King of the Dead
Chapter One
Drusilla's dead.
Spike roared through downtown Sunnydale in a silver Camaro with blacked-out windows. Dawn had come hours ago, and the sun glared down upon the windshield, streamed in through the small splotches that had not been painted black. He had to see to drive, after all.
Behind the black aviator sunglasses he wore to keep the sun off his eyes, tears streaked his face. His jaw was clenched tight, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. Though he would usually have something on the radio, all was silent in the car. No music. Not even the sound of breathing. Not from him, for after all, wasn't he a dead man?
Yes, of course he was. Yet somehow he had never felt quite so dead as he did this awful morning.
The Slayer. That little bitch.
But it had not been only the Slayer's fault, had it? No, not at all. When Giles had split them up, sending Dru with one team and him with another, he ought to have balked, but he did not. Giles was the king, wasn't he? He hadn't steered them wrong yet.
Till now. Now he'd steered them all kinds of wrong.
Bastard. ... read full excerpt from King of the Dead ebook
