Despite Vienna’s crumbling image at the end of the last century, it had experienced a recent revival. Several of the most popular youth bands had sprung up in the area, and soon Vienna was one of the top spots in the world for late night parties, college road trips, and just general festivity. Humans had flocked from halfway around the world to visit this club, dance with the women, and Buffy found the scent of excited blood in the air almost too intoxicating to concentrate.

But concentrate she did, shaking off another offer – Russian, this time – with a pleasant, if apologetic, smile. Sheer luck found her a table on the upper level overlooking the dance floor, and she sat and watched, intent on her search.

Because, for the first time tonight, she sought not just a last night snack, but a long-term companion as well…
 

“You’re actually going,” Buffy blinked in disbelief, watching Spike toss shirts haphazardly into his duffel bag.

“Got a summons, right?” he retorted, scowling at the mess he’d made for himself. Damn bag wouldn’t close. He lifted one foot to stomp on the contents.

With a sigh, Buffy caught his foot before he could further dirty his clothes, guided his hips pointedly so that he was sitting on the bed, and set upon the terrifying task of straightening out Spike’s luggage. She tossed half the shirts his way. “Fold,” she ordered sternly.

He sighed and complied, watching her back as she organized the duffel bag. “’S not that big a deal,” he offered hopefully. “Prob’ly just need to vote on some wanna-be scary. Be back before you know it.”

She shook her head, a tight smile on her lips. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

“Do what?”

“Play nice with the Order. For my sake.”

His expression softened at that, and he rose, arms slipping around her waist from behind and holding her against the hard line of his body.

She sighed and relaxed into him, letting her eyes drift shut. “Sire…” she purred.

“My love,” his lips brushed her hair.

“You know I don’t care about—” she began.

He halted her by turning her in his arms so that she faced him. “I do,” he countered. “’m not letting them disgrace you just because ‘ve taken a few potshots at the old fuddy-duddies high up. If the price I pay is playin’ nice at some big family function, then ‘s worth it.”

She couldn’t argue with his logic, even if she didn’t like it. The placement of the letter where she’d find it first had sent a clear but subtle message, emphasizing that she hadn’t gotten her own summons but very much should have. A little blackmail on the Order’s part, then. Spike, for Buffy. She guessed they really did know anything because it was the only trade that was likely to persuade him…

“I still don’t see why, if they hate you so much, they even want you to attend their stupid gathering,” she sulked.

“Power-hungry gits want to show that they can boss everyone around, including yours truly,” he retorted with a sarcastic roll of his eyes, returning to his bed and the arduous task of folding shirts.

Buffy couldn’t help but smile at her lover’s impatience. He had this look on his face like it was the greatest hardship in the world just to actually fold a shirt before putting it in his bag. Yet, sullen frown on face, he stuck to his task doggedly. Impulsive and stubborn, all at once. She hadn’t thought it was possible to fall more in love with him, but she did in that moment.

“Thank you,” she whispered softly, brushing back one brunet curl that had fallen onto his forehead and gently kissing his temple…
 

Buffy sighed as she watched the club. Dozens of couples, grinding together erotically, caught up in a brief, bright flicker they thought was love. She’d been like them once, she dimly remembered. Caught up in fairy tales and teenage dramas, sobbing her eyes out over what had ultimately been some trivial speck in her existence. 

It was funny the perspective an entire century of life gave you. That couple slow-dancing in the corner looked so much like they were in love, but Buffy knew it was all just the blink of an eye. True love came from years of living together, just being close, enduring fights and time apart and loss and happiness, but still staying together over the decades. It wasn’t about the tragedy or the hormones, shared interests, even the sex. It was time itself. Growing only closer over the years and knowing that, no matter what else may change, there’s something deeper than the physical, the mental, and the spiritual that will keep the two of you together.

And, god, Spike’s leaving was making her all broody and introspective.

