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Halloween really was the best time of the year if you were undead.
There wasn’t a specific reason why that any of them could actually put their fingers on - there was just something in the air as the leaves started to fall and the nights started to get longer. Something…magical. Something electric.
Something dangerous.
Spencer was no exception to fact the undead found the later half of October to be the best time of year. Although he believed himself to be superior to them in many ways, there were no exceptions when it came to this. Be they vampires like him, or ghosts, or ghouls, there was just something inexplicably wonderful about these two weeks for all members of the undead - and just like he did every year, he was spending it on the hunt.
And he was loving every moment.
It wasn’t as if he didn’t hunt during the rest of the year, because he often did, but the last two weeks in October were reserved for a different kind of prey.
A fellow hunter.
Robin was a vampire hunter was the one hunter Spencer hadn’t managed to kill or turn, despite his best efforts to the contrary - and there was no shame in that. Robin was from a long line of vampire hunters, allegedly stretching all the way back to Abraham Van Helsing: the man who had created the organisation that allowed hunters to gather under one banner. One day - if she lived long enough - she’d lead the organisation…but for now she was playing cat and mouse with Spencer.
He was ecstatic about it…especially the part where he still wasn’t sure who was currently the mouse, and who was the cat.
Was he sneaking up on her - or was she lying in wait for him? Was he about to capture her, or walk into her trap? Would he finally get the chance to turn her, or would she drive a stake through his heart? There was honestly no way of knowing, and it was exhilarating.
Spencer adored hunting Robin.
She just makes it so much fun.
Grinning, Spencer slid into the club he knew Robin was in, stalking some quarry or another (only time would tell if it was him or some other idiot), and hung around in the shadows, watching her where she sat at the bar. Even at work, she looked damned good - sun-kissed skin that seemed to glow under the neon lights, leather motorcycle jacket Spencer knew hid layers of protection and a seemingly endless number of pockets and weapons, and - best of all - glittering Doctor Martins that Spencer knew could crush a skull if applied with the right amount of force.
He was hoping that she was here hunting a ghoul…those were always the best fights to watch.
Alas, Spencer doubted that Robin would be hunting a ghoul in the club’s bathroom. He followed her nonetheless, but he doubted he was going to get to watch a decent fight to the death. Participate in one, maybe, but not get to watch. Of course, that wasn’t exactly a disappointment.
In fact, it might be the only thing that Spencer enjoyed more than watching Robin doing almost anything - doing it with her.
He even liked it when she ambushed him from behind as he slid into the women’s bathroom.
Robin got in a lucky shot, nailing him in the back of the head with one of her extendable batons. Spencer was dazed, but not so much that he didn’t grab the baton when she swung it at the back of his head a second time, snagging her wrist before she could withdraw, and flipping her over his shoulder.
Of course, Robin was no novice: she didn’t end up on her back like he’d intended, instead rolling through and coming up on her feet comfortable out of his reach. Or she would’ve been, if Spencer hadn’t been expecting that from her. He was already lunging for her, but just as he’d been expecting Robin to roll through his throw, she’d clearly been expecting him to lunge, and side-stepped the tackle that would’ve otherwise pinned her to the floor.
Spencer went shoulder first into the sink counters, and then there was the muzzle of a gun - no doubt loaded with silver bullets - pressed against the back of his neck. Robin would’ve pulled the trigger, too; she wasn’t as stupid as her counterparts as to try and take him ‘alive’, but Spencer was pushing back towards her, reaching over his shoulder to grab her wrist to push until the gun was pointing away, and twisting until he was facing Robin as she was stick in his hold.
He kept his hold on her wrist, using his other arm to grab her ponytail and pull her head back, before leaning in close enough to press the tips of his fangs against her neck…only to be stopped by the feeling of something pointed pressing into his chest: right over his heart.
Pulling back, Spencer glared down at Robin even as she smirked up at him: “One of these days, little birdy, I’m going to get the better of you.”
“Keep telling yourself that, Dracula.”
“Dracula?” Spencer rolled his eyes: “The ‘Prince of Darkness?’ Fuck that, I'm the king.”
Robin just laughed at him: “Again, you keep telling yourself that. Let each other go on three?”
“On three…” Spencer nodded with a charming smile.
“One…”
“…Two…”
“…Three.” Robin announced - right as she tried to shove her stake into his heart.
Spencer could only laugh; he dodged the attack easily enough, even though it meant it he had to give him his attempt to bury his fangs in her neck. They really did know each other too well to be tricked by such childish ploys. Even if they weren’t, Robin had never been taken in by Spencer’s charm, not even for a brief second.
It was why Spencer had never gotten the drop on her; she’d never been fooled by his lazy charm or easy-going attempts at seduction. In his more dangerous moments, Spencer could make any hunter, male or female, melt for him - even if it was just for a second. That second had always been enough for him to get close enough to disarm them and then rip out their throats…but he’d never gotten that second with Robin. Not once. That was why she was the most interesting prey he’d ever hunted…and why he was insistent on changing her.
She was just too interesting to be allowed to die.
“You’ll accept my bite one day, little birdie.” he crooned: “One day you’ll stop fighting me.”
“Not a chance, sparkles.” Robin smirked, knowing how much Spencer hated the Twilight-themed nicknames: “I’d never accept such an inferior transformation.”
Spencer’s answering smirk was razor sharp: “Oh, darling, there's no bite as good as mine.”
“A shame even the best leech bite is still a leech bite then, isn’t it?”
Spencer didn’t bother arguing - he’d have plenty of time to bicker with her in the upcoming weeks - instead he just blew her a kiss: “Whatever you say, darling girl. It was the new moon yesterday: we’ve got plenty of time to talk about it.”
“Oh, joy.” Robin responded by rolling her eyes.
“That’s the spirit!” Spencer grinned flirtatiously: “I’ll be seeing you around, little birdie. Probably really soon…”
He slid into the shadows of the corridor outside just late enough to hear Robin’s pained groan of defeat. The defeat wouldn’t last; it never did with Robin.
She was far too good for that.
That was why she was so much fun.