The beat is getting faster. Even with the extra reserves of strength that comes part and partial to being a Slayer the pace wears her down. She watches her lover dance, eyes tracing over broad shoulders, dark eyes, slightly damp curls swaying with his movements. For a moment she thinks this is almost perfect, a relaxing evening out, soon to be followed up by lazy snuggling on the couch, falling asleep in his arms. She almost lets herself believe this could be forever, but the tingling in her spine soon brings her back to reality.
She is a Slayer, one who’s work is never truly done no matter the size of the army behind her. She senses it the moment they enter the club. Vampires, at least two. The hairs on her arms rise and that too familiar urge to reach for the stake in her bag is there as it should be. All it takes is a sideways glance before the sensation turns to panic. She sees it in his eyes too. Suddenly her dance partner is pulling her towards the exit and she is forced to realize that their meeting could not have been mere coincidence. When he eyes her former lovers with a triumphant leer and leans down to kiss her in the hope that the vampires will turn in time to see it, she knows for sure. It has all been lies.
Resistance burbles in her blood, she wants to pull away and run to her boys. She almost does, but then he is nibbling at her neck, whispering reassurances to her. His words calm the panic rolling over her, he tells her to trust in what they have and know that nothing is forever, not even for the immortals.
As they walk down the moonlit strata towards one of the many homes he keeps in Rome she only looks over her shoulder once. That is it then, they’re really gone. For now at least she is on her own.