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"Hey Sweetheart, pour me another one, would ya?" The man pushed his empty glass across the bar to Claire. She studied him for a moment. He was obviously new to these parts, and had most certainly never been in the Lighthouse before. It was also getting late. There were no other customers at this hour and it would be closing time soon. Claire also had to get on patrol, not to mention the fact this particular patron had consumed enough alcohol for one evening. Instead, she turned on the charming smile and gently shook her head. "Sorry, but I think you've had enough for the night. And we are closing up. Last call, and all that." Claire grabbed the empty glass and put it into the bar wash to clean it.
The man glared at her, not happy with her remarks, nor willing to give it up. "I have plenty of time for one more, and I'll decide when I've had enough. Now pour me another." He began to stand up out of the bar stool in a threatening manner. Then he leaned over to grab another glass and attempt to pour his own beer from the tap in a backwards motion.
Claire glanced around the empty bar and then threw her rag down on the counter and hastily walked around to the other side. She grabbed the man from behind, bending his arm behind his back and dragging him backwards and out of the bar. "Beer was on me tonight, okay?" She barely had to use her slayer force, but it was enough to get her point across. The man tried to get out of her grasp but it was pointless. She shoved him out of the bar and quickly locked the front door behind him. "Thank you for visiting the Lighthouse!" Claire shouted through the door, frowning and dusting off her jeans.
Mean drunks were the worst part of the job.
Claire finished cleaning up the bar. The kitchen had closed earlier and the staff was already gone. Once she was finished she ran upstairs and changed into her patrolling clothes. Jo was already out, and Nyx was asleep. He knew she'd be patrolling afterwards, but she dropped a kiss on his forehead and scrawled out a quick note to lay by his pillow.
"Keep my side of the bed warm. I'll be home from patrol very soon."
She added a heart and signed her name. God, she loved him so much. She felt like a little giddy school girl in love at times, and that was quite okay.
She had her various stakes hidden on her body. No crossbows or swords tonight. She'd just do a quick and light patrol. Hurrying downstairs, she exited the bar from the rear door into the parking lot. There was only one street light to illuminate the lot, and it was a cold desert night. Claire could see her breath as she exhaled. She squinted up at the night sky. The stars were bright and clear. She loved the Nevada sky, especially in the desert. There were no neon lights to obstruct from their sparkling presence as there was in Vegas.
"Bitch!" The drunken voice blanketed the lot. Claire jerked and quirked her head to the left. There he stood, the mean drunk she had thrown out. Had he been out here this entire time, waiting for her?
"You shouldn't be out here. It's late. It's not safe." She knew being lectured about safety out here by her, a young woman, probably sounded absurd to any man, let alone an angry drunk one.
He pulled up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows. "Not safe for you, you've got that right." He sneered and took a closer step toward her.
"Sir, really, just back away and go back home. Get some sleep. I'm sure you'll feel better in the morning." Claire didn't have time for this. She put up her hands, palms out, trying to show him she wanted no trouble. He was too far gone to care, however. He took two long strides and soon his stinking breath was in her face. "I always get what I want."
Claire felt his presence before he heard him. What others had named "spidey sense" began to crawl up along her spine. His voice then came out of the shadows.
"I wouldn't mess with her if I was you." Tristan stepped out of the alley, now illuminated by the lone streetlight. His hair was slicked back, and his leather jacket was buttoned up. His hands were pushed far down into his pockets, and he wore an amusing smile on his face.
The man snorted and turned to look at Tristan. "You again? Stay out of this. It doesn't concern you." The drunkard took another step towards Claire.
Claire was caught up between the two men. She could easily defend herself against the man, but Tristan was another thing entirely. He was the vampire that Jo still had nightmares about. He was the vampire that had seemed to be stalking Jo, playing games with her. Claire remembered when he had come into the bar, and had known it wouldn't be the last time she'd see him. His timing really sucked.
"She's a Slayer. You don't have a chance." Tristan took his hands out of his pockets and folded his arms over his chest. The man frowned, glancing between Claire and Tristan. "Slayer? What the fuck is a slayer?"
