Panya’s words of caution tumbled in her brain as she raced after him. “Don’t leave Simba alone. But, if you must leave the cave, don’t go past the burma, or the fires, especially at night.”

She knew that there was a reason for his cautions. And, she had absolutely no idea what a burma was, nor did she care. Panya didn’t know Spike, didn’t know what kinds of things he was capable of doing. If he was trapped and frightened, there was no telling what he could do. Even as the fire pits blurred past her, and she scaled the six-foot briar fence, all she cared about was finding Spike.

Her flashlight was a casualty of the running leap she’d taken to scale the wall of thorns, and now her hands were bleeding, but she didn’t care. Spike was out there somewhere, half dazed from hunger and exhaustion. Anything could happen to him out there.

She was scared, more for him than for herself. She’d seen the look in his eyes before he left. He was terrorized.

As her feet pounded a soft rhythm into the desert sand and her chest ached as it pulled in the cold night air, she berated herself. I froze. He needed me, and I froze! God Buffy, why don’t you just twist the knife a little more? It’s what you do, isn’t it? You are the Slayer. Killing is what you do. Driving sharp, pointy things into hearts is what you’re good at!

She didn’t care how far she had to go. She knew she would find him.

She could feel the sand as it slowly filled her boots, making them heavier on her legs as she moved swiftly through the sand. But she kept moving foreword, her primal instinct taking control.

Her body was telling her where he was. Her skin hummed with the need to hunt. Now she was beginning to understand why she had been drawn to him, and why he could affect her so deeply. She was the Slayer, and he, and his kind, vampires, where the chosen prey of the Slayer. It was like that from the beginning. She had always had a dark love for vampires; a begrudging respect. But, her love for Spike ran deeper and truer than anything she had ever experienced before, even with Angel. She could no longer deny it, and didn’t want to try. He was here. She would find him.

Predator would always find prey.

Love was always drawn to love. It didn’t always make sense. It didn’t have to. But, it was always true.
**********************************************************

He stopped. The safety of sanctuary was far behind. He found himself deep in the thick brush, on his knees listening to the wind as it blew gently over the brutal scene before him. It wept, silently screaming with him as he wept bitterly at what he saw.

Magnificent creature; one of God’s own. What have they done to you?

His eyes blurred as he took in the sight of the mutilated elephant carcass as it lie on the ground, its crimson soaking the ground beneath it and transforming the earth and grass around it, that he knew to be tawny by the light of day, to a slick, glowing black. The kind of black he knew too well; the kind that his hands and soul were stained with. A nauseating red, something he would never be free of. It would haunt him forever, and now the ground and the air was saturated with it. Why? Something as mighty as you can be bested, taken by something as inconsequential as a wee bit of lead. How does it happen? Again he thought of his dreams, of what the Ms’awlo’icckl had shown him, and he gasped. Oh God, Buffy, where are you? How did it happen, Love? Tell me, please. How does a thing like this happen? The scent of blood surrounded him. It sickened him. He examined the animal more closely, and found something even more disturbing. He had to bite down hard on his tongue to keep the scream of rage contained. And, felling wasn’t enough for those monsters, was it? No, you weren’t attacking when the bullet struck, they had to take their trophy. They had to have their victory. They had to gloat over brandy in their sitting rooms.

But then, I’ve taken my own sort of trophy, haven’t I? From two slayers, now. He shook with the shame, and disgust, of what he’d done.

The scent, the sheer mass of the decaying animal and its blood, to say nothing of his growing rage and anguish for its death, prevented him from processing other scents that lingered in the night.

Things he should have noticed, and would have noticed if his soul had let him stop to think.

He would have noticed the blood that was slowly trickling out of the Slayer as she came up behind him. He would have picked up the heartbeats of the men, who were lying in wait to flush out their prey; rifles at the ready. And, he would have noticed the lioness- that had caught the scent of blood- that was waiting for the right moment to pounce on her next meal. He would have noticed all these things.

But, he did not.

As she came up behind him, he seemed lost. He was bent low, his face hidden from her in his hands. She could hear him weeping softly, and her heart went out to him. The rancid smell was turning her stomach, and her senses weren’t as sharp as his. She couldn’t even imagine what it was doing to him. She placed her hand on his shoulder; having forgotten completely about the broken skin and the blood that was leaking from it, “Spike?” the whisper shattered the night.

