He'd helped save scores of worlds and dozens of universes, he'd beaten Elvis in a death match (sort of), he'd wooed more than one alien princess, and now Fitz was going to die in a garage. In Lancashire. The ghost-monster thing screamed again and bore down upon him, its many eyes gleaming, its jaws wide in preparation for biting. Fitz closed his
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Who would be next? Her princess? Her Spike? Daddy?
"I'll bring my nails," Drusilla cooed. Sharp as knives, they were. Sharp as knives and as red as blood. "I'll be gentle."
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"Like hell you will," he snapped. True enough that she hadn't laid a hand on him, but then she didn't need to.
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"You don't want me to rescue you?"
She'd rather liked the idea. Spike had been her knight in shining armour. She had never really tried it herself.
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Sorry, Dru, your grand experiment in saving people is going to have to wait.
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"If you don't watch your manners, you'll lose your pretty little tongue."
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Unfortunately he'd reached the limits of his witty repartee and so regarded his tablet both wearily and warily.
"Look. I've still got friends here, and they're going to be looking out for me. It's probably in your best interests to leave me alone."
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She could be loyal and brave. In her own way, she could even be kind. It wasn't her fault that people - humans, usually, tangled up in ideas about morality and mortality - didn't understand the gesture.
Why did he think she was threatening him? She was playing nicely.
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