‘Hunters? Of course. Typically every single one I cross.’ He started as his brows pulled together. ‘Besides you. I can’t decide whether you should live or die.. I’m intrigued by you, and I don’t know why. I don’t know if it’s the taste of your blood, or that fact I have a bloody Winchester at my mercy. Because I know you’ll do whatever I ask, whatever I say. All for a bite, or the hope I’ll shove you against the wall and—‘ his shoulders rose with a shrug. ‘I was one of you, I was a hunter. Well supposed to be, but believe it or not, I was weak. And my parents absolutely despised it. So I took a promise, I took the deal with my maker and here I am.’
”Oh, Dean no.” He whined out dramatically as his hand hit the table before he stood up right; his own eyes rolling. “Don’t try making my killings into a Good Guy scenario. I was hungry, they got me to where I wanted, I killed them all. Fed from them, ripped their heart outs, tore them limb from limb and for what? Sheer boredom. I’ve killed thousand, upon thousands of innocent, pure people. And that doesn’t even include your kind. There’s no.. good guy in here.”
The day was warm, the wind coming in off the surrounding desert dry, promising more heat as summer approached. The warmth was part of what Spencer had always loved about Vegas along with the fact that it was so alive, always awake, day or night. As a vampire he relished it even more. He tended to forget to feed, and as a result, was perpetually cold, but then, even as a human he'd always run that way.
The sun felt good against his skin as he got out of the Range Rover, flicking the door shut as he turns his face up to the sun, eyes closed behind his shades. Drawing a deep breath, a soft, pleased smile shapes his lips. Hitting the alarm on his wrist fob, he heads towards the unassuming office building, that housed Simon's offices. He owned the entire building which contained all the sundry businesses he manages, owns, runs, whatever. Spence wasn't completely clear on all his sire did, and to be honest, didn't care. Simon was his sire, his manager and was very trusted with the fortune that Spencer had accrued since Polaris made it and made it in a big way.
It was a Sunday so he didn't expect anyone but Simon to be in and doing... whatever the fuck it was the man did. Punching the security code into the key pad, he hears the lock disengage and, shifting his sunglasses to the top of his head, goes in. It's unnaturally cool inside, like most places in the desert. Never made sense to the vampire. Build a city, a gamblers paradise in the middle of a vast desert, then keep the buildings nearly cold enough to hang meat.
Fingers tapping against his thigh, head nodding to a beat that existed only within his mind, he rounds the empty desk where Robin, Simon's receptionist usually sat, guarding the inner sanctum. As he approaches the door leading to Simon's office, Spence slows, fingers going still. Cocking his head, he listens intently, hearing the low hum of two voices. Simon and another man. Human. The vampire can hear his heartbeat, almost hear the blood rushing through his veins. He really should have fed before coming here. Stepping closer, it's Simon's voice he hears now.
"No, I have Spencer under control. I have him on bagged blood and an associate of mine makes certain he has all he needs," Simon says to the other male within his office. Spence's brow furrows, curiosity deepening. Whoever the other was, they apparently knew that the singer was a vampire - and more importantly, also seemed to be aware of Spence's issue with control. "I just need this one taken care of. He's dangerous and threatens to disrupt the delicate balance I have here," he continues and the vampire hears the sound of something paper, likely a file folder, being dropped on the surface of Simon's desk. The human grunts and the sound of pages being turned comes to Spencer.
"I thought he was a vagabond type, a wanderer, but he's not of my breed, not even close, from what I've gathered. He's basically an animal, cunning though he is... but not clever enough to dispose of the evidence of his feeding. You can see there in the pictures of his victims..." Spence can hear the disgust in his sire's voice. "Gruesome. He seems to like playing with them. Some of the marks were done while the victim was still alive. Torture, perhaps? Some, however, were made post-mortem." Simon sighs and the vampire can hear his manager begin to move, pacing, something that he only did when distressed, troubled by something. To distress Simon, it had to be bad. "Some of our kind, sad to say, feed not only on blood, but on pain and fear - which, to me, taints the blood, but to them---" Simon cuts off, his quiet steps moving towards the closed office door
Spence steps back a moment before the heavy oak door is jerked open to reveal his manager with a very annoyed look on his face. "Spencer," he says, his British accent clipped, hard, verifying his annoyance. "How long have you been standing there eavesdropping?" He asks, the singer's glance sliding right past his sire to the other in the room, an open file in his hands, sharp gaze narrowed in suspicion as he gives the vampire a look that tells Spence everything he needs to know. A hunter.
Simon had told him about his type, those that, usually human, make a living, somehow, out of hunting down and exterminating supernatural beings... like Spencer. "Not long, just long enough to know that there's a problem in my town," he mutters, hands slipping into the pockets of his dark jeans, icy gaze drifting from the hunter to Simon. "I want to help," he adds, jaw tensing with the streak of stubbornness that the vampire exhibited at inconvenient times, at least to Simon's way of seeing it. "He might be a hunter, and probably a damn good one if you're using him, but he's still human. I'm immortal."
"Unthinkable," Simon sputters, already shaking his head as Spence pushes past him and towards the hunter, stopping short before him, his six feet and four inches of height making it seem like he was almost looming over the other. "I'm Spencer North," he says, pulling a hand from his pocket, offering it for a shake, almost certain the hunter wouldn't return the gesture.
The path to heaven runs through miles of clouded hell.
"Past life regression. It's either get hypnotised or see a witch." He spoke with a small smirk; his head falling to the side. "Not that you'd ever go to a witch. And besides, I knew a lot of Pirates in the past. And trust me, I'd remember a handsome face like yours. How do you think I got to the states, lad? Wasn't free travel. I scammed my way aboard a ship, worked with them, helped them. Only to kill them as soon as we reached port."
His bright hues remained focused on the other; raising a brow as his lips parted open slightly. “Not even a flinch. You really have been desensitized to everything.” His words came in a musing tone; leaning over the table to be eye level with the male. “Are we sure you weren’t a pirate in another life?“ his voice trailed off with a teasing gasp. “—Maybe I did kill you back then.”
Without saying a word the male shifted the gun towards the side; an inch from the others head before he pulled the trigger- taking a shot at the wall behind them before he set it down against the table with a laugh.
With a small smirk he used his thumb to turn the safety off the gun; his index setting against the trigger as he brought the barrel to press against the center of the males forehead. “That’s true.. but what fun would that be?”
He pushed off the doorframe to walked towards the other; reaching out as he set his hand over the others. He slipped the gun from the males hand as an open smirk toyed on his lips, turning it so it was pointed to the human. "Whats stopping me from shooting you, though? Could easily look like a suicide at this point."