Scritch-scratch.
Spike lifted his mouth from the creamy flesh of her throat and gazed about the nondescript room. He had no idea where he was or why the room was filled with a thick, drifting mist, but it didn't seem to matter. He only cared about the noise.
It came again. Scritch-scratch, scritch, scritch-scratch.
"You hear that?" Spike asked her.
"All I hear is your voice like the sound of the pounding surf or the crash of thunder. It's... "
"Yeah, yeah, besides all that," he interrupted, then stopped to listen intently.
Scritch-scratch! Louder this time. The noise seemed to come from all around him, echoing off the shadows themselves.
"Is this some kind of Slayer trick?" Spike grabbed her and shook her.
She gave him one of her sunny, cheerleader smiles. He was surprised he didn't burst into flames just being exposed to it.
"How could we possibly trick anybody as smart as you?" she said beaming. "Come on, Spike. Don't'cha wanna drink my blood, rip out my throat, all that fun stuff? You've been wanting a taste of me for ages. So come on, taste me."
