Continued from Here


So!

Here I was, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, Rogue Demon Hunter. Yes, that's me. My long travels had brought me back to the state where it all began, only a different city. Los Angeles. So here I was. The lone wolf roaming through the streets on his trusty motorbike. Doing the odd research job by day, and slaying evil demons and staking nasty vampires by night.

Right.

If they didn't get to me first. I'll be the first to admit to myself that the novel plan I'd had when I set out to explore my new found freedom had quite backfired on me. The Council had fired me. I'd lost not one, but both Slayers. My father refused to fund my ticket back home. I guess he'd rather his failure of a son stayed as far away from him as possible. Hell, he didn't even take my collect calls. I gave up trying three months ago.

Work was going better in the research department then the actual demon hunting. I was still smarting from my last fight with Qzltaztz demon. And they weren't actually known for their fighting skills. No, my plan had soundly gone down the drain. But I kept on trying, kept on going. I was damned if I was going to give up. I'd not sit down with the proverbial chips when I got fired. Though, it was tempting. I stayed and fought along side...that vampire. And sure, the first vampire I saw knocked me out. But I got better now! Somewhat.

Oh, whom am I kidding? I'm a failure. I'm not a demon hunter, rogue or otherwise. I'm just a guy who knows far to many languages. And I can't even use more then half of those to get a job. I could possibly find a job as a translator, or a librarian. But that's not what I was trained for. That wasn't what I'd been taught my entire live. And blood will crawl where it cannot go. I needed the world I'd grown up in, but there was no way I'd make it on my bloody own.

Bugger, I need a drink.

Parking my bike at some pub, I put my helmet in the bag and sighed. I've no idea what I'm supposed to do now. Can't give up though, I just can't. Drink, that's what I need. Squirming a bit, I pulled my leather pants out of my arse - damn that thing chaffed - and squared my shoulders. As I walked into the pub, I noticed the quiet atmosphere, the smoke curling up to the ceiling, smell of whiskey and Scotch. Cordelia sitting at the bar.

What?

"Miss Chase?" I smiled as I walked toward her, my hand already out. Until I noticed just whom she was sitting with. William the Bloody, one of the most vicious vampires on earth, killer of two Slayers. "Spike," I hissed. "Miss Chase! Get away from him!" Pushing up my glasses, I started to fumble in my pocket to get the stake out I always kept hidden there. Damn leather jacket, absolutely no flexibility.