Chapter One
One Month Later
“Hi, Anne.”
“Hey, Sue. How’s the natives?” Anne asked, pulling the scrunchy out of her long, brown hair.
“Restless.” Replied the blonde, with a smirk. Anne giggled in response, kicking out of her sneakers.
“Any good tippers?” She rolled her violet eyes, and straightened the white nurse’s cap in her hair. Satisfied, she pulled out her lipstick, then with practiced strokes, expertly refreshed the color on her full lips. “That good, huh? Great. Don’t they know my kid needs new shoes?” Anne huffed, dropping her sweat pants to the floor, then followed them quickly with her t-shirt. Feeling no embarrassment at standing in a room full of people in just a thong, she reached over and grabbed the lotion off the make up table.
“Don’t worry, darlin’. I’m sure your sweet, little ass will pull in enough to buy out Payless. Well, how do I look?” Sue did a tight spin, then struck a pose, awaiting Anne’s judgment. The brunette paused in the ritual of slathering her skin with lotion to appraise. Sue’s lush body was draped in a short, tight, low cut nurse’s uniform, a stethoscope tucked seductively into her surgically enhanced cleavage. White stockings encased the length of her long legs, the tops attached to the garters that peeked out from under the skirt. Her height was enhanced by the four inch platform pumps that adorned her feet. The white of the outfit glowed against her coffee colored skin. The blond wig hung in ringlets around her shoulders.
“Edible.” Anne told her. Sue’s creamy laugh drifted through the dressing room, drawing glances from the other girls.
“And don’t you know it. One bite of Nurse Sugar, and you are guaranteed to get cavities.” With a snap and a wink, Sue turned and left. Anne watched the black woman walk out of the room, a smile on her face. With a shake of her head, and a laugh, she returned to her nightly, pre-work ritual.
~*~*~
“Gentleman, please welcome, Silver.” Cringing inwardly at her stage name, Anne burst through the shimmering curtain. The lights played over her golden limbs as she turned herself over to the music, her burgundy thong and bra set complementing her skin perfectly. The interior of the bar was smoky with the slight over smell of beer and watered down liquor. Multi-colored lights danced from the spotlights above her, and from the lighted stage. The area around her was filled with men varying in size, color and age, most just getting off work. The dance surface was in the shape of a T, with poles at each of the points. A long bar lined the wall across from her, and several round tables filled the space in between. Off to the left of her were the halls that led to the lap dance room, called the Dream Room, and the restrooms. Also off that hall was the room that Anne had never seen the inside of, and planned never to. That was the Paradise Room, where some of the other girls conducted a different sort of business. It wasn’t actually a room, more like a series of cubicles that allowed the dancers and their clients a bit of privacy the Dream Room didn’t allow.
Anne dropped to her knees and slowly rolled her hips to the music, holding her top to her breasts in a teasing manner. The one thing that she liked about stripping, besides the money, was that as long as the clothes came off, most men didn’t care if you were a prima ballerina or as stiff as a stick. It was all about look, attitude, and how much they liked your tits.
She was about halfway through her first set when she felt it. That familiar, distinct tingly feeling in the pit of her stomach. Ignoring it, she grabbed the bar, gyrating her hips against it, and twisting her fingers over her nipples, a wide smile on her face. Bills littered the floor at her feet, as well as a few scraps of paper with the inevitable phone numbers.
As the final notes of her song faded, Anne leaned down to pick up her money, hazel eyes scanning the darkness around her. She didn’t look for trouble, but if trouble found her, she took care of it. Most vampires that frequented the bar didn’t come here to feed. But, every once and awhile, the odd one would come looking for the former Slayer, and would meet a quick demise for their trouble.
With another smile, and quick shake of her breasts at the audience, Anne disappeared into the back.
Twenty minutes later, she reentered the bar, pulling at the hem of her midnight, blue tube dress. Anne worked her way through the tables to the bar, smiling at the people she knew. This was the part of her job that she hated. Lap dances. But, they brought in good money, and as long as they kept their hands on the arms of the chair, she would deal with them. She would deal with anything to make sure her kid was taken care of.
