Disclaimer: I do not own any of the
characters in this story and make no
money off them.
Summary: AU. Xander is a young man
living in an Amish community when he
finds himself confronted by the evil of a
STRONG WARNING: although done in a respectful
manner, this story deals with religious issues. If you
find that offensive DO NOT READ.
Special thanks to Petxnd for the wonderful artwork
Spike's whole body vibrated.
Less from the mutually unsatisfying sexual experience
he had just shared with Sherry and more from the
promise of an all out throw down with the huge biker.
Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Sherry had
found a newspaper lying in the alley next to the trash bin
and was busy cleaning up the mess running down the insides
of her legs. He grinned. Disgusting little skank.
He knew this was just what he needed.
A little violence ending with a good kill and a full tummy.
That fat ass biker had to carry enough blood to top off his tank
and carry him for nearly a week.
Biker Boy squared off. It had taken him more than
a couple minutes to understand and absorb the obvious scene
that had played out in front of his eyes but once he did
he rushed to where they stood by the broken bottles
and the overflowing dumpster.
Spike had waited patiently for the moment when all
comprehension would arrive. Suddenly the biker
threw this head back and with a mighty roar beat his
fists on his chest like a gorilla.
"AAAAHHHHHH MOTHA FUCKA!!!
Correcting his stance, Spike laughed,
"Well that took long enough. Come on Fat Boy, let's go!"
The biker shook his long gray hair and beard and
lowering his head, charged forward.
Gauging the distance between them, Spike stood his
ground till he was less that three feet away.
He then spun a round house kick that landed directly in
the chest of the biker sending him flying into the same
wall Spike had previously flattened Sherry against.
He hit with a solid 'THUD' and an "Ugh"
as the air whooshed from his smoke blackened lungs.
Staggering to regain his footing Biker Boy yelled, much
weaker this time, and started for Spike again.
Spike was mildly impressed. From the wobbling in
Biker's pupils it was obvious that the hit to the wall had caused
a slight concussion, yet here he came again.
Spike would have shaken his hand if he didn't plan on killing him.
He knew from past experience that dead bodies had a
very limp grip.
Over his shoulder Spike could see that the noise had
alerted the occupants of the bar and a flood of leather
and humanity was now pouring out and forming a wall of
drunken, drugged up flesh behind them.
Fortunately, in the rush to see who was fighting, someone was
pushed, someone else shoved, and at least six more fights
broke out around them.
No one would be offering King Shit a hand tonight.
Not even Sherry who, Spike was amused to see, was
back up against the wall with two other men.
One was getting his cock sucked while the other was
humping her from behind. Oh well, at least from the
action of her own hand Spike knew she would be getting
off after all, so he returned his attention to the mountain
of flesh that he had allowed to punch him once or twice,
just to keep things interesting.
But enough was enough.
It was time to collect the spoils and end the suffering
he was enjoying causing.
Spike slammed his fist into the biker's face, hearing the
bones of his cheek and eye socket shatter.
One more and King Shit was a flat turd on the ground,
his gray hair floating in a puddle of piss.
Seeing the big biker wet his pants did cause Spike to
conjur up a little sympathy. He knew what a bitch
it could be to peel off wet leather.
With his back to the chaos that was going on behind him,
Spike dropped to his knees beside the prone body. His fangs
bit down, slicing neatly into the thick neck.
The biker struggled weakly, not sure of what was happening
but trusting his instinct for survival.
Spike's teeth locked in and he drank deeply, swallow after swallow.
Moaning as he felt the warm blood transfer and fillhis cold
empty shell. Enjoying the alcohol chemical zap that was
shooting through him, he moaned and sucked harder.
Biker Boy apparently had several addictions that Spike was
now sharing gratefully. A couple he hadn't tasted since the
carefree days of the 60's.
As he heard the heartbeat falter, Spike stopped.
He withdrew and let the still live body drop with a
"SPLAT" back onto the wet pavement.
He had killed thousands before without blinking an eye,
but not this time. Something was stopping him.
Something told him this was a line he dare not cross
Snarling and confused, Spike stepped back. The sound of the
police sirens in the distance was rapidly getting closer.
Someone yelled "COPS!" and the crowd exploded in
The smell of blood, sweat, alcohol, and drugs hung heavy
in the air. Spike turned in the direction he had come and ran.
Back across the street, through the parking lot, and dove
into the sanctuary of the deep woods.
He continued to run mile after mile, not knowing where he
was going, but knowing one thing for sure. He was not
returning to the barn.
He would not go back to the boy, at least not tonight.
He could just see the disappointment and hatred in those soft
He would be disgusted at what Spike had done.
Spike was disgusted by what he had done.
Well, fuck him. He knew all along that Spike was a demon.
What did he think that meant?
Spike stopped running and looked all around himself.
Finding a small opening in a rock, more an animal den than
a cave, Spike crawled in, still in game face.
On his hands and knees he went as far back as he was able
then, circling like a wounded dog, finally curled up and laid
He covered his body with his coat and satisfied
himself that he was safe from the light of day.
Spike was miserable but didn't know why.
After what should have been a bloody brilliant evening
he was instead feeling like hell. Like he had lost the
fight and had his own ass kicked.
The borrowed blood in his belly felt like curdled milk,
sour and turned. It took all his effort not to throw it
And then there was Sherry. Spike pulled the coat
over his head and whimpered.
The more he tried not to think, the more his stomach
hurt. Spike fell asleep wondering what the fuck was
wrong with him.