Chapter Text
There's a chill in the air, and it's far too quiet for you to be comfortable. You shiver and pull your jacket closer to your body. Of course, you wore a dress tonight. Usually, you wear jeans and a T-shirt to these sorts of parties, but not tonight. You wanted to look extra good tonight. You're alone, mostly because you just moved here. It's your second week of college and you've only made one friend. But she never goes out, even if you ask her to. If you die tonight, you'll blame her for not coming with you.
As you turn a corner, you feel another shiver run down your spine, but not because of the weather. The hair on the back of your neck stands at attention, and you glance over your shoulder. Nobody's following you, not that you can see. But it feels like someone's staring at you. It sets you on edge, and you feel your heart begin to beat faster. You walk down the street, trying to regulate your breathing. You feel yourself starting to panic, and you haven't even seen the person watching you. But you know they're there.
Suddenly, you hear a few quick thumps, like footsteps or something. They're fast, and very close to you. You quicken your pace, instincts kicking in. You take a look over your shoulder, trying to see if someone's behind you. You can't see anyone, but you don't relax. You still feel like someone's looking at you, watching you.
Your footsteps are loud against the pavement, and it's all because of your heels. It's annoying. Anyone within a 5-mile radius can probably hear you. You don't often wear heels, but you did tonight because of the party. Now, you wish you just wore sneakers. It's a lot easier to run in sneakers. And your footsteps would be a lot less loud.
The street you're walking along is dark, creepy. In the morning, it's lively and bright, with restaurants lining the street for the many tourists coming to visit. But it's too late, nobody's outside right now. Other than the weirdos and murderers. And you, of course. But you're not a weirdo or a murderer.
You decide to take a detour toward a more populated area. But that detour is through an alley, a very dark, very scary alley. And as you step into the alley, the feeling of being watched seems to intensify. The sound of your high heels clicking against the pavement is more ominous than annoying.
Suddenly, you hear a rustling from a dumpster you passed only a moment ago. You freeze, slowly turning around to look at the dumpster behind you. Once you realize there's nothing there, you sigh. Of course, you're being paranoid. And why wouldn't you be? Sunnydale's creepy at night. You take a deep breath.
You don't even get the chance to turn around. A man pulls you toward him by your neck, grinning at the shriek that escapes you. He pins you against his front and shoves his face in your neck, sniffing deeply. You cringe and move your head away from the man, trying to wriggle out of his grasp. But this doesn't bother or even stop him, he just continues to sniff your neck.
Again, you struggle in his grip, trying to break free and escape. He doesn't allow it. He holds you tighter, so tight that you think you're suffocating.
At that moment, a surge of adrenaline flows through you, and instinct takes over. Mustering up all the courage and strength you have, you bring your leg up and kick him in the knee as hard as you can. Momentarily, he falters and releases his grip. Using this advantage, you break free and take off down the alley. You run faster than you ever have before, even in heels. You don't have time to be impressed with yourself, not right now.
Once you're closer to the end of the alley, you see a gas station across the street. You don't have the time to sigh in relief or the lung capacity. You haven't run like this since high school PE class. Before you can step out of the alley and onto the sidewalk, you're tugged backward. You feel a sharp pain on your scalp, red hot like you've been burned or something. The man pulls you down by your hair, and you land on the pavement, right onto your back.
Your attacker leaps onto you, pinning your arms against the cold cement. He lowers his head, opening his mouth and allowing his fangs to graze your throat. When you try to move your head away from him, he places a hand over your forehead to keep you still. There's so much strength in just his hand that you think your head might cave in. A normal man wouldn't have this sort of strength, and you're not thinking about that right now. But you will remember it.
Just as he begins to bite into your neck, you hear a voice from behind him, cutting through the tension like a knife, "Well, well, well, what do we have here? An ugly old bloke trying to spoil a young lady's evening," The new presence says playfully. The man attacking you lifts his head and looks at the British man from over his shoulder. You can't see him, but you hope he gets out of here before he gets hurt. You try to open your mouth and warn him, but no sound comes out. Just a wheeze of some sort.
Your attacker narrows his eyes and gets off you, turning around to face his opponent. Even though the man is no longer straddling you, you're still frozen in place. But now you manage to see the man who interrupted your untimely death. He's tall and lean, with a cigarette in his mouth and bleach-blonde hair. He's wearing a leather jacket, a white T-shirt, and plain dark blue jeans. You bring your hand up to your neck, feeling around for any wounds. You wince and pull your hand away, looking down at your bloody fingers. He must've bitten you. You didn't even notice.
"You think you can stop me?" Your attacker snarls, crouching low to the ground, ready to strike at the Billy Idol wannabe. You regain motor skills and use your hands to scoot yourself backward, farther away from the two demons. That's what they look like, with their bulging foreheads and sharp teeth. They're just missing horns and forked tails.
