Bite of Life
The night was cool, the wind soft as they climbed across the desert rocks. “Are you sure the demon is supposed to be out here?” Buffy asked. “Looks pretty desolate.”
“That was the buzz at Willies’,” Spike replied. “Major big bad, stays in the desert, only comes out at night. Until he’s ready to strike.” The vampire looked around the rocky landscape. “Not so bad, is it, Slayer? You, me, alone in the desert. Get a little sand in our boots.” He raised his eyebrow. “Or other places?”
“We’re here to work.” Buffy walked ahead of him. “Do you know what he looks like? What he sounds like?” She walked towards a distant rock formation. “Heck, even what he smells like?”
“Daresay it isn’t grease,” Spike muttered under his breath. “No,” he called, “sorry love. No details. We may be on a wild demon hunt.”
“I’m about ready to jump back in your Desoto and call it a night.” She listened. “Wait a minute. The demon doesn’t have a kid, does it? ‘Cause I could swear I hear a rattle.”
“Hear a what?”
“Oh, shi…” Buffy had been so distracted by her quest for the supernatural, that she forgot the basics of California desert survival. For example, the sound of rattling meant a speedy trip was necessary in the opposite direction. “Oh, god.” The snake had struck, and not without warning, biting her bare shin. She knew that shorts had been a bad idea.
“Buffy!” Spike cried, seeing her sway and grimace with pain. He ran towards her.
“Rattlesnake.” Buffy clenched her teeth, watching the green reptile slither quickly into the rocks. “I’m…” She swooned into Spike’s arms. “Oh, this is bad. I’m…having…having…breath…”
Spike looked at the bite. It was already swelling. “What do I do? Cut the wound? Suck out the poison?”
“No. Dangerous. Not supposed…”
“Bloody hell, Slayer,” he cried. “I can’t get you to a hospital in time. I’m not going to watch you die.” With a growl he shifted into his vampire visage and plunged his fangs into the wound, drawing the venomous blood into his mouth.
“Spit. It. Don’t swallow.” Buffy gasped. “Poison.”
Using all his self-control, Spike spat her blood onto the ground, then plunged back for another mouthful. He drew the toxin out and spat again, her blood dripping from his lips. The swelling was abating, but he bit down again. Just to be sure.
“Spike,” Buffy gasped. “Spike, don’t swallow. Spike. Oh, gross.” She passed out.
He swept her up into his arms and carried her back to the Desoto. It was not the way he had always dreamed about their first bite, but he had saved her life, and that was the important thing. He licked his lips and smiled. She really was delicious, venom and all.