Fic: Soul Eclipse (BTVS/SPN)
Title: Soul Eclipse
Author: Kyria or moire2
Fandoms: BtVS, Supernatural
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/Notes/Timeline: B/D pairing. Graphic Sex. Gory Violence. Character Death. Post-Season 7 for BtVS, Spoilers for “In My Time of Dying” for Supernatural. It has been ten years since the Winchesters were in the hospital and Dean was dying. Buffy is in her mid thirties, but hasn’t aged much since Sunnydale. This is AU, folks, so there are some differences in vamps in this fic to blend the worlds. Please suspend belief if you can manage it. There are a few original characters. One fictional character is based on a ghost who haunts the re-built Sunshine Skyway in Tampa Bay. Locals believe this ghost died in 1980 when a freighter hit the old bridge’s steel and concrete supports during a storm. This event caused the old bridge’s center to collapse during rush hour. Many thanks to Nina for her inspiration and stellar beta abilities. I also have to thank Dani for her help with Dean’s dialogue. Without those two, this story wouldn’t be. WIP -- Updates will be posted on www.kyriagreene.com.
A/N: This is my first time posting here. Please let me know if I need to fix anything!
Disclaimer: None of the characters and properties of Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Supernatural belong to me.
“Somebody help!”
Head whipping back and forth, Dean gagged on the tube shoved down his throat as he tried to breathe. His heart clenched, throbbing once… twice…
Nothing.
Thrashing hard, his eyes rolled back in his head before he grabbed the tube, violently yanking it from his throat. Pain ripped through him when he jerked on it and blood spilled into his mouth as he sat up. The muscles in his throat clenched, body fighting hard to cough, but he had no air.
There was something wrong - he could smell evil in the air. It smelled like sulfur and decay -- the fact that he could suddenly scent evil, well, that was fucked up. Lurching out of bed, he swallowed hard on the sweet tang of his own blood, confusion fogging his mind as he licked his lips and fought the urge to find more…
“Dean, you need to lie down,” Sammy’s voice sounded raw as he begged him to get back in bed, gently pushing at his chest.
At his brother’s touch, unbidden rage threaded through him and Dean pushed back, shocked when Sam’s body thumped against the far wall of the room. With a stunned look on his face, he stared open mouthed when his brother slumped to the floor.
“Shit, Sammy, I’m sorry.” Dean crossed the room in a blur, squatting at Sam’s side as he ignored the horrified expression on his brother’s face. Gently, he helped Sammy upright looking behind him as he tried to figure out what had Sam so freaked out.
“What’s wrong?” Nothing was behind him and he slowly realized his brother was staring at him. Sam’s mouth was working, but nothing came out.
“Dean…” Dean turned, looking up as his father’s voice sounded from the doorway. “Jesus, your face.”
His father was looking at him as if he were a ghost, and Dean scrambled up from the floor shocked when his dad limped forward, putting himself between Dean and Sam.
“Get away from him.”
A dull gleam of gray metal flashed in John’s hands and Dean’s eyes widened as his father brought the hammer of the gun back with a soft click.
“What’s going on?”
“You’re not my son.” John’s hands were shaking as he brought the gun up, pointing it at Dean’s head.
It occurred to him that his father might still be possessed, but there was no yellow gleam in John’s eyes, just the hardened stare of a father protecting his son. This had to be some fucked up nightmare, Dean decided. This couldn’t be real. His father would never point a gun at him. Never.
“Dad!” Sam grabbed his father’s arm, pulling it down. “It’s Dean!”
If John hadn’t been injured, Dean knew he’d have no problem pulling his arm out of Sammy’s grasp. As it was, his brother was hanging on with all his strength. “He’s a vampire Sam; He’s one of them!” The tone of John’s voice was final, and Dean could tell his dad believed it. He had to get out of there.
Dean turned; sure his father had lost his damn mind as John finally broke free. Running for the door, he ducked low, but no shot rang out overhead. He kept running, glancing at the nurse station surprised at their screams. As he tripped down the stairs, and slammed the glass door open, one thing became very clear.
He had no reflection.
