He'd knocked her down. Spike had been in enough fights to know that the odds of her winning this one were slipping into the red by the second.
And she was scrambling backward, into the grass... what was she going to find there? Backward scrambling, keeping her eyes on him.
"Oh, c'mon, pet," Spike said, voice gentle. "It's not THAT bad, is it?"
He looked a the knife in his hand, turning it and looking at the initials on the blade. "Who's that, then?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "I know. I'll guess."
The vampire walked slowly toward her, looking at her face and feeling the weight of the knife's old wooden handle in his hand. "Daddy, roight?"
Spike smirked. "Bet you want it back, then."
He stopped moving, standing just short of her, over her. "Come get it."