Claire knew what was coming before it happened. Instantly she pivoted on her heel, stepping between the man and the vampire in a protecting stance. Tristan's face changed at the same time as he muttered, "She hunts things like me."
The man paled and staggered backwards, hitting his shoulder blades against an old stationwagon. He sunk to his knees, not taking his eyes off of the vampire. What was happening? "I must really be drunk." He knew it was real, however, when he heard Claire's foot connect with the demon's chin, sending him backwards and down to the pavement.
Tristan didn't stay down for long, however. He arched up with his back and quickly regained his footing, circling around Claire with a look of glee upon his face. "Tell me, how is our friend Jo?"
Claire would not be baited. She didn't want to play games, and she didn't want to chat. She just wanted to go home and climb in bed with Nyx. She now held a stake in her left hand, itching for an opening.
"You know, I almost killed a slayer once. Almost turned her too. Maybe you know her?" But before he could utter her name, Claire was again upon him. She whipped into a combination of a reverse turning kick, followed by a round kick to his solar plexus. He gasped and bent at the waist. Unfortunately for Claire he sensed her kick at his knees to take his feet out from under him, side stepping so that she missed. As her feet went spinning in the air, he landed his own kick at her back. She flew forward, falling on her hands and knees, her stake rolling along the pavement and lying at the drunk man's feet. Quickly she crawled back to her own feet, gravel imbedded in the palms of her hands. She pulled another stake out of her boot and kept it level on Tristan.
Tristan knew he had an audience. He wouldn't fail this time. Unlike his battle with Jo, this fight would have a resolution, one way or the other. He cocked his head at her, hands fisted at his sides. "You're good, you know. Not as good as my Rhiannon, but almost. Perhaps I should sire you as well?" He saw the fear in her eyes then and smiled, shaking his head. "Nah, she might get jealous, and I can't have that."
Claire backed up, trying to get some distance between them, but Tristan kept crowding her. She felt something pressing up against the back of her leg, and then it wrapped around her ankle. She gasped as she realized the forgotten drunk man had clasped his hand around her. She shook her leg to free herself, momentarily distracted.
That was all it took. One small opening. One mistake, taking her eyes off of the enemy. Tristan grinned, his vampire teeth gleaming in the night. This time he swiped his leg out at her knees to take her off of her feet. He connected at her shins, causing her to fall sideways against the car. She banged her head on the door handle as she fell, stunning her. Tristan was upon her in an instant, grabbing her by the shoulders and heaving her body up onto the roof of the car. She impacted firmly with it's roof, her spine crushing with the collision. She heard Tristan jump onto the hood of the car, and then saw his black boots on either side of her head. She blinked once, noting the stars. They are so clear in the sky... Then Tristan's face blocked the view. He reached down and placed one cold hand under her chin, the other hand on the back of her head. Their eyes met. For a moment, Tristan lost himself in her brown gaze, full of sadness and resignation. She knew it was over. She didn't give up, however. She bucked her body, her broken and bruised back not allowing her movement. The pain was horrendous. Tristan saw this, and relished it. He twisted his hands, turning her head quickly to the right and breaking her neck. The crunch of it echoed in the night.
Hardly any blood was spilled, and yet, death had come calling. Tristan looked at the body as it lay there on the roof of the car like a little rag doll. He had killed a slayer. A slayer!
"Who are you?" The drunken man had somehow managed to stand up again. He saw that Tristan's face was that again of a human. "What are you?"
Tristan jumped down from the car and grabbed the man by the collar of his shirt, picking him up off of his feet. "Don't you know who I am, father?"
The man shook his head, tears of fear stinging his eyes. "I don't know you!"
Tristan glowered at him, backing him up so that his back pressed against the cool glass of the station wagon's window. "No, and you never did. But you will." He let his father down so his feet were back on the ground, but he didn't release the grip he had on his shirt. "You will."
The man numbly followed Tristan back towards the cemetery. It was time for the father to know the son.
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