***
He felt the sunset, sensing the very moment the circled edge of golden light sank beneath the rim of the world. The dream dithered around his senses, dead neurons remembering despite the obvious. Dean’s eyes flicked open of their own accord; he was awake in an instant. Ten years of living like this and his preternatural senses still blew his mind. Dreams, though, weren’t supposed to be part of the package. And yet, he dreamed, Sammy usually playing a starring role, and the dreams were somehow linked to his father and brother being close to finding him. Fuck, he wouldn’t have survived the first few years of John hunting him without those dreams.
Pausing, he shifted against the cold shape of a woman curled to his back, the nightmare still present in his memory. He’d almost been ready to give in to the reaper that night. When the girl’s eyes flashed yellow… Well, he wouldn’t have guessed what that thing had in mind when it shoved his soul back into his body; running from the family he’d willingly die for was a fate worse than death. The fact that his dad and Sam were out there and he couldn’t be with them killed a piece of him. Dean snorted at that thought - couldn’t kill what was already dead.
The thin sheet that covered him slid down his chest as he rose and swung his legs over the mattress. The sheet bunched at his waist, revealing the muscular line of his thigh. Coarse, golden hair covered his legs and he shuddered as the woman behind him stretched and trailed her icy fingers down his back.
“Hungry? We could go out.” Her sultry voice rang through the room and Dean shrugged off her caress, mind still on his dream. He’d be damned if he ran from John now. He’d risen to a position of power, ending most of the vampire killings in southwest Florida. Lives were at stake.
He stretched, glancing lazily around the room until he came to the curtains covering the wall of glass that looked out across Sarasota Bay. His penthouse apartment in The Plaza at Five Points was part of his… inheritance. When he killed the vampire that ran the territory, Dean found himself to be the proud owner of many properties and bank accounts. Not to mention the local vamps padded his bank accounts with their hefty tithes. And, as he pulled the heavy, black velvet drapes open, he wished the previous owner’s taste hadn’t been so damn Goth. Noting the sail boats and yachts rocking softly in the calm waters of the harbor below, he let the curtain fall and turned back to his ‘guest.’ Bending over, he grabbed a triangle of black lace from the slick hardwood floor and flung it at her.
“I’ve got shit to do, sweetheart. See yourself out.” His smile was ugly. Ignoring the angry hiss from the thing in his bed, he walked into his bathroom to shower.
***
The 1989 Harley-Davidson XLH Sportster 1200 roared along the highway. He tried to keep his black beauty under ninety miles an hour, but it was hard on nights like this. The moon hung low in the west, a thin slice of white in a dark, cloudless night. Stars littered the sky, blinking glitter across black velvet. Dean ignore it all, concentrating instead on slowing down for the toll booth and pulling a dollar out of his black leather jacket. The elderly woman took his money, never looking up from the small television set on the counter. “Yeah, you’re welcome and thanks.” Smirking sarcasm was lost on her, and he gunned the motor before heading past the rising barricade.
Dark water glistened on either side of the wide expanse of road as he headed toward the Sunshine Skyway. It was a hot August night, and despite his lack of body temperature, he felt warm - almost alive. The heat was one of the reasons he’d picked Florida as a place to settle. Warm skin made it easier to pass for human in a place like this. His idle thoughts about body heat disappeared and a smile slid across his face when he spotted a woman standing under one of the many streetlights lining the road to the bridge. Despite her bedraggled appearance, Dean knew she’d be able to help him figure out if and when his family would be coming for him. She was shivering, and he could tell her hair and clothing were wet from several hundred feet away. The motorcycled slowed as he downshifted, the engine whining when he came to a complete stop beside her.
He leaned forward on the handlebars, and smiled at the trembling woman. She had wide-set brown eyes and skin the color of coffee and cream. Her long, thick black hair hung in heavy wet tendrils across her face and over her shoulders. She was, quite honestly, beautiful and Dean fought the urge to comfort her when her full lower lip trembled. “You can cut the act, Cassie.”
She squinted, an intelligence suddenly obvious in her large eyes as she glared at Dean. “Oh. It’s you.”
“I’m gonna tear up from all the loving affection.” He paused, noticing the beads of water on her eyelashes shimmer in the lamplight. “Get on; I’ll give you a ride across.” He knew she couldn’t turn him down. She’d spent every night since May 9th, 1980 trying to catch a ride to the other side of the bridge only to disappear seconds before she got to dry land. Out of all the ghosts that haunted the area, she was special. If someone gave her a ride across the bridge, and asked her a question about the future, she’d tell them anything they wanted to know. And, Dean had a lots of questions.