Sliding up next to a young business looking type, she put on her best smile and started to flirt shamelessly. The tingling hadn’t eased, but as long as he didn’t bother her, the clientele, or the other girls, she wouldn’t dust him. Moving with the yuppie toward the Dream Room, she hazarded one more glance around the room. As they disappeared into the dark hall, her observer stepped out of his place in the shadows. The strobe lights from the stage glinted brightly off his white hair, the orange glow of his cigarette casting an eery glow across his chiseled features. He stared after them a minute, considering going after them and ripping the bastard’s head off for even thinking about touching her. Deciding he didn’t care for that train of thought, he dropped the cigarette to the floor and crushed it under his boot. He then turned and left the club, the shock at seeing her, stripping no less, still tripping through him. He’d have to go to his hotel room and think, decide what to do. He’d been looking for her for four years, and he had certainly not expected to find her here, in this dive, taking her clothes off for money. A mental image of her straddling that wanker, her hips gyrating seductively against him flashed into his head. The anger the picture induced surprised him, and he had to force himself to keep walking towards his car. He’d take a day or two to think, then he would come back and find out what exactly was going on.
It had been four and a half years since he had gotten her message at Willie’s to meet her in L.A. He’d had no idea why he had gone back to Sunny Hell, not wanting to admit that it had been his want to see her that had fueled it. But, halfway to Los Angeles, he had finally come to terms with it, knowing that once he found her, his unlife would change forever. Again. He hadn’t found her there, however, and he realized just how old her message must have been. Who knew where she was now, where she had hidden herself. He had started to look for her then, always migrating back to Sunnydale in hopes that she had come back.
He had left there, just a month before, and started his search all over again. He had stopped at a demon bar in Tuscon, planning on drinking himself into a coma before going back to his hotel. He had just hit the halfway mark on his first bottle of Jack, when he overheard a group of vampires talking about a club, where vampires were allowed to go, as long as they didn’t snack on the patrons. It never would have caught his attention if the one talking hadn’t mentioned that a girl with the strength of a Slayer worked there. Interrupting them, he demanded to know just where this place was, then, drink forgotten, hopped into his car. His mind couldn’t wrap around the possibility that it was her. He’d driven straight there, paid the cover and walked in. Then stopped dead as he took in the Goddess on the stage.
It was her, alright. In all her golden glory. Everything was just as he remembered, save the color and the length of her hair. He knew she had felt him, too. Her eyes had scanned the bar in the seconds after he had walked in, even though her movements never faltered. She was just as beautiful as he remembered, and her face held none of the grief and strain that had been there when they had parted ways. She actually seemed. . .happy.
Sliding into his car, he started the powerful engine and pulled out of the parking lot. He cursed inwardly as memories and grief he had thought long buried assailed him. He tried to remember the time when his every thought in regards to her had been about her death. That time seemed so long ago, so far removed from the vampire he was now. He had to think, then he would come back. They had a lot of catching up to do.
~*~*~
Anne stifled a yawn as she twisted the key in the lock, pushing the door open when it clicked. Pain shot up her legs, causing her to groan. To think, she used to slay vampires in heels with no problems, but dancing for hours in them caused her muscles to seize up. Shaking her head at the irony, she glanced down at the dark head against the blue fabric of her couch. She dropped her purse and gym bag on the floor, then closed the door before leaning down to blow on the sleeping figure’s ear. He hadn’t moved since she walked in, and the couch was situated right next to the door. Swallowing a chuckle when one long fingered hand came up to swat at his ear, she blew again, this time adding a well sculpted nail into the mix. He came awake with a jerk, his hand slapping soundly against the side of his head.
“Dammit!” he muttered, dark brown eyes glaring at the giggling woman behind him.
“Hi, Mark. Sleep well?” She asked, flopping down next to him on the overstuffed cushions and propping her feet up on the oak coffee table.
“I was, until something rude and annoying woke me up.” he growled, running a hand through his long, black tresses.
“Aw, poor baby.” she crooned, punching him lightly in the arm. It still amazed him that one of her ‘light’ punches could cause pain to sing up his limb. He often joked that she should be the bouncer, and he the dancer. “Was he good?”
