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The inside of the car smells like leather and smoke. The engine is off but the stereo draws a low static hum. Lilith is pressing her head against the headrest, Spike is biting her wrist. Her fingers curl slightly, involuntarily. Her breath stutters.
There's a reason she lets him do this. She likes it. She likes the feeling of his hot mouth on her skin, she likes the pain that comes from his bite.
He lifts his mouth. Her skin is red and punctured. There's still a bit of blood on his lips. "Those sounds you make, they aren't from terror or pain."
Lilith avoids looking at him, which is probably why she admits with honesty, "Fine, I do get a kick out of this."
She hears a slight chuckle from him. She looks at him then. "But you do know this is as far as you'll get, right? No kissing, no sex. Nothing of that. Only this exchange."
Spike wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He doesn't look at her. "Yeah, I have pride too, you know."
"Good."
"Good."
They don't speak again for a while. He lights a cigarette. She closes her eyes. Her wrist is still bleeding, just a bit. She lets it.
For a second time this week, she wonders what it would be like to kiss him.
☀︎
Lilith tells herself Spike is only here because he's helping her secure a deal that he had a hand on. But she knows that's a lie.
☀︎
The shop is hipster hell. There's dusty shelves of crystals, brass teapots, weird taxidermy and far too many dreamcatchers. A very serious woman in her late forties — dramatic shawl, multiple nose rings, intense eye contact — runs the place.
Lilith stands at the counter in a turtleneck and gold earrings, playing the role of haunted heiress. She speaks in a low, reverent voice. "It was recovered from the family crypt just outside of Vienna. We were told it once belonged to a duchess who bled her emotions into it."
She holds up the goblet Spike brought her — polished, perfect, gleaming with a faint shimmer ( thanks to a little illusion powder )
Spike stands behind her, arms crossed and leather coat pristine, pretending to be her handler, bodyguard, or possibly psychic accountant. He hasn't decided.
The shop owner is already sold, hands reaching for the goblet. "You're certain it hasn't been cleansed?"
Lilith firmly shakes her head. "Never. The grief is still intact."