She’d escaped most of that after she’d left Salzburg. Two days of waking up in that empty bed, and already she’d needed to leave, to forget. Even Spike’s lingering scent on the sheets hadn’t been motivation enough to stay.

She’d considered seeking out Dru, her other sire, but if Spike had gotten dragged into this big Order thing, Drusilla would undoubtedly be going as well. She actually had some vestiges of respect for vampire customs and authorities. It was probably the biggest difference between her and Spike.

So, no. For the first time in Buffy’s unlife, she had no family to turn to. So she’d done what any good predator would do and followed the herd. Although apparently not without quite a bit of moping and self-pity. 

But dwelling on the old was a pointless activity. Always best to look forward to the new…

She quickly ordered a drink and turned back to picking out her newest companion. Frankly, the very prospect overwhelmed her. On the one hand, she didn’t want to go to bed alone tonight. She was tired of it, had taken the midnight train all the way here for the sole purpose of avoiding it. On the other hand, how exactly did one pick a companion for eternity? How had Drusilla looked at William that first time and known he would be hers forever? How had both Dru and Spike looked upon her back when she had been the slayer and known the same?

Some part of her was hoping she would just spot some poor, unsuspecting human and know. There had to be some connection there, right? Some moment when her undead heart would feel like it was beating again…

Of course, the fact that she hadn’t experienced anything like that even once in one hundred eight years was rather discouraging. She’d turned other vampires, sure, but they’d been minions and fledglings, necessary labor for whatever enterprise she and her sires had taken upon themselves. But she’d never been close to any of them. Fucked them, yeah, but there was no emotional connection, at least on her part.

Nothing that would give her that glint of pride and love in her eyes when she whispered the word ‘childe’…
 

“Childe,” Spike breathed in a low purr, turning his head to one side as best he could to rest against the curve of her breast.

Buffy stroked his bare chest, long pink nails paying special attention to the thin red lines – cuts she’d inflicted in pain and pleasure as she tasted his body. She nuzzled his hair lightly, breathed in his scent. Savored every moment of this last night together…

“You gonna untie me anytime soon?” he wondered lazily, left wrist twisting a little on the crimson silk scarf that bound his hand to the head of the bed. After all, he’d promised to let her tie him up, and not the devil himself would sway Spike from that pleasurable promise.

She purred and smiled against him. “I could just leave you like this,” she teased lightly. “Keep you all tied up so you can’t go anywhere.” Her lips brushed his, as feather-light as the wings of a butterfly. “Make you mine…”

He kissed her, grinning mischievously. “You could,” he conceded. “But how long ‘til I broke free and punished you for your little treachery? Hmm?”

“Ooh, punishment,” she teased, fingers already toying with the knot of the first scarf, loosening it. “Sounds fun.”

He caught her to him with his newly-freed arm. “’ll miss you and your pretty carnage,” he promised.

“Me, too,” she smiled. And then straddled his waist again. 

After all, they were vampires, not farcical heroes of some romance novel. So she’d wander about for a bit on her own, snap some necks, seduce some lovers, have a grand time of it all. They had forever. And, even if years stretched apart between them, it was nothing compared to what they’d shared so far and what they would continue to share in the future.

She impaled herself upon his cock once more, gasped in completion.

Demonic claws clutched at her waist as he guided her, thrust up into her. She vamped out as well, caving to the wild abandonment at that moment.

And one final comment escaped his lips. Seemingly trivial at the time, but something to dwell on in the hours – days, years – afterwards:

“Could always make yourself a childe of your own, pet.”
 

The idea had never really struck Buffy before, for obvious reasons. She had all the family she needed. Adding a childe to the mix had seemed completely unnecessary and even disruptive to her happiness.

Now, however, for the first time, she had no sires to share the hunt with. Apparently she did need just a bit more family. Hence, her quest for the night. A companion, someone who would place her first, above all other obligations. Her very own childe…

The notion excited her and terrified her. But, more than anything else, she didn’t want to be lonely. She’d had enough of that during her slayer years. Now, she could make limitless companionship for herself. If only she had a companion to pick…

“Hey, is this seat taken?”