“As gold.” he told her, reaching for his cigarettes. She had given up long ago, trying to make him quit. He had told her that if he was going to die, he was going to die happy, with a cigarette between his lips, a guitar strapped to his body, and a beer in his hand. His job as a bouncer at the club paid the bills, but music held his heart. Blowing a plume of smoke into the air, he turned to look at her.
“How was the meat factory?” One, slender brown eyebrow shot up, but she let the comment pass.
“It was alright. All the big tippers decided to stay home and actually spend time with their wives, apparently. But, I made three hundred bucks. So, not a bad night.” She watched the sleek line of his jaw tense, and sighed. *Here it comes* she thought.
“Lap dances?”
“They bring in the most money. And at least I’m not joining some of the rest of the girls in their side business.” This had long been a bone of contention between them, since she had traded her apron for a g-string. He didn’t like the thought of her rubbing herself against the overly hormonal male populace.
“It’s close enough.” Mark snapped, flicking his ash into the ashtray.
“Are you calling me a whore, Mark?” she asked, hazel eyes glittering dangerously. She studied his face as he began backpedaling, indignant that she would think such a thing. Mark Lynch was a six foot four, solid mass of lean muscle. His long, straight black hair hung just past his shoulder blades, the color so dark it sometimes shone blue in the light. Dark brown eyes sat under thick black brows, and were fringed with lashes so long it should have been a sin for them to be on a man. High cheek bones and his coloring denoted his Native American heritage, as did the line of his nose. His mouth, which was often set in a wide, rakish grin, sported full lips that had made many a woman swoon. A close trimmed, mustache and goatee completed his rock God look. His usual attire consisted of a pair of well-worn cowboy boots, tight, faded blue jeans, and a variety of different t-shirts, and a leather jacket. Anne had heard one of the other dancers refer to him as walking sex, and she hadn’t been able to disagree.
He had been her friend since the day she had stumbled into the Glamour Factory, very pregnant, underage, and in desperate need of a job. He had helped her convince the owner, a forty something bald man by the name of Ralph, to let her work in the kitchen until she turned eighteen. Ralph then let her waitress until the baby was born, dropping subtle hints about the money she could make dancing. Her slayer strength had come in handy, and she been the darling of the customers. None of the men seemed to care that she was pregnant, but they all treated her with respect, and some nights she would find herself going home with more money than the dancers. Of course, that had changed once she had actually given birth. Men.
Even with all the help that Mark had offered her, and mostly because she knew he liked her, she kept him at arm’s length. Scared, grief-stricken and alone with a baby on the way, she had almost succumbed to the vampire that had attacked her after work one night. Her surprise was evident when she found herself staring at Mark through the cloud of dust, a pool cue turned stake in his hand.
That night, she had told him everything, not knowing until she was finished how much she had needed a friend. He had held her through her tale of sending her vampire lover to Hell, and how she came to be pregnant. When she was done, he had asked her quietly, if the father knew. She answered, just as quietly, no. But it wasn’t that she didn’t want him to know, she just hadn’t seen him again. That had caused her an even greater sadness that she didn’t have the strength, or the will, to analyze.
“You working tomorrow?” she asked, pulling herself out of her memories. He crushed out his Marlboro light and shook his head.
“Yep. You?” She nodded with a grimace. Thing about being the Slayer, it gives you absolutely no job skills to fall back on. Running his hand through his hair again, he looked sleepily around the room for his jacket. Finding it thrown across the dark blue recliner, he stood, stretching his tall frame. Anne watched with appreciation of the rippling muscles, wishing again that she could feel more for him than friendship. She stood and walked with him to the door, hugging him fiercely before saying goodnight. Tonight had been his night off, and he had offered to watch Matt for her, so she wouldn’t have to pay a babysitter. She had been happy to accept. Matt adored Mark, and vice versa.
Locking the door behind him, she turned and started straightening up the living room. A swell of pride formed in her as she did this, her mind calculating how many payments she had left before it was finally hers. The day she had seen it, she knew she had to have it. It was a single story, bungalow, with a wide front porch complete with swing. A large yard was surrounded by a wood rial fence. Visions of her and her child spending lazy evenings swinging on the porch swing, or planting flowers in the patches at the front of the house filled her head. She had written down the number and called the realtor immediately to set up an appointment to see the inside.
