Not that I have any.

There's a hierarchy here that I am loath to obey. But the Master has taken me under his wing, so I have little to fear from the others. As if I would ever fear them. They say I have a madness given root by my sire. I see it as an edge, a weapon. If they fear you, you control them.

My memories of my past have come back slowly, and I cringe at the thought of the girl I was. No wonder I had nothing but the ridicule of all the kids in school, my books, my computer…and Xander.

Xander… The name is like a balm for what ails me. I leave the Bronze wondering what my childhood love is up to now. He was actually one of the first memories that returned. I had laughed at the irony of it. I guess I really was destined to love him forever.

I imagine he suspects that I have turned. What else would bring a cautious young man out to the cemetery after sundown? Suspicion is confirmed as he lays down on the empty grave erected in my name. I walk slowly towards him, feeling the fire of bloodlust building in me. I try to temper it, listening to the words he chokes out through his tears.

"Please, Willow. Come back to me. I can't handle everything without you. Funny how I never realized it, it was so obvious to everyone else." His self-deprecating humor had always been his sweetest trait. "If you don't come for me Willow, I'm going to take my life myself."

"What a unnecessary waste of pleasure," I finally speak. He turns his face to me and gasps. I've come to recognize the value of dramatic effect and have made sure the moon is surrounding my face, haloing me.

"Willow…my Willow." He scrambles to his feet like an overexcited puppy, embracing me as soon as he could stand. "You came."

"I couldn't leave my Xander? Could I?"

He backs away from me as he realizes how cold I am to the touch. I haven't fed tonight, wanting nothing to spoil the palate of his innocent blood.

"Willow?"

"Am I your nightmare, Xander? Or your dream come true?" I slip into my demon's face, fangs bared for him to see. I am torn between wanting him to accept me willingly or the thrill of hunting him down. He takes a stumbling step backwards and my senses sharpen. Run. Run my beloved. Make the end that much tastier.

He stops as though he can read my thoughts. "You want me, Will?" His smile is almost as wicked as my own. "Come and get me. I promise to scream if you win."

He takes off into the night, and I cannot hide my smile of delight. Perhaps my love was not as unseeing in regard to me as I thought. Apparently my love knows what I like.

His blood will be so much the sweeter for it.