She sighed before shaking her hair, water went flying, evaporating in a hiss of steam before she walked up to the motorcycle and slipped her leg over the seat. A break in oncoming traffic and he was off, running up the bridge as the wind whipped around them. He got to the peak and pulled over along the edge of the bridge. With a grunt, he killed the engine and pushed down the kickstand, leaning the motorcycle to the side.
“I’ve got some questions.”
“And I’ve got answers.”
Dean jumped in spite of himself, head jerking as he searched for where the sound of Cassie’s voice was coming from. “I hate it when you do that,” he growled and slid off the machine to stand beside her at the rail. She leaned forward, looking out over Tampa Bay.
“My boyfriend didn’t believe me when I told him the bridge would fall. He made me get in the car with him and when we spilled over the torn metal grate into the bay... Saying “I told you so,” isn’t half as satisfying as being alive, you know?” She snickered, before catching his gaze from the corner of her eye. “Well, of course you know. How thoughtless of me. Forgot about your condition.”
Dean held in a growl; it wasn’t like he could do anything to a ghost anyway, no matter how much he wanted to.
“So, ask your damn question already.”
“You know what I want, but I’ll play along. When is my family coming for me?”
“Your family…” she trailed off, and stared out to sea before saying, “You’re asking the wrong question, you want to know how they plan to kill you this time.”
A wide smile broke over her face at Dean’s concerned look and he changed his question to, “What are they planning?”
“Not they, your father. Sam’s much more sympathetic to your plight. Daddy, though, is a lot fuzzier on the issue. He’s sending an assassin. Two full moons will pass before someone powerful will come for you.” She paused, her form fading to black and white, “Now, take me to the other side of the bridge.”
“Aw, come on. One more question.”
“If you take me across, I’ll let you know when Daddy dearest makes it to Florida.”
“How will you do that?”
She held up her hand, looking through the translucent ‘flesh’ in wonder. “It’s something I’ve been working on, believe me, I’ll do it. Come on, Dean. I don’t have much time left.” She turned, eyes bright with tears. “Please, I just want to get to the other side. Please?”
“Shit.” He grabbed the rail, knuckles turning white as he glared out at the bay. Shoving off the concrete barrier, he turned back to his motorcycle. “Come on, I’ll take you across.”
When she hopped on and wrapped herself around his waist, the cold of her arms seeped through his thick leather jacket. The rumble of the motor did nothing to hide the sound of her weeping. They made their way down the bridge to the other side, the cold fading away as soon as he crossed over to land. Looking behind him, he could see she was gone.
***
It was October and tourist season was in full swing, making it hard for him to find an open seat at Smoking Joe’s, but he managed. Dean nursed his beer, green eyes intent on the wide screen televisions littering the walls. The bar’s patrons roared their approval as South Florida scored against West Virginia. USF alumni rooted for their alma mater in the Sarasota bar, annoying the hell out of him with their drunken cheers. All he wanted to do was watch A&M kick the shit out of Texas, drink his beer and have a smoke in relative peace and quiet.
“I seriously need to get the sport’s package,” he grumbled, downing the rest of his drink.
As he did, the air warmed with the tingling sensation of fear, and he tensed as someone slid into the seat next to him. This certain someone was the half-breed son of a fallen angel. Somehow, much to everyone’s surprise, Dean outranked the ancient being power-wise. Whatever Sammy and Dad had done to jerk him out of that coma had been powerful enough to turn him into some sort half-breed. Vampiric in nature, he had the blood lust going in full, but he had other mojo that went above and beyond the ordinary vamp.
He’d easily taken over the South Florida territory and his dominion was quickly encroaching on the two thousand year old vamp whose territory included Miami. At this pace, if he continued taking over cities, he would dominate the southeastern part of the country in the next five years.
“Master?”
Territories, dominion… this was a long way from living out of cheap motels and the Impala. Dean shook off the thoughts of power and returned his attention to the guy on his left. All seven feet of the large ‘man’ was exaggerated by his Henry Spencer hairstyle. Not turning, Dean addressed his associate. “What did I tell you about that hair, Marcus?”
