Gods And Monsters

Chapter Fifty-three:

Thomas was dressed impeccably in a high-collared, white waistcoat, black tailcoat, and black breeches. A proper Georgian Era gentleman, from the leather toes of his polished black dress shoes to the white cravat around his neck. His pale skin was sculpted into angular features; a straight nose, razor-sharp cheekbones, and a strong jawline.

The memory of weaving her fingers into his head of golden blond curls provoked a hollow ache in her chest.

Stone-faced and mute, Hel was rendered incapable of speech. Her mind was racing with a thousand thoughts per minute. She set her glass and plate down onto the counter beside her. Her appetite was dead.

His charming smile fell away and his bright eyes dimmed. "What's the matter, darling? I had thought you would be glad to see me."

Rediscovering her voice, she swallowed the lump in her throat and raised her chin slightly. "You're dead."

"Ah, yes, I am." He chuckled, as if he hadn't realised until that moment. "Funny, the things that slip your mind."

"Nothing about this is funny."

He flashed her a crooked smile. "Isn't it?"

"You're not him." She said firmly.

He took a step towards her, his gaze darkening. "No, I'm not. But I know what you did to him."

"Don't." Hel warned him.

"You name isn't really Helena." He began circling her, a predatory glint in his eyes. Sizing her up as if she was his helpless prey. The hunted and the hunter. "It never was. You lied to him. You lied to everyone."

"Stop it—"

"You seduced him. He trusted you, and you lied to him. He loved you, and you left him."

"Shut up!" She cried, whipping around and swinging her fist towards him. Her clenched hand passed through his head as if he were smoke.

A sadistic smirk curled his mouth. "At long last, the heartless machine shows emotion. I often wondered what you would look like angry."

She was livid. Her murderous eyes were burning coals, her fingertips sizzling with tiny sparks at her sides. Itching for violence. "How dare you! I am a god!" Furious tears tracked down her cheeks, but she wiped them away roughly. "And you," Hel hissed between clenched teeth, her lips twisting into a vicious smile. "You are filth. A speck. You are nothing."

"Oh, I am so much more than that." He sneered, unaffected by her outburst. "I am something you can't even comprehend, little girl."

"You hide behind the faces of the dead. You force others to do your dirty work for you. You're a coward and a manipulator. Your hubris will be your downfall." She hissed.

Spinning around, she stormed from the kitchen. Her first instinct was to check up on Spike, to make sure he was alright.

"I like to think of myself as an outcome engineer." Came his arrogant response from close behind her.

Unbeknownst to Hel, the apparition of Thomas followed her upstairs.

Upon arriving at the closed door of Buffy's bedroom, she heard snippets of Spike's hushed voice through the thin barrier. It sounded as if he was singing. Turning the brass knob, she swung open the door and entered.

She closed the door behind her. "Who were you talking to?"

Spike turned his head to meet her gaze. "What's that?"

"I heard you through the door. Who were you talking to?"

"Nobody. I was just, uh, keeping myself company."

"Spike? Are you okay?"

"Fine." He replied casually. "How are you?"

Unconvinced by his calm exterior, Hel regarded him suspiciously.

"I'm fine, Hel. Really. I'm just... A bit peckish, I suppose." He glanced over at the bag of blood on the bedside table pointedly. "Do you mind?"

Lounging against the door with his arms crossed over his chest, the illusion of Thomas wore a slippery smile. "The people you care about will only be used as weapons against you."

She ignored him, her cautious eyes never straying from Spike for so much as a second as she approached the beside table without once turning her back on him.

"Whom do you hold dearest in your heart?"

She threw the shapeshifter a cold glance. "I have been reliably informed that I don't have one."

He broke eye-contact with her, shifting his gaze over her shoulder at Spike. "But we both know that's not quite true." An unpleasant smirk slithered across his mouth as he returned his stare to her. "You've rather shown your hand there." He remarked, and began to hum an eerie tune.

Refusing to grant him the satisfaction of a response, she retrieved a pouch of blood.

Seizing his opportunity, Spike broke free of his binding with a snarl. The chair arms were fractured in the process. In a flash, he came at her. Hel instinctively raised her arm to block his attack, but she acted too late and he knocked her to the floor. Her back hit the unforgiving wall.

He dropped to his knees and hooked an arm behind her back. She gasped as he hauled her upright. Pressing their chests together intimately, his lips kissed her throat. Her pulse throbbed beneath his tongue. His incisors pierced her delicate skin and sank into her supple flesh. Her eyelids slipped shut of their own volition, powerless to resist the lulling effects of his bite.

The low, satisfied moan Spike uttered was muffled against the crook of her neck as he cradled her against him. He drank greedily, feeding until she fell unconscious.

With a loud, guttural growl, he released her. Her limp body fell carelessly to the floor. He strode purposefully over to the opposing bedroom wall, wiping at the smear of blood on his chin with the back of his hand.

Spike tore into the drywall and wallpaper with his bare hands, pulling Andrew through. Gripping onto him from behind with both arms strapped across his shoulders, Spike bit savagely into his neck.

Andrew cried out in pain, alerting the others of his distress.

Buffy barged into the room, grabbing Spike. She pried him off of Andrew and flung him into the door. The collision seemed to jar some sense into him, as his contorted face relaxed into human features.

Buffy aimed a merciless kick at his head for good measure, knocking him out cold.