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Assassination Attempt

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Summary: Samuel Cornick, Son of the Marrok, was sent to kill Buffy Summers. He fell in love with her instead. (Mercy Thompson Crossover)

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Literature > Vampire/Supernatural > Mercedes Thompson SeriesKeiFR744,0295397,6204 Nov 0823 Dec 09No

A Bad Idea

AN: Yes, I am alive. Have most of a chapter of These Darkened Days ready to go. Maybe by the end of this week, if the muses agree. This kind of got spit out when writer's block got hit with that. I don't think its particularly good, but maybe it'll get me back in the swing of things.

I disclaim. I own neither the intellectual property of Patricia Briggs nor Joss Whedon.


“I’m in love with you.”

“Well, that seems to be a splendidly bad idea, given that you were sent here by your Father to kill me.” Buffy paused and calculated absently. “Three weeks ago.”

Samuel Cornick, Son of the Marrok, and one of the most dominant werewolves in all of North America in his own right winced with the reminder, as impatience from his wolf drove him closer to the slender girl at his side. His senses were sharper, even with his human nose, and he could smell the sun soaked into her skin, and the salt from sweat in her gold streaked hair.

The night was cool finally in the desert of West Texas but the sweat told him that despite the sun dress and white tennis shoes that Buffy Summers, Slayer of things that go bump in the night, had been out hunting. He wondered, with absent morbidity, who she had killed already tonight. But the majority of his focus was centered on the fact that she was currently sitting on the hood of a beat up Chevy Tahoe on the edge of the desert, with him.

“I don’t take it personally you know, the trying to kill me thing. You’re hardly the first. Not even the first werewolf in fact.”

“I’m the first pack sanctified assassination attempt,” he replied, somewhat disgruntled by her cavalier attitude.

Very few humans understood what it was to be a werewolf. Understood exactly what werewolves were capable of. It was safer that way, because the ones who did had the tendency to go stark raving mad from fear of that comprehension. Buffy understood. Understood on the primal level that only another predator could.

It made him love her more. That she understood what he was, fully, and could still sit just close enough to share body heat and make him feel more alive than he had in centuries. And it was stupid, not just because the Marrok had ordered her death. Not because in many ways she was more dangerous than him. A creature of grace who killed with an exacting beauty his wolf could barely comprehend but yearned for.

It was stupid to love her because he could live another twenty lifetimes and she was lucky to have survived her eighteenth birthday. Because he would do anything to see his children born screaming and living long, happy, safe lives, and the likelihood of any Slayer carrying to term was slim. It was stupid because she was leaving the next day, getting in red banged up Mustang she tooled around in with her little sister and heading for Vegas.

Big Vampire uprising or some such thing.

But all that didn’t stop him. If he could turn his needing and loving off so easily he would have been dead from numbness lifetimes ago. And despite all his years, he wasn’t brave enough not to love her.

He startled, supernatural senses surprised, when she quietly took his fingers with hers, gave him the time to mentally readjust before she slipped her delicate hand within his, fingers twined. He stared hungrily at her profile, the fall of soft blonde hair, the turn of her nose, the small secretive curve in her lips that she always seemed to get around him.

Like she was holding a secret inside that made her happy too.

“What am I going to do with you?” she asked fondly as she squeezed his hand with enough authority he almost felt pain, even as she scooted closer to him and carefully, slowly, bent to rest her head on his shoulder, giving him so much time to back away he felt wild laughter well up in his throat with the thought.

His response was meant to be equally cavalier but it came across as desperately needy. “Love me too.”

Buffy sat up, hand still in his, and tilted her head as she studied him intently. Searching for something he would give anything to be. Her free hand reached up, towards his face, and Samuel inhaled deeply, soaking her into him. “We’ll see.” She brushed the hair away from his face like a benediction. “We’ll see.”
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