“I’ll never get laid unless I cut it?”
“That’s right.”
“I get plenty of pussy.”
Dean snorted.
“Fine. I get some.”
Dean shook his head in disbelief.
“FINE! I get no pussy.” Marcus paused, squinting as he looked critically at his reflection in the mirror. “You really think a hair cut would help?”
Dean turned, eyebrow raised, as he looked up at the dark afro-like stack of hair that was at least six inches tall and decided not to give the obvious answer, instead asking, “What do you need, Marcus?”
“Oh, that. There’s something new in town. It…” he trailed off, eyes glazing over white for a moment, “…it, or should I say she, is powerful and hunting vampires. You’re vampires. Thought you outta know.”
“You know who this hunter is?” He didn’t have anything against his old profession, per se, but if he expected to keep his position as Master, he couldn’t let one rampage through his ranks of minions.
It had taken a little over seven years, but he’d whipped his followers into shape. None of them drank from live humans anymore. Living on healthy donations from the Red Cross and butchers, his vamps had pretty much dropped off the radar, something Dean had desperately needed to happen to keep out his family’s sight. Silently, he wondered how this hunter had found him and what she was if she wasn’t human.
“She isn’t exactly a hunter.” Marcus’ eyes flicked to Dean and he hesitated before adding, “She’s a Slayer.”
“Damn.” The illusion of motion left Dean’s body.
Silent and still, he wondered what it’d be like to go up against an actual Slayer. Stories ran rampant through the supernatural community about the close of the Hellmouth in Sunnydale, and he wanted nothing more than to stay off those chicks’ radar. Of course, if the stories were true, ‘those chicks’ were pretty hot - especially the one in charge named Buffy.
Movement returned and Dean laughed out loud. “Buffy the Vampire Slayer. If I get my ass handed to me by a chick with that name, I’m never going to live it down.” He turned and his full lips stretched into a thin smile as he wondered how to fight a slayer without anyone dying and asked, “Where can I find her?”
“She’s on Lido Key shopping.”
Dean rolled his eyes. “Fucking tourists.”
If you get a minute, let me know what you think! Thank you for reading!
***
TBC...
Author: Kyria or moire2
Fandoms: BtVS, Supernatural
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/Notes/Timeline: B/D pairing. Graphic Sex. Gory Violence. Character Death. Post-Season 7 for BtVS, Spoilers for “In My Time of Dying” for Supernatural. It has been ten years since the Winchesters were in the hospital and Dean was dying. Buffy is in her mid thirties, but hasn’t aged much since Sunnydale. This is AU, folks, so there are some differences in vamps in this fic to blend the worlds. Please suspend belief if you can manage it. There are a few original characters. One fictional character is based on a ghost who haunts the re-built Sunshine Skyway in Tampa Bay. Locals believe this ghost died in 1980 when a freighter hit the old bridge’s steel and concrete supports during a storm. This event caused the old bridge’s center to collapse during rush hour. Many thanks to Nina for her inspiration and stellar beta abilities. I also have to thank Dani for her help with Dean’s dialogue. Without those two, this story wouldn’t be. WIP -- Updates will be posted on www.kyriagreene.com.
A/N: This is my first time posting here. Please let me know if I need to fix anything!
Disclaimer: None of the characters and properties of Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Supernatural belong to me.
“Somebody help!”
Head whipping back and forth, Dean gagged on the tube shoved down his throat as he tried to breathe. His heart clenched, throbbing once… twice…
Nothing.
Thrashing hard, his eyes rolled back in his head before he grabbed the tube, violently yanking it from his throat. Pain ripped through him when he jerked on it and blood spilled into his mouth as he sat up. The muscles in his throat clenched, body fighting hard to cough, but he had no air.
There was something wrong - he could smell evil in the air. It smelled like sulfur and decay -- the fact that he could suddenly scent evil, well, that was fucked up. Lurching out of bed, he swallowed hard on the sweet tang of his own blood, confusion fogging his mind as he licked his lips and fought the urge to find more…
“Dean, you need to lie down,” Sammy’s voice sounded raw as he begged him to get back in bed, gently pushing at his chest.
