by
Lisa Y. Drexel

As he stood under her window, he thought of how far he had fallen from a feared master vampire to a lovesick puppy begging for attention.

For months he was a silent observer.

Everytime they were in the same room together he'd watch her surrepitously, avoiding her longing glances his way, never revealing to her or anyone else that worked with the Slayer, his feelings.

Why he let this go on for so long, was beyond him. At first, he believed, it was because of the wolf. They had been together for nearly two years and from the change of her scent, had finally been intimate. For some odd reason, he didn't want to interfere.

Then the young man left with his band for LA, with a record contract signed and a promising future ahead of him as a muscian. From what Spike gathered, they hadn't quite broken up—but after the first two months of him gone, they decided to see other people.

What the wolf did, Spike didn't know.

But the witch just continued on as if nothing had changed.

She still didn't date anyone else and from what Spike could tell, her bed was cold at night.

And the vampire still did nothing.

He just didn't understand it—these feelings for her. From the moment he sat next to her the year before in the factory and inhaled her sweet essence, he had been enchanted by her.

And when she stood up to him, fear rampant through her body as the fire burned brightly in her eyes, he knew he had to have her.

But everytime he thought about it, he just couldn't understand why. Even after he had tortured his Black Princess back into his arms, in a small corner of his mind, where Druscilla couldn't touch, he longed for the redheaded witch.

Was this how his sire felt about the Slayer?

Sweet Satan, he hoped not.

But the similarities were too many to ignore. Spike didn't want a vampire Willow—with her innocense stripped bare and replaced by a vicious, but beautiful demon. No, he wanted her alive and breathing, warm and inviting. He wanted to taste her hot blood and know that once he drank, that there would still be more for later, and the next day after that.

If he hadn't known better, he would've thought she bewitched him to her.

But he knew that wasn't possible.

She didn't have it in her.

Although not as shy as the years before, she still possessed a quiet grace that was unassuming and gentle. Willow was not the type to force someone's affections.

And now, he no longer wanted to just watch. He wanted to touch her, hold her, make love to her—feel her heated skin that was aroused with passion. He wanted her to look at him like she had that shapeshifter that had been wearing his face.

But now he wondered if he waited too long.

It had been two weeks since they rescued her from Talon's burning hands, and she still couldn't look at him straight in the eye. Before, she would go out of her way to talk to him, to include him in conversations and thank him quietly for the information he had given them.

Now, she just hid behind that blasted computer monitor, blushing furiously, and pointedly ignored him.

He flicked his cigarette and swiftly climbed up her trellis to the French Doors that opened into her room. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a card and slid it underneath the door. Knocking once, he turned and jumped off the porch and hid behind a tree, peering around it as he watched her crack open the door. He saw her pick up the card and quickly close the doors.

Satisfied that she got his note, he turned and began walking down the street. Now that she had his private phone number, the ball, as they would say, was in her court.

He just hoped she'd play.

Next in series - Things Decided

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