Mark had gone with her to meet the man, and he had lost some of the sparkle in his eye when he saw the wanna be rock star, and what he assumed was his girlfriend holding a baby. He had led them inside, showing them the large living room with it’s bay window, the two decent sized bedrooms, the small but cheerful eat-in kitchen, and the bathroom. All the while he kept making reference as to ‘why’ this wasn’t the house for them. Anne had walked through the rooms, imagining how her life would be there, and shot down everything the man said. Mark held onto his temper, as Anne, with the determination of a woman borne to be the Slayer, talked him into rushing the sale. She had taken the money she had left from what had been given to her before leaving Sunnydale, and had walked away the proud owner of her house. Mark had had to co-sign, since she was barely eighteen, and hadn’t been at her job for a year yet. But it was hers, and she had proceeded to build a life, a life she never expected to have. By rights, she should have died, her calling guaranteed it. One afternoon in an abandoned mansion changed that forever.
Turning off the lights in the living room, Anne walked down the short hall to her son’s room, and went in. Placing the toys she had gathered from the front, she placed them in the large plastic tub that served as his toy box. She then moved across the bare hardwood floor to gaze down at her miracle. His room was done completely in Scooby Doo, an irony not lost on her. From the border around his walls, to the sheets on his bed. A Scooby Doo nightlight was plugged into the wall, and that as well as the light from the hall, gave her enough illumination to see him by.
She reached out and gently brushed a dark brown curl away from his face. She frowned a little, as she thought about her last conversation with her mother. Anne knew she wasn’t being fair, to her or Giles. Or Willow. She knew that she could have gone back, told them that the baby’s father was a man that she had met while she was away. She would have been accepted back with open arms by all of them. But, she did have Matt, and he was all that mattered. She knew that one look at the blue eyes that were currently hiding behind his eyelids, and one glimpse of the defined cheek bones under the baby fat, and the others would know just who his father was. She wouldn’t allow them, him, and the prejudices that simmered deep to try to make her ashamed, or sully the beautiful memory she held close to her heart. And she would kill the first person who made her son feel like a freak for having the Slayer and a soulless vampire for parents.
Pulling the edge of his Scooby Doo blanket up to his chin, Anne leaned down and pressed a kiss to his temple. She smiled when she caught the distinct whiff of chocolate and grape Kool-aid. Making a mental note to discuss with Mark the wrongness of brownies and Kool-aid before bed, as well as the benefits of a toothbrush, she turned and left the room, pulling the door closed behind her. She walked across the hall to her room, running her hands through her hair.
If her son’s room was Scooby Doo heaven, Anne’s room was her own private sanctuary. A large, wrought iron bed dominated the room. She had found it at a yard sale, and had enlisted a very unimpressed Mark into helping her get it home. The damn thing was heavy, but it was beautiful, and the price had been perfect, so, she had to have it. A handmade quilt in the colors of the sunset was draped across it, and pillows were piled high at the head. Mr Gordo was propped casually against them. The walls were painted an adobe color, and pictures of sunsets and shores lined the walls. A large oak dresser sat opposite the bed, with a haphazard array of cosmetics and beauty items littering the top. Two framed pictures sat on the nightstand next to her bed. One was of her and her mother, right before she got called. The second was of her, Willow and Giles in the library about a month before that horrible, wonderful day.
Grabbing a brush off her dresser, she began to pull it through her hair, the memory of the vampire she’d sensed returning to her. When she had left the Dream Room, the vamp had been gone. Since none of the girls or the customers had been hurt or disappeared, she had just shrugged it off and went in search of her next customer.
But now, as he pulled her nightgown over her head, she could admit what had been bothering her. The ‘feel’ of the vampire had been almost familiar, comforting in a way. Telling herself that what she was thinking was impossible, Anne crawled under the warmth of her quilt and sighed as the tension drained from her body. As she drifted into sleep, the face of the man that had haunted her for five years surfaced in her mind. It wasn’t the face of an angel.