At his brother’s touch, unbidden rage threaded through him and Dean pushed back, shocked when Sam’s body thumped against the far wall of the room. With a stunned look on his face, he stared open mouthed when his brother slumped to the floor.
“Shit, Sammy, I’m sorry.” Dean crossed the room in a blur, squatting at Sam’s side as he ignored the horrified expression on his brother’s face. Gently, he helped Sammy upright looking behind him as he tried to figure out what had Sam so freaked out.
“What’s wrong?” Nothing was behind him and he slowly realized his brother was staring at him. Sam’s mouth was working, but nothing came out.
“Dean…” Dean turned, looking up as his father’s voice sounded from the doorway. “Jesus, your face.”
His father was looking at him as if he were a ghost, and Dean scrambled up from the floor shocked when his dad limped forward, putting himself between Dean and Sam.
“Get away from him.”
A dull gleam of gray metal flashed in John’s hands and Dean’s eyes widened as his father brought the hammer of the gun back with a soft click.
“What’s going on?”
“You’re not my son.” John’s hands were shaking as he brought the gun up, pointing it at Dean’s head.
It occurred to him that his father might still be possessed, but there was no yellow gleam in John’s eyes, just the hardened stare of a father protecting his son. This had to be some fucked up nightmare, Dean decided. This couldn’t be real. His father would never point a gun at him. Never.
“Dad!” Sam grabbed his father’s arm, pulling it down. “It’s Dean!”
If John hadn’t been injured, Dean knew he’d have no problem pulling his arm out of Sammy’s grasp. As it was, his brother was hanging on with all his strength. “He’s a vampire Sam; He’s one of them!” The tone of John’s voice was final, and Dean could tell his dad believed it. He had to get out of there.
Dean turned; sure his father had lost his damn mind as John finally broke free. Running for the door, he ducked low, but no shot rang out overhead. He kept running, glancing at the nurse station surprised at their screams. As he tripped down the stairs, and slammed the glass door open, one thing became very clear.
He had no reflection.
***
He felt the sunset, sensing the very moment the circled edge of golden light sank beneath the rim of the world. The dream dithered around his senses, dead neurons remembering despite the obvious. Dean’s eyes flicked open of their own accord; he was awake in an instant. Ten years of living like this and his preternatural senses still blew his mind. Dreams, though, weren’t supposed to be part of the package. And yet, he dreamed, Sammy usually playing a starring role, and the dreams were somehow linked to his father and brother being close to finding him. Fuck, he wouldn’t have survived the first few years of John hunting him without those dreams.
Pausing, he shifted against the cold shape of a woman curled to his back, the nightmare still present in his memory. He’d almost been ready to give in to the reaper that night. When the girl’s eyes flashed yellow… Well, he wouldn’t have guessed what that thing had in mind when it shoved his soul back into his body; running from the family he’d willingly die for was a fate worse than death. The fact that his dad and Sam were out there and he couldn’t be with them killed a piece of him. Dean snorted at that thought - couldn’t kill what was already dead.
The thin sheet that covered him slid down his chest as he rose and swung his legs over the mattress. The sheet bunched at his waist, revealing the muscular line of his thigh. Coarse, golden hair covered his legs and he shuddered as the woman behind him stretched and trailed her icy fingers down his back.
“Hungry? We could go out.” Her sultry voice rang through the room and Dean shrugged off her caress, mind still on his dream. He’d be damned if he ran from John now. He’d risen to a position of power, ending most of the vampire killings in southwest Florida. Lives were at stake.
He stretched, glancing lazily around the room until he came to the curtains covering the wall of glass that looked out across Sarasota Bay. His penthouse apartment in The Plaza at Five Points was part of his… inheritance. When he killed the vampire that ran the territory, Dean found himself to be the proud owner of many properties and bank accounts. Not to mention the local vamps padded his bank accounts with their hefty tithes. And, as he pulled the heavy, black velvet drapes open, he wished the previous owner’s taste hadn’t been so damn Goth. Noting the sail boats and yachts rocking softly in the calm waters of the harbor below, he let the curtain fall and turned back to his ‘guest.’ Bending over, he grabbed a triangle of black lace from the slick hardwood floor and flung it at her.
“I’ve got shit to do, sweetheart. See yourself out.” His smile was ugly. Ignoring the angry hiss from the thing in his bed, he walked into his bathroom to shower.