Amber eyes gazed up at her, startled, “Slayer…?”

It was then that he realized the danger he’d put her in. She was out beyond the fires. Beyond the protection of the burma, or even the cave. She was out in the wild-and she was bleeding.

It was then that his senses overwhelmed him. He could hear the men behind him, raising their rifles. He slowly rose to his feet, his eyes begging the Slayer, so close to him now he could feel her hot breath on his skin, to be silent.

She hadn’t seen the glint from the brush behind her, but he’d seen it. Kindred. Hunter. And, he knew what she was now. She was prey. “Giza,” he barely breathed the word.

The deadly tone in his voice made her gasp and take a step back, stunned. She shook her head.

“Slayer,” he breathed, the terror for what she had unwittingly become, placing a cold tremor in his voice, “Get. Down.”

Too late, she heard the growl of a predator and felt its power as she was forced to the ground. She felt the impact and heard the gunfire.

The last thing she saw, before the fog took her, was the flashing and glowing eyes of a killer.
******************************************************

LONDON, ENGLAND-

Quentin Travers looked at his watch. 2:30pm. Accounting for travel time, and customs, his guest should be arriving soon.

He slowly walked to the enclosure and replaced the scrolls. He took his jacket off of the chair, and re-buttoned the cuffs of his shirt. He carefully did up his tie. He put on his jacket again and locked the vault behind him, pressing in the seven- digit code. He stayed to hear the pneumatic safeguards fall into place.

He emerged from the catacombs under the complex just as the armored vehicle pulled into the loading dock. He smiled as he watched the opaque container being unloaded and wheeled into the Council’s headquarters.

The agents that accompanied his guest handed him their written report. It revealed, to his surprise, that “William the Bloody” had been subdued with relative ease. He honestly had not expected that. And the report that detailed his “capture” only served to heighten his displeasure.

“William the Bloody” was every bit as dangerous now, as he had been years ago.
******************************************************

TSAVO, KENYA, AFRICA-

There was a commotion outside of his room at the lodge. Giles had intended to freshen up and then get back to the sanctuary, and Spike. He had lain down, intending to close his eyes for only a moment.

The noise of excited voices woke him, and he stared through the mosquito netting at the clock on the wall. He could not believe what the roman numerals were telling him.

Three hours…have I been asleep that long?

There was an anxious, rapid knock at the door. He quickly crossed the small room to answer it. The door opened to reveal a wide-eyed Panya. His hands were shaking as he held a small piece of paper. Giles ushered the boy into his room, and asked, “What’s happened, Panya?”

The boy’s hands shook as he handed over the paper to Giles, “This is for you,” his voice trailed off, “…And now,” the tears that shone in the boy’s eyes made Giles open the telegram quickly.

RUPERT- STOP

THE COUNCIL IS NOT AS IT SEEMS- STOP- RARE SPECIES ENDANGERED- STOP- MUST NOT BE PERMITTED TO FALL INTO “UNKIND” HANDS- STOP-

LYDIA CHALMERS

Giles looked at Panya’s face, and the dread settled in his stomach, making his whole body cold as he began to put together the noises he had heard, “There’s more, isn’t there? The park rangers…?”

Panya nodded, “The reserve has been closed down. The tourists have been evacuated. No one can go in…until they find the lion.”

“What?” Giles could feel his mouth becoming dry.

“There’s been an attack,” Panya continued his voice rising in fear, “The body has been airlifted…”

“Body?”

Panya nodded.

“Oh, my God. Where is she?”

“Tenwek Hospital,” Panya said, “Nuru and I will take you there.”
***************************************************

LONDON, ENGLAND-

Quentin Travers had never seen a more beautiful sight in his life. As he shone the torch into the windowless room, its occupant moved sluggishly away from the light.

Watching from a distance wasn’t enough. He had to get a closer look. Quentin threw the light switch, bathing the small room in the harsh light that glowed from the room’s single, bare, bulb that hung from the ceiling. As Travers stepped into the room, the chinck of metal could be heard.

Quentin knew that the vampire was still under the influence of the drug, but it didn’t matter. This was the moment he had waited for, for thirty years.

Travers made certain that the vampire’s eyes settled on him and waited for the fog of the drug to lift just enough for him to know who it was that had captured him. Once he saw the recognition flash dimly under the flood of chemicals that subdued the vampire, he smiled a smile of triumph, “Hello, William,” he said.