanced around with unfocused eyes, noticing several female-shaped blurs hovering around him in a semicircle. He paused, his vision suddenly focusing as his face changed; no longer looking handsome but fearsome, fangs extending over his bottom lip as sharp ridges pulled taut around his face, nose flattening out while his eyebrows protruded, skin stretched grotesquely.

Spike stared first at the four Slayers who stood before him holding an assortment of weapons, before turning his gaze on the girl slowly getting to her feet, the one he had blindly lashed out at in desperation.

Holding her cheek, she methodically knelt and scooped up her axe with her free hand, eyes burning into his.

Five Slayers plus three in the apartment meant eight, not including Kennedy.

Eight dance partners.

“Well,” Spike said, kneeling to pick up his duster. Shrugging into the comfortable leather, he searched the pockets and pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes but no lighter. Frowning, skin pulled even tighter across his forehead, he sighed dramatically.

“Which one of you tossers has a light?”

As they advanced on him as one, he knew he had little chance of survival, but he now had a cause, something to fight for. Angel needed to be alerted of the Senior Partners intentions, if he didn’t know already, and they needed to make a stand. It was time they finished what they had set out to do, removing Wolfram and Hearts influence for good.

It was time to go to work.

-x-X-x-

Authors Note: Okay, that’s that out of the way.

As you can see, I’ve decided to take a stab at writing Buffy: The Vampire Slayer. I used to be a big fan of the show, back in the day, though the interest waned throughout the years. Then for no reason at all, I started watching the final season of Angel again, when I was bored.

Then I thought of this.

This here is the beginning of something longer, hopefully. A prologue for what is to come. It was also written so I could get rid of the writing rust. I haven’t done much writing in recent years with the exception of a few oneshots. With this, I’m hoping that will change, but I make no promises.

Hope you enjoyed this.