***
The 1989 Harley-Davidson XLH Sportster 1200 roared along the highway. He tried to keep his black beauty under ninety miles an hour, but it was hard on nights like this. The moon hung low in the west, a thin slice of white in a dark, cloudless night. Stars littered the sky, blinking glitter across black velvet. Dean ignore it all, concentrating instead on slowing down for the toll booth and pulling a dollar out of his black leather jacket. The elderly woman took his money, never looking up from the small television set on the counter. “Yeah, you’re welcome and thanks.” Smirking sarcasm was lost on her, and he gunned the motor before heading past the rising barricade.
Dark water glistened on either side of the wide expanse of road as he headed toward the Sunshine Skyway. It was a hot August night, and despite his lack of body temperature, he felt warm - almost alive. The heat was one of the reasons he’d picked Florida as a place to settle. Warm skin made it easier to pass for human in a place like this. His idle thoughts about body heat disappeared and a smile slid across his face when he spotted a woman standing under one of the many streetlights lining the road to the bridge. Despite her bedraggled appearance, Dean knew she’d be able to help him figure out if and when his family would be coming for him. She was shivering, and he could tell her hair and clothing were wet from several hundred feet away. The motorcycled slowed as he downshifted, the engine whining when he came to a complete stop beside her.
He leaned forward on the handlebars, and smiled at the trembling woman. She had wide-set brown eyes and skin the color of coffee and cream. Her long, thick black hair hung in heavy wet tendrils across her face and over her shoulders. She was, quite honestly, beautiful and Dean fought the urge to comfort her when her full lower lip trembled. “You can cut the act, Cassie.”
She squinted, an intelligence suddenly obvious in her large eyes as she glared at Dean. “Oh. It’s you.”
“I’m gonna tear up from all the loving affection.” He paused, noticing the beads of water on her eyelashes shimmer in the lamplight. “Get on; I’ll give you a ride across.” He knew she couldn’t turn him down. She’d spent every night since May 9th, 1980 trying to catch a ride to the other side of the bridge only to disappear seconds before she got to dry land. Out of all the ghosts that haunted the area, she was special. If someone gave her a ride across the bridge, and asked her a question about the future, she’d tell them anything they wanted to know. And, Dean had a lots of questions.
She sighed before shaking her hair, water went flying, evaporating in a hiss of steam before she walked up to the motorcycle and slipped her leg over the seat. A break in oncoming traffic and he was off, running up the bridge as the wind whipped around them. He got to the peak and pulled over along the edge of the bridge. With a grunt, he killed the engine and pushed down the kickstand, leaning the motorcycle to the side.
“I’ve got some questions.”
“And I’ve got answers.”
Dean jumped in spite of himself, head jerking as he searched for where the sound of Cassie’s voice was coming from. “I hate it when you do that,” he growled and slid off the machine to stand beside her at the rail. She leaned forward, looking out over Tampa Bay.
“My boyfriend didn’t believe me when I told him the bridge would fall. He made me get in the car with him and when we spilled over the torn metal grate into the bay... Saying “I told you so,” isn’t half as satisfying as being alive, you know?” She snickered, before catching his gaze from the corner of her eye. “Well, of course you know. How thoughtless of me. Forgot about your condition.”
Dean held in a growl; it wasn’t like he could do anything to a ghost anyway, no matter how much he wanted to.
“So, ask your damn question already.”
“You know what I want, but I’ll play along. When is my family coming for me?”
“Your family…” she trailed off, and stared out to sea before saying, “You’re asking the wrong question, you want to know how they plan to kill you this time.”
A wide smile broke over her face at Dean’s concerned look and he changed his question to, “What are they planning?”
“Not they, your father. Sam’s much more sympathetic to your plight. Daddy, though, is a lot fuzzier on the issue. He’s sending an assassin. Two full moons will pass before someone powerful will come for you.” She paused, her form fading to black and white, “Now, take me to the other side of the bridge.”
“Aw, come on. One more question.”
“If you take me across, I’ll let you know when Daddy dearest makes it to Florida.”
“How will you do that?”
She held up her hand, looking through the translucent ‘flesh’ in wonder. “It’s something I’ve been working on, believe me, I’ll do it. Come on, Dean. I don’t have much time left.” She turned, eyes bright with tears. “Please, I just want to get to the other side. Please?”