Buffy looked up at the young man and smiled. Soulful, dark puppy-dog eyes smiled back at her from a handsome face with dark hair. Nice, lean body. Sometimes unlife was just too easy…

“Nope,” she fluttered her eyelashes coyly. “It’s just me.”

“I’m surprised no one’s tried to join you yet,” he smiled softly, almost shyly, as he sat down. “A pretty girl like you…”

Oh, he looked innocent, but she could see beneath the act. His bearing was that of a predator trying to hide himself among the prey, and he was young at it. Mortal – human – Buffy’s nose told her. But still a wolf in sheep’s clothing. On the hunt for young girls and their sex, no doubt. This boy had no clue what he’d just gotten himself into…

“Thanks,” she smiled, blushed a little. It was a strange rumor that vampires couldn’t blush. Ridiculous really, to believe that masters of blood and life wouldn’t be able to channel just that little extra blood to their cheeks whenever they wanted. Plus, it was great for putting prey at ease.

“Where are you from?” he asked curiously, setting his drink down across from hers.

He was speaking English. Not unusual, but not the most common language here, either. A tourist, then, probably a college student. Most likely from England, Canada, or Australia. His accent sounded oddly American, but since the U.S. economy had imploded in the 2070s, most Americans were living below the poverty line, unable to seek school or travel abroad.

Some of the northernmost American states had become Canadian provinces, however. That was probably her best bet.

“Canada,” she answered shyly.

“Really? Me, too. Where from?”

She made an educated guess. “Chicago.”

He grinned. “That’s where my grandma lives.”

“Really? No kidding.” A little ditzy giggle just to throw him even more off guard. “Small world.”

“Isn’t it?” he smiled.

“So…” She swirled her straw in her drink before leaning in pointedly and sucking, cheeks pulled in all the way. A naughty little act that an innocent girl like Buffy Summers, college student, wouldn’t even realize. “You never told me your name.”

“My bad,” he gave her that mysterious smile that undoubtedly caused immature little seventeen-year-olds to sigh. “Parker Abrahms.”

She smiled back, fighting back the urge to flash a little fang. “Buffy Summers.”
 

“You can’t be serious,” Buffy commented afterwards, Spike’s body spooned against her back as they enjoyed the aftershocks.

“’Bout what?” he murmured, fangs grazing her skin lightly just enough to draw blood to the surface but not enough to pierce the flesh of her back.

“Me,” she clarified. “With a childe.”

He shrugged. “Why not?”

“Because…” She hesitated. “It’s just weird.” She waved her hands vaguely. “I’m barely strong enough to—”

“You’re a hundred-year-old master,” Spike retorted. “Plenty of power there to look after a childe.” He sighed. “Wasn’t much older when I found you, as you’ll recall.”

She smiled softly at that. “Yeah,” she agreed lazily, fingers trailing down the muscles of his arm where it was wrapped around her waist.

“’Sides, ‘s about time you had a go at it. Jump off the deep end and all.”

She frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded.

“It means,” he explained with a put-upon sigh, “that you’ve been unlivin’ your life with me and Dru for over a hundred years now. Bit of a stretch would do you some good, luv.”

“You think I can’t take care of myself?” she accused angrily.

“No,” he corrected. “I think you can take perfect care of yourself. ‘m just saying you’ve got a bit dependent is all. Need to make sure you can adapt.”

“I adapt just fine,” she insisted sulkily.

“Do you?” he retorted a bit harshly.

She didn’t answer, just pulled away from him. Sometimes his habit of just laying out the blunt, honest truth drove her up the wall. But they wouldn’t have made it through the last century together if she hadn’t secretly learned to love that part of him, too.

