Night Ride in the Canyon

THANKS: As always, to Dot, Meg, Vic & Pete who suffer through these things for me.
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"I'm going out."

"Where? A party? Caritas?"

"No, some place civilized and human. A proper pub."

"You're kidding, right? A pub? Since when is darts civilized? And that black, foamy stuff you drink at room temperature?"

"Cordelia!" Wesley sighed. "I want to hear normal accents, not valley speak or surfer slang or demon garble. I'm very tired. Absolutely knackered. And I do not feel like discussing this with you at this time. Good night."

"Grouch."

The owner of the pub was a congenial fellow expatriate who allowed him to park his bike on the side of the building, in the alley by the rear door. Although he earned twice his weekly salary (had his salary been steady) at darts that night, he didn't stay to celebrate. The mood no longer suited him. Tired, lonely, and strangely homesick, Wesley decided to call it a night and head for his flat.

Typically the judicious one, he was very careful to stay under the legal limit. Having been detained by the police once before for reasons beyond his control, he didn't feel like explaining - again - his current employment status to more of LA's finest. Temperance notwithstanding, he tripped over a discarded bottle and angrily kicked it down the alley. He straddled the bike and started to put his helmet on.

That's when he noticed her.

She floated out of the shadows into the light of the pub's service door. Despite the click-clack of the heels of her thigh-high boots on the asphalt, he had to blink and focus his eyes to make sure her feet were touching the ground. Shafts of light bounced off her long ebony hair as she walked toward him. She was dressed in black leather: the only white she wore was the tight, cotton t-shirt that peeped out from under the hipster jacket. The shirt matched her ivory smile perfectly.

"Nice bike," she said, moving closer. She kept her hands in her pockets as she approached.

"Thank you." Every nerve in his body tingled, causing him to question his sobriety. He shook his head to clear his wandering thoughts. "Are you waiting for someone?"

She laughed, a soft, titillating sound. "It does appear that I have been abandoned. Without a ride for the night, it seems." Each word enunciated was crystal clear, her refined accent a memory of summers spent in the English countryside.

"Your escort left?"

"In a manner of speaking," she sighed. Walking behind him, she moved to his left, and smiled again. "I came on a Big Dog."

"This is a --"

"Triumph. Indeed, it is."

Wesley stared at her, taking in as much of her appearance and sunflower perfume as he could while she admired the motorcycle.

"I'd offer a lift, but I left my extra helmet at the office," he said.

She lifted her head and graced him again with that bewitching smile. Gliding toward the pub's door, she reached behind a stack of crates and pulled out a black helmet. "Always prepared for serendipity. May I take you up on that ride?"

Wesley relaxed and smiled. "Of course. As you wish. Just direct me." She gave him an address and directions. He held her hand while she climbed on behind him. His breath caught in his throat when, instead of wrapping her arms around his waist or placing her hands on his shoulders, she rested them lightly on his thighs.

An hour and hundreds of curves later, she tapped him on the shoulder and motioned that he should stop. Pulling over to a vacant lot overlooking a deep ravine, he cut the motor and helped her alight. When she pulled the helmet from her head, her hair cascaded like threads of polished obsidian glistening in the light of the rising full moon.

She stood admiring the quixotic vista as chiffon clouds veiled the chasm below. "I like the night." She turned and looked at him. "Do you?"

"Often, yes. It can hold a special enchantment." His heart raced as she neared him again, putting her hand on the clutch. In spite of the cool breeze wafting through the canyon, he felt as if the full heat of a California summer's day were upon him.

"Magic is of your own making," she said, inching even closer. "If you say it's magic, then voilá, it is."

He laughed. "It's not that simple. I truly wish that it were."

He made to brush away a stray lock of hair that the wind had blown across her face. She captured his hand in hers and pressed her lips against his palm. His heart palpitated (he was sure it skipped more than a few beats) and his head spun when she lightly traced his lifeline with her tongue.

"This isn't --"

"Prudent? No, it's magic," she whispered against his fingers. "Let yourself feel and it can carry you into the canyon and back."

Yielding to the seduction, he ran his fingers through her hair and allowed passion to overrule his judgement. Yearning to quench his thirst, he pulled her back onto the Triumph.

***

"Wesley!" Cordelia shook his arm. His head snapped up from its resting place - against his forearms. Dazed and confused, Wesley scanned the parking garage. "Have you been down here all night? If you're that tired, go upstairs," she suggested. "You look feverish. Maybe you're sick. Whatever you have, don't you dare give to me."

In the early pre-dawn chill, he passed her on the street and nodded a greeting. Smiling, she whirled around and watched him as he looked over his shoulder, searching memories a quarter of a millennium old for a name to fit the familiar face. She turned back around and continued her search for another victim.

"Nah. Vampire. Too much like incest," laughed Lillith.