“Shit.” He grabbed the rail, knuckles turning white as he glared out at the bay. Shoving off the concrete barrier, he turned back to his motorcycle. “Come on, I’ll take you across.”
When she hopped on and wrapped herself around his waist, the cold of her arms seeped through his thick leather jacket. The rumble of the motor did nothing to hide the sound of her weeping. They made their way down the bridge to the other side, the cold fading away as soon as he crossed over to land. Looking behind him, he could see she was gone.
***
It was October and tourist season was in full swing, making it hard for him to find an open seat at Smoking Joe’s, but he managed. Dean nursed his beer, green eyes intent on the wide screen televisions littering the walls. The bar’s patrons roared their approval as South Florida scored against West Virginia. USF alumni rooted for their alma mater in the Sarasota bar, annoying the hell out of him with their drunken cheers. All he wanted to do was watch A&M kick the shit out of Texas, drink his beer and have a smoke in relative peace and quiet.
“I seriously need to get the sport’s package,” he grumbled, downing the rest of his drink.
As he did, the air warmed with the tingling sensation of fear, and he tensed as someone slid into the seat next to him. This certain someone was the half-breed son of a fallen angel. Somehow, much to everyone’s surprise, Dean outranked the ancient being power-wise. Whatever Sammy and Dad had done to jerk him out of that coma had been powerful enough to turn him into some sort half-breed. Vampiric in nature, he had the blood lust going in full, but he had other mojo that went above and beyond the ordinary vamp.
He’d easily taken over the South Florida territory and his dominion was quickly encroaching on the two thousand year old vamp whose territory included Miami. At this pace, if he continued taking over cities, he would dominate the southeastern part of the country in the next five years.
“Master?”
Territories, dominion… this was a long way from living out of cheap motels and the Impala. Dean shook off the thoughts of power and returned his attention to the guy on his left. All seven feet of the large ‘man’ was exaggerated by his Henry Spencer hairstyle. Not turning, Dean addressed his associate. “What did I tell you about that hair, Marcus?”
“I’ll never get laid unless I cut it?”
“That’s right.”
“I get plenty of pussy.”
Dean snorted.
“Fine. I get some.”
Dean shook his head in disbelief.
“FINE! I get no pussy.” Marcus paused, squinting as he looked critically at his reflection in the mirror. “You really think a hair cut would help?”
Dean turned, eyebrow raised, as he looked up at the dark afro-like stack of hair that was at least six inches tall and decided not to give the obvious answer, instead asking, “What do you need, Marcus?”
“Oh, that. There’s something new in town. It…” he trailed off, eyes glazing over white for a moment, “…it, or should I say she, is powerful and hunting vampires. You’re vampires. Thought you outta know.”
“You know who this hunter is?” He didn’t have anything against his old profession, per se, but if he expected to keep his position as Master, he couldn’t let one rampage through his ranks of minions.
It had taken a little over seven years, but he’d whipped his followers into shape. None of them drank from live humans anymore. Living on healthy donations from the Red Cross and butchers, his vamps had pretty much dropped off the radar, something Dean had desperately needed to happen to keep out his family’s sight. Silently, he wondered how this hunter had found him and what she was if she wasn’t human.
“She isn’t exactly a hunter.” Marcus’ eyes flicked to Dean and he hesitated before adding, “She’s a Slayer.”
“Damn.” The illusion of motion left Dean’s body.
Silent and still, he wondered what it’d be like to go up against an actual Slayer. Stories ran rampant through the supernatural community about the close of the Hellmouth in Sunnydale, and he wanted nothing more than to stay off those chicks’ radar. Of course, if the stories were true, ‘those chicks’ were pretty hot - especially the one in charge named Buffy.
Movement returned and Dean laughed out loud. “Buffy the Vampire Slayer. If I get my ass handed to me by a chick with that name, I’m never going to live it down.” He turned and his full lips stretched into a thin smile as he wondered how to fight a slayer without anyone dying and asked, “Where can I find her?”
“She’s on Lido Key shopping.”
Dean rolled his eyes. “Fucking tourists.”
If you get a minute, let me know what you think! Thank you for reading!
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TBC...