By the time he left that evening, she was buried in his chest once more for a lingering good-bye. And wondering all the while whether he was right…
 

Buffy smiled at her latest victim. And, for a brief instant, eternity slipped out into that smile.

Parker frowned, puzzled, finally starting to realize this wasn’t just another co-ed for him to fuck and dump. Something was different this time.

“Dance?” The question was offered with an extended hand. Pale, perfect, delicate fingers.

He wrapped his own larger hand around hers, gasped for a moment when he felt strength instead of frailty in her grasp. She led him to the dance floor with a sway of her hips and a twinkle in her eye. Increasingly perplexed – and intrigued – he followed.

Buffy felt the dance flow through her. The whole room was throbbing with music and life, and for a second it seemed her heart was beating once more, in perfect time to the crowd around her. She wrapped her body around his, held him close, and she ground their hips together.

She’d known the dance so intimately for so long now, she didn’t even need to think of the steps.

Mortals screamed, cried, fucked, died.

Buildings rose, atrophied, crumbled to ash.

Cities sprouted out green and lush, overcrowded, stunk with decay, sprawled, gasped, and were abandoned.

Empires rose, pure and white, twisted with corruption, polluted, invaded, violated, sunk under the own weight.

And, with each fall, another arose, as bright and full of promise as that before it, only to follow the same cycle. Endless turns of the wheel as life marched on, and only the undead watched it all, saw each cause, each effect. Fit the pieces together like an intricate jigsaw puzzle so that the mysteries of humanity were mysteries no longer.

A mistake, and quick death at the end of a stake. But with ebbing and flowing eternity as their reward for taking that ultimate plunge…

He saw it all in her eyes in that moment. And then Parker, wanna-be playboy, self-proclaimed lady’s man, and inadequate human being, finally saw how unworthy he was. He gasped in amazement that this creature would even dance with him, that such a being should deign to let him touch her.

“You yearn for the hunt,” she whispered in his ear, pulling him in close. “I can feel it.”

He nodded numbly, hypnotized by the promises in her eyes.

“I can smell your victims on you. Cold sweat and sex,” she purred against his throat. “You tried to wash them off…”

“Y-You shouldn’t be able to smell…” He brought up one feeble protest, shamed at being found out so easily.

“Shh,” she soothed. “In my world, human abstinence is trivial.”

He shivered. “Sounds wonderful.”

“It is,” she agreed. “And I seek another hunter, another to move by my side…”

“Yes…”

He frowned, belatedly realizing they’d left the dance-floor. Left the club entirely, actually, and were walking through twisted alleys. Her hand clasped him like a steel chain, impossible to break free and guiding him ever onward. Toward death and life anew.

He went eagerly.

“Do you wish to share the hunt?” she asked, coming to halt in a cavern deep beneath the city. A chimera of subways and alleyways, sewers and burned out buildings. The vampire center of town.

“Yes…”

And then she changed before him, hideous and wondrous all at once, eyes of pure gold and white ivory fangs. With one clawed hand, she slashed at her opposite wrist, held the bloody gashes before his eyes.

“Drink.”

And he drank. Cried out and choked on blood as razor-sharp fangs pierced his throat, tore into the core of his being and ripped him to shreds. He felt something dark and mysterious flit at the corners of his mind before it all faded…

Buffy watched Parker die in her arms, lifted him easily and left him to rest on one of the old beat-up couches that circled the large clan chamber. Two fledglings who were just coming in from their own night hunting gave her curious looks.

“What?” she commented huffily, sitting guard over her new childe.

They gave her apologetic smiles and went off of their own ways. Never wise to piss off one of the most powerful master vampires in the city.

And Buffy sighed, doubt settling in as she studied the young man she’d chosen. Attractive enough, probably well-skilled in bed, and with an edge most humans lacked. He was no Spike, though.

She shook the notion off, steeling her resolve once more. We’ll show Spike who knows how to adapt, she insisted sullenly.