The blonde man chuckles, "You think I can't?" He sneers, lunging at the man. Your attacker wasn't expecting this, judging by how late he reacted. That's when you see what the blonde is carrying in his hand. A giant piece of wood sharpened at the end. A stake. So does this mean...? No... It can't be... You felt the fangs and saw them, but you didn't want to believe it. You still don't want to believe it. You can hardly process any of this right now.
In one swift motion, the mysterious man plunges the stake into your attacker's chest. His eyes widen in shock as he disintegrates into a cloud of dust, leaving no trace behind as he dies. The bleach-blonde demon lets the stake fall to the floor.
"That's right, mate. Should've known better than to mess with me." He mumbles to himself, dusting his leather jacket off. You finally manage to catch your breath and pull yourself off the ground. It isn't easy, and your legs are shaking, but you did it. You glance up at the mysterious man who just saved your life. He looks at you with his piercing blue eyes, and you can't help feeling a mix of gratitude and confusion.
"Thank you... for saving me." You manage to say awkwardly, rubbing your arm. Your voice is raspy and it trembles when you speak. You sound utterly pathetic, but that doesn't matter right now. Not after you almost died. His face is normal now. Not like it was before. He still managed to hold that cigarette between his lips, even while he killed that guy. It's impressive, but you're too afraid to think about it much. He smirks, takes a drag from his cigarette, and flicks it away. It lands on the ground, still burning.
"No problem, love," Suddenly, his face morphs into something horrifying. His forehead wrinkles and bulges, and his eyes seem to disappear under the mounds of wrinkles, "Now, why don't you find some other way to thank me." He says, still smirking. You can see his fangs from where you're standing, resting against his bottom lip.
You don't want to die, not here in this disgusting alley, and especially not before you graduate. That would be a bummer. So, you stay where you are, tense up, and wait for him to strike. The adrenaline that seemed to fade is back now, stronger than it was before. You're not scared, not now. Being scared didn't get you anywhere before, and it definitely wouldn't get you anywhere now. You doubt there are any more heroic monsters around to save you.
The man starts to walk toward you, very slowly. Like he's relishing this. You glance at the ground, where the wooden stake was discarded, and then back at him. He didn't seem to notice you looking at it. Maybe you can use it if he decides to attack you. Or maybe you could just run? You're not sure how well that would go, but you're willing to try if you don't manage to grab the stake. Quite suddenly, he stops in his tracks and tilts his head up. He sniffs at the air for a moment, and then he looks at you with narrowed eyes, "You're not scared?" He asks like he's offended or something. He's looking at you like you're an alien, like you're the one who tried to eat him.
"I was already attacked once," You remind him, glancing at the stake once again, "And killing me after saving my life doesn't make any sense." You ridicule his decision-making, starting to feel bolder now that you know you're going to die. At least you have more time to prepare for this attack. You won't let this asshole kill you.
"Maybe you're right," He admits, taking a step closer to you, "But that doesn't mean I can't change my mind. You smell awfully tempting." He says with a lecherous grin, taking another step toward you. Before you can do anything, he kicks the wooden stake further away from you. It rolls across the pavement toward the dumpsters, disappearing from your view.
The man laughs at your crestfallen expression, "Thought you could kill me?" He asks incredulously taking another step toward you.
As the man inches closer, his demeanor changes. His eyes flicker with uncertainty, and his face is back to normal. And then it isn't. The change is so fast, you hardly notice. You wonder why he keeps going in and out of monster mode. He seems like he wants to eat you and doesn't want to eat you, all at the same time. He stops in his tracks just in front of you, clenching his jaw. For a moment, you don't know why you haven't died yet. You've had an unlucky night. He's so close that you can smell him. And it's not a pleasant smell, not to you anyway. He smells like dirt, blood, and cigarettes of course.
Slowly, you start edging toward the alley's exit, "Please just let me go," You plead with him, trying not to make any sudden movements as you creep away, "I won't tell anyone." You promise him, trying to maintain your composure. You'll cry when you get home. Now is not the time. You're backing up, very slowly. Trying not to alert him. But he doesn't even look at you. He's looking down at the pavement beneath his feet.
You stop and watch him, ready to turn and run at any moment. He sighs deeply like he's frustrated by something. You jump at the sound, taking another step away from him.
He glances up at you, eyes filled with conflicting emotions. He doesn't respond for a long time, and all you can do is stand there and wait. He doesn't seem to know what he wants. It's strange. You're expecting him to lunge at you any second, to tear into your neck and drink your blood. But he never does.
"Go." He says, and you do.