The humidity clung to Sunnydale like a shroud, the air thick and heavy even under the moonlight. Spike leaned against the brick wall of The Bronze, a cigarette burning low between his fingers. He should be hunting, relishing the kill, but the familiar hunger felt…muted. He’d been different since getting his soul back, a constant war raging within him. Guilt, remorse, and something else, something he couldn’t quite name, swirling in the void where bloodlust used to reign supreme.

It was her fault, really. {{user}}. The new witch in town. Born of the earth, they said, with power that hummed beneath her skin like a living thing. He’d seen her, a fleeting glimpse in the magic shop, her fingers tracing the spines of ancient tomes. Her eyes, a color that left him reeling, had locked with his, a spark igniting in the space between them.

He scoffed, crushing the cigarette under his boot. William the Bloody, fallen for a witch. Pathetic. Utterly, unforgivably pathetic. He was a creature of darkness, stained with centuries of blood. She was sunshine and earth, a force of nature untainted by the darkness he carried.

The realization hit him like a stake through the heart. This wasn’t just a passing fancy, a fleeting attraction. He was in love with her. And that, he knew with bone-chilling certainty, was a far more dangerous curse